A/N: Quasimodo belongs to Victor Hugo, Disney and himself. Jehanne D'Arc belongs to herself. No copyright infringement intended. This is an A.U. I realize that HND was set 50 years (I think exactly) after Jehanne's death,but I decided to set it back 50 years, so its now in 1431. Enjoy!
She was coming today. The strange girl from Lorraine. The one who heard voices. Or so everyone said. Quasimodo trembled at the thought. His master, the archdeacon Dom Claude Frollo, had told him to beware the girl and to keep far away from her. She was a witch, he said, and she could easily beguile a simple mind such as the disfigured young man possessed. If she was a witch, Quasimodo wondered, why was she being allowed inside the cathedral at all? He did not dare to voice this question aloud, as his master had been in a foul mood all morning, ever since receiving the news. The girl was being brought here from Rouen, where she had been on trial. It seemed the bishops wished to ask Frollo's advice, and they wanted him to see the girl personally. 'Why not go to them?' Quasimodo thought. But he kept the thought to himself.
He looked up suddenly, startled from his perch atop one of the rafters. The door to the great church had just opened. Looking down, he caught his first glimpse of the girl. She was small and short, but broad shouldered. She looked used to hard work. Her thick black hair was cut short around her ears and her skin was tanned from many years spent out of doors. Quasimodo's mouth fell open. She was dressed like a man. Her tunic was old and stained and her hose were ripped and threadbare.
She clutched a tattered mantle tightly about her shoulders and she shuffled as she walked. Quasimodo steadied himself against the railing and squinted with his good eye. Her feet were bound in heavy iron chains, so that she could hardly take a step. Two English guards flanked her as she entered the church. The Bishop, Pierre Couchon, and the other judges filed in after her, pausing to dip their fingers in the font and cross themselves. A blur of black near the front of the church caught the hunchback's attention. His master was approaching. Quasimodo leaned further out on the railing, almost standing up, and squinted until his eye ached. He had to know what they were saying.
But the distance was too great. Scrambling up from the beam, he jumped across the rafters until he hid, in the shadows, directly behind Frollo. Now, he could see.
"So. You are the girl who calls herself The Maid," Frollo asked.
The Maid nodded. Quasimodo could see the exhaustion on her face. She was trembling. "Please. I…I just want to pray."
She wanted to pray? Quasimodo frowned. Had he read that right? He must have, because Frollo nodded to her and swept from the room, with the other bishops following. The two English soldiers took up positions near the front of the church, leaving the girl alone before the alter.
She dropped to her knees and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook and Quasimodo realized, with a jolt, that she was crying. Instinctively, he stepped toward her, before he remembered and ducked back. The girl was a witch after all.
The Maid lifted her head at the movement. "Who is there?" She looked up and shaded her eyes, as if she could see Quasimodo lurking in the shadows. "I know you are there. Come out. Come out, coward, and face me. I will not fly away."
Coward? I am no coward, thought Quasimodo. He stepped out onto the rafters and jumped down in front of the girl. The two soldiers by the doors did not move. She gasped and took a step back. Quasimodo braced himself for a scream, but the girl only looked at him, a strange mix of pity and concern on her face.
"I…I am sorry. I did not mean to speak so. I am very weary and I fear I do not think sometimes." She held out her hand.
Quasimodo stared at her, frowning in confusion. What had she said? "I, I am deaf, so you must speak clearly if I am to understand." He wondered for an instant if she had understood him.
She smiled and repeated herself, speaking slowly and waiting for him to nod before she continued. His heart beat faster. They said this girl was a witch, but, if that were true, why would she be so kind to him? He saw the girl stiffen and he jumped back up into the rafters.
His master and the others had returned. "I am sorry that I can be of no further help," Claude Frollo said, "But my duties will not allow me to leave Paris. I trust you gentlemen will come to the right decision concerning the girl."
Bishop Pierre Couchon nodded. "I am certain that we will. Come, Jehanne." He tugged on her arm.
"But I am not finished…"
The bishop waved away her protest and led her from the church.
Frollo watched them go, and then turned to the rafters. "I hope you did not speak to her, dear boy. The girl is a witch and a heretic. She will burn before the month is out. Maid of Orleans indeed." He snorted and went into his chambers, leaving Quasimodo alone with his thoughts.
From atop his perch, Quasimodo crossed himself and offered a silent prayer for the girl, Jehanne.