[TW: g*psy slur (period piece with character who is at this point a shitty person. I promise that everyone will learn the right names for people in time).]
March 23rd, 1460
Judge Claude Frollo paced the balcony on the heights of the great cathedral, Notre-Dame De Paris. The bustle of the city murmured below him. Periodically, he would peer over the balcony, as if he could find his missing ward. Young Quasimodo was late.
Where is that infuriating boy? It can't possibly take him that long to get dressed.
No doubt Quasimodo was getting into trouble, or associating with the filthy peasant-folk. It had happened once before. The boy was only nine years old, and already he had seen far too much of the fallen world outside the cathedral. Shivers of revulsion ran down Frollo's spine at the thought of it.
One of Frollo's aides came running up the cathedral steps, his boots clattering on the ancient stones.
"Have you no respect for the tranquility of the church, Monsieur Laurent?"
The young aide looked down at the floor.
"Forgive me, Lord Frollo. But we found your ward, sir."
"Quasimodo? Where is he?" Frollo demanded.
"He's in the courtyard."
Frollo picked up his ebony staff.
"Then lead the way,"
As Frollo and Laurent arrived in the courtyard, they were greeted with a strange sight. Quasimodo sat on the ground. In a circle around him were several shabbily dressed peasants.
Gypsies, no doubt. Frollo sneered in disgust.
On a nearby stone bench sat a middle-aged man with a thick beard in a black cassock. A parish priest? But he couldn't be. Frollo knew all the priests of Notre-Dame. None were as old as this man, and none had skin of such an olive tone. Perhaps a visiting priest, then. Frollo would have to teach him a few things about the duties of the church, to keep sinners out unless they were repentant.
Laurent began to step into the courtyard. Frollo pulled him out of view.
"Not yet. I want to see how much damage has been done."
One of the gypsies, a bard of some sort, finished a bawdy song on the lute. Another one waved her hands and produced three silver medallions, as if out of thin air. Quasimodo clapped his hands in wonder and delight.
"Witchcraft," Frollo breathed.
The gypsy woman placed the coins in Quasimodo's hands, and closed his thick fingers around them.
"For you, little boy," she said. Quasimodo's hand trembled.
"No. Thanks, but I can't. Master wouldn't like it, taking someone else's silver…"
"Keep them. They are a gift, freely given," the old priest said. "It is good to enjoy beautiful things, is it not?"
Slowly, Quasimodo nodded and put the medallions into his pouch.
"Beautiful things are…are lovely, sir,"
"Please, call me Jean-Luc," the foreigner said. "I have seen many beautiful things. The way the sunlight glints on the sea. A holy mountain, many miles from here, where the olive trees reach their branches up into the morning mists. The way lovers gaze into each other's eyes. The moonlight as it spills across the streets of this very city. The laughter and joy of children at play,"
Quasimodo smiled. The old foreigner, Jean-Luc, smiled back at him and at all those gathered.
"I've had enough," Frollo said. "Stay here, Laurent."
Frollo stormed into the courtyard.
"What is the meaning of all this?" he roared.
The bard got to his feet and cleared his throat.
"Your Honor, we seek sanctuary here for the next three days. Our family has been staying in Paris, and we are soon due to move on. But some of the sons of the nobles have roused the local gentry against us."
"It is broad daylight. You are not in any immediate danger. I suggest you move along before I lose my temper and treat you as you deserve," Frollo said through gritted teeth.
"Please, we fear for our lives!" one of the gypsies pleaded.
The old priest rose to his feet.
"There was a veritable mob on the outskirts of the cathedral. Torches, knives, pitchforks, the like. They moved on only an hour ago," the priest lowered his voice, then added, "We were telling stories to comfort the boy. No child should have to see such cruelty."
"I'll not have you making decisions on account of my ward…Monsieur…Jean-Luc, was it?"
"Pere Jean-Luc, if you please," Jean-Luc said in a level tone.
"I am Claude Frollo, Minister of Justice. And you, Pere Jean-Luc, should limit yourself to the duties of the church, and your office. I will deal with these rabble. Get out!" Frollo barked to the gypsies. Jean-Luc fixed Frollo with a steady gaze through his soft green eyes. It infuriated him more and more with each passing second. The gypsies did not move.
"Very well. It seems I must teach you to respect your city officials. You will not enjoy the lesson." He took two long strides until he was nearly on top of the gypsies, then raised his staff to aim a blow at the bard's shoulder. In a moment, Jean-Luc had stepped from the right-hand side to stand directly between Frollo and his intended example. Frollo glared at Jean-Luc.
"Out of my way."
Jean-Luc remained immoveable.
"A priest should mind his own affairs. The church does not smile upon those who obstruct justice."
"The church does not smile upon those who would harm God's children," said Jean-Luc. "So unless you are prepared to strike a priest, and an aging man at that, I suggest you find sanctuary for these good people."
Frollo sighed. He lowered his staff.
"Go to Pere Dominique. He will see to your lodgings. Don't let me catch you in my sight again," said Frollo.
The travellers shuffled off towards the interior of the church. The bard gave a grateful nod to Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc extended his hand in blessing. Quasimodo began to shuffle off as well.
"Quasimodo," Frollo called.
Jean-Luc looked at Frollo in shock. Good. Let the foreigner be uncomfortable. He would learn his place.
"Yes, master," the boy said, holding back tears. Jean-Luc placed a firm hand on Quasimodo's shoulder, as if to comfort him. Frollo glared at the priest. Jean-Luc removed his hand. He knelt down to meet Quasimodo's eyes.
"Farewell, little one," said the priest. Then he rose and exited the courtyard.