1456-Notre Dame:

Claude couldn't remember how he got here, which was odd, for he often visited Notre Dame. He had, in fact, planned to do just this: sit in the pews, later today, perhaps at this very time. But his plans never included the death of his sister. They were supposed to visit the market and then sit and chat. She had hoped he could meet her new suitor and greet the priest that had been her friend all these years.

Now he was sitting alone on the pews, recovering from sobbing all over a priest. What a disgrace of a man he showed himself to be on the day he returned to Paris; he had even failed in appearing for his mother's funeral a year before.

A hand gently settled on his shoulder from behind. At first, Claude thought it was the priest returning to see him. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Claude."

Claude turned around at the sound of a new voice, falling off the pew as he noticed who was trying to keep him seated with their hand.

Crawling backwards, Claude stared in disbelief as he watched the man draw his sword. The eyepatch covering the scar, the tight natural ringlets of black hair, the boy who had once tried to have him killed twice had returned, and was again bent on putting shining steel straight through him.

……………….

1483-Oroitz's tent

Aube left with the tray after Frollo had finished off the food and the milk. Neither of them had exchanged anymore words since he'd taken insult from her words.

Unsurprisingly, after he'd finished dressing, Oroitz came into the tent, carrying Frollo's things, completely clothed as well. Gypsies seemed to know timing, whether good or bad. Frollo noticed that Oroitz was wearing a hat, easy not to notice when hoping the man wasn't going to make your head a stain on furniture.

Having solved that mystery, Frollo stayed where he was, sitting on the makeshift bed once more. There were other beds, presumably belonging to each of the women in the family. He didn't feel comfortable sitting on any of those.

For a moment, the gypsy stood in near the entrance and considered him. Frollo didn't like that. He never liked it. He barely tolerated soldiers and servants doing that, and didn't like native French doing that. He hated gypsies watching him, waiting for him to do something and making plans on what to do based on his reactions. He liked them either too afraid to scheme or pretending he wasn't there.

Noticing Frollo's unease, Oroitz wandered over to the minister and sat down in front of the man. Oroitz placed the minister's hat on the man's head and adjusted it before speaking. "Lo siento"

"Um… yes?" Frollo answered. He hoped the man didn't want something from him. Or, if he did, it was small and insignificant and would be explained soon.

"Te amo," Oroitz said.

"That would be one way of doing things," Frollo replied.

For a long time, the two men were silent, staring into each other's odd-colored eyes. Just as before, Oroitz knew how long it would take to scare someone away. "Claude nice," he whispered, touching the man lightly on the chin with the back of his knuckle. Then, as if nothing ever happened, Oroitz went to sit on one of the other beds in the tent. He took off his jerkin and pulled a dark button and a needle and some thread from his pocket and set to mending the jacket.

Thankful for being ignored—as ignored as he was going to be—Frollo tried to think. If he ever managed to get out of this disaster, he was well in another. Badeau had the annoying habit of thinking things through and having an escape plan when something unpredictable happened. Only the gypsies and the dead men knew his sickness was planned. Who'd listen to gypsies, especially with such a fanciful tale?

Either Badeau was searching the other side of the city and noticing he wasn't there, or he'd seen through that lie already. Perhaps he didn't care, making plans for when he came back or making sure he'd never come back alive at all.

Badeau didn't just plan ahead, he plotted sideways. He did things behind your back so that when you did run into him, he had made a mess too big to get through to get to him.

Somehow the gypsies got entangled in his plot. Badeau merely killed, contracted, and blamed someone else. The gypsies broke your world into pieces, leaving you no longer with a right and a wrong, in the dark fathoms where the apple's wisdom could not reach, but where there was no Eden. On all sides was a threat and a blame, but nowhere was there the turn to even see God reaching out to you to show you the way he planned to keep you on the path of virtue and trust he'd made for you. The gypsies took all certainties and absolutes from you and let you flounder, like leaving a blind rat in a maze to walk into walls, taunted by knowing beyond them lay freedom.

These were the demons who had started it all, who had led to everything he cherished and prized being torn away and leaving him feeling empty inside and frightened outside. They had brought this curse upon him and they had given him their fiendish ultimatum: to join them in order to wash it away.

He could not trade being a hunted man under God for safety under the tents of demons. No man who valued his soul would make that choice. He would not become one of them, a murderer, a thief, a shameless vagabond and forced to embrace their heathen ways.

He suddenly focused on the dark button Oroitz was fastening to his vest. Suddenly, Aube and her father were more convincing gypsies than any he'd ever seen before. Suddenly, yet another devastating revelation hit his head and his thoughts fell into pieces again, leaving him to clean them up now that they'd never fit together. These weren't allies. These were the most dangerous gypsies there were; they were the most secretive and cunning outlaws in all of France.

"You've been stealing iron!" Frollo exclaimed. It was right there. It was right in front of him. She had the metal dangling everywhere and he was fastening it to his clothes. If gold went missing, the entire city stopped to find the culprit and see them hanged. But if iron, just a few specks of iron went missing, it meant someone had swept the shop. They probably swindled it from others, buying broken tools off of fools.

Oroitz stopped in his sewing and laughed. This time, both of them knew he was laughing at Frollo. Oh yes, he understood. But how would Frollo catch him? You can't steal what no one wants. You can't prove these buttons and needles aren't ours. Besides, you're down here where no one can hear you, no matter what we do.

Oroitz ceased laughing immediately as he noticed Frollo was almost pouting, taking the reaction the wrong way. "Claude?"

Frollo's expression looked as if he had just swallowed one of Aube's needles. "I don't want to be a gypsy," he pleaded. These gypsies would do whatever they wanted and death would not stop them, not until every gypsy was dust buried in the ground. "I would honestly rather die than be a gypsy. Do you understand any of this?"

"I understand," Oroitz answered slowly.

Claude sighed in relief as Oroitz finished off the thread. Oroitz threw his jerkin on and stood up, which caused Frollo to suddenly watch him intently an uncomfortably. The gypsy wandered to the front of the tent, turning to look back at Frollo, who just watched and waited, like an old, kicked dog keeping an eye on one's shoes.

Oroitz turned and left. Frollo never knew how much his demands hurt the only man who gave him Solace in a place he thought was warmed by Hell just underneath.

………………..

1456-Notre Dame:

Badeau had left. Claude had survived. Only his last-minute wits had saved him.

The deacon stuck him across the face, which was surprising for a man who seemed so weak. Claude just stood there. He had sinned too much today. He had murdered gypsy patriots, he had failed for years to protect his sister, and now he had lied his way out of fighting in a church.

"What were you thinking?" the deacon screamed.

"What did you want me to do, let him kill you?" Claude retorted.

"To know justice is to know God, and who knows God better than martyrs?"

"I can't say they knew justice," Claude replied. This was the first time he dared disagree with a man of the church, but it wouldn't be the last, not with this man. Claude turned away and inhaled deeply. He should be going home. He should announce himself before people started looking for a will and trying to claim his family's property. He should talk to the guards and prepare for his sister's funeral.

"Your sister was a martyr," the deacon said.

'Damn, not now,' Claude thought. The truth was too dangerous at the moment. But there was no way that he'd stand for the comment. "My sister was a fool." He turned back to the deacon, but then he saw that there were powers that were so cruel not even gypsy magic would conjure it. He saw the face of the deacon, the same man who had recommended he be tutored in another city, the man who had baptized him, and was appalled at his expression. He was in love with Annette.

"I have watched over you the day I met you. It was her request."

Claude sat down on the pews. He wasn't going home for a long time. He stared up at one of the many crucifixes. The savior that welcomed souls into his arms so long as they begged for forgiveness every day for the sins he died for, and Claude knew what it was to be damned.

………………………………

1483-Away from Claude

Oroitz called a Divano. It was his right, as bandolier, but it was shock for he hand never exercised this right before.

Oroitz had the same job--in principle and simplicity—as Frollo, and had always wanted to meet the man—on lawful conditions. Although everyone had told him to avoid the minister, everyone was frightened of what had transgressed between them. Oroitz believed Frollo only found the gypsies nothing more than what the thickest bush was to a man hunting rabbits. He happened to find the greatest amount of criminals in the gypsies and that was why he was always after them. Oroitz believed, if given the offer, Frollo would gladly police the gypsies from the inside by laws, not hatred.

Everyone attended. Had Frollo planned a strategic escape during this gathering, his only obstacle would have been the goat and a few stray chickens their owner had forgotten to lock up. What was addressed was not what was expected. For once, there was silence everywhere in a divano.

What they went to hear was Oroitz heart had been broken, that Frollo had a plan to rally the gypsies, but his plan to kill them in the process was transparent or that Oroitz had learned that Frollo was the monster they all knew him to be, even those who had never met him.

But all Oroitz had to say was that Claude refused to be a gypsy, and that he was not going to allow others to try and convince the man otherwise. Frollo was, in fact, to be left alone. Oroitz gave no reason on that matter, but everyone was convince something about the minister scared him, some truth hiding in what dark shadow passed as the man's soul had been revealed to him even while hiding from Fabiana's powers.

But then, if he refused the cure, what else did they have to offer him? What could make him care about their survival as well as his own? He needed their numbers and they needed his planning or no one would survive this fight. He'd never consider their help without incentive, and now it was lost? Were they just as lost? What could make him care?

Oroitz said he would solve that problem himself, but no one was to confront the minister without the man's permission for it to work.

Then it was put to a vote by those in charge of the Divano. Fabiana, the drabardi and elder voted against. A man who was elder when Clopin's parents moved in voted for. Clopin voted against. Oroitz voted for. Aube was not an elder and her father's position did not give her privilege; it was the objects and what they were made of that gave her the poser over the Divano, although she never spoke a word. She voted for. Two other men, rich merchants and strangely in good terms with the law, given the subject, voted for.

Fabiana shrugged. She didn't care for gadje much, and if they refused to be helped, then so be it. Clopin scowled. The minister was a tricky man, or he'd not have lived this long. He'd fed Aube lies, lies she'd repeated to Oroitz. He was doing this on purpose. Ever since he'd known the two men were brothers he appeased the one who didn't reign over Paris's truands. He wanted revenge for his decease sister, no doubt.

The minister was underestimating the power of the gypsies, for they have strength in numbers and allegiances are not that hard to break, he'd make sure of it.

1456-Notre Dame

The fight was erratic. Both men had lost touch with what they'd learnt years ago from their of them gained against their opponent for very long, but neither of them was about to be defeated.

Finally, something changed the course of the fight, and, as such an occurrence often happens to be, it was an act of stupidity.

The deacon came in, screaming at them both to stop.

Claude, upon instinct, turned to the man, earning himself a stab in the shoulder.

Badeau, proved where his allegiance truly lay and pulled back from the fight, grabbing the deacon and holding his sword to the man's neck. "Perhaps you'd like to repeat our last meeting, Claude," Badeau said. "Exactly who will save you this time, one of these stone statues perhaps?"

A cold chill went down Claude's body. What help had these saints offered today? The only one who would ever put arms around him was dead now. Thanks to the man threatening to kill a man of the church and blame another.

From nowhere—not even some hidden quiet, waiting part of his brain—he spoke words he'd never once thought he'd utter. "The gypsies took it already. You'd have to ask your friends."

Badeau angrily shoved the deacon to the floor and sheathed his sword. He turned and walked away, not once looking back at either of the two men.

1483-Oroitz's tent

The goat had returned. Disappointed but undaunted at the lack of food, it settled back down in Frollo's lap. Frollo didn't mind, it gave his hands something to do and as foolish as it was talking to a goat, it felt better than talking to himself. As much as he appreciated the privacy and time alone, he felt frustrated that he couldn't figure out Badeau's plans.

The only reason Badeau wanted him gone in the past was because he happened to be in Badeau's way. How was he in Badeau's way when Badeau was in Rouen? What did he do? Frollo went over the last executions, tortures and even fines he'd given last, as far as he could remember. He couldn't remember even yelling at a man from Rouen or even Calais.

Getting Badeau in trouble with the law was out of the question. He was the law, and damned if he knew where to find the man.

He had to expose Badeau. That was the most difficult thing in the world. The stone saints above Notre Dame would cry before that was possible. The only option left was to wait until Badeau became bored and decided to leave him alone… unless he was somewhere new to run to…

Frollo jumped at the frightening idea so hard the goat leapt from his lap and wondered what had gotten into him. He could not possibly use the gypsies to run away from Badeau. He could never go back on his word that he never wanted to be one of them.

"We need to make a quieter tent if you're going to stay here any longer," he heard.

Both Frollo and the goat turned to see Aube standing in the tent, the flap falling behind her, again holding a tray of food.

"I…" Frollo tried to explain as the goat danced merrily at Aube's feet, sure that this time the food was for him. What was there to explain? Especially when he was still convinced he could get into deep trouble with these people.

"It doesn't matter," she said, setting a bowl down for the goat, far away from Frollo, before setting down the rest of the tray in front of him. This time he was given wine directly, biscuits, and broth. Unable to forget the last time he had eaten broth, he shoved the tray away, with his hand over his mouth and turned away. Suddenly, he realized what an insult he'd thrown at her and slowly turned back around.

Aube was pulling the goat away from the tray with barely any success.

Frollo took the broth and set it aside for the goat, who happily lapped it up.

Aube moved the broth further away. "It's impolite not to eat any of the other food," she said.

Frollo only nodded, and daintily started on a biscuit.

"We had another divano," she said.

Frollo stopped eating.

"We decided never to make you one of us," she said.

Frollo stopped chewing on the biscuit and considered it and many other things for a while. The goat finished the broth and began bleating thanks—or demands for more—at him before he finally answered.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Clopin believes you seek revenge for your sister against us," Aube said.

Frollo set the biscuit down on the tray. "Now I'm offended."

1456-Notre Dame

The boy with the scar had become a man, a man with another sword. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Claude," he said, drawing the weapon and elegantly thrusting at him.

Claude leapt back, onto the floor. He grabbed the first thing he could—one of the many candelabras—and blocked the next attack.

He backed away, getting to his feet and blocked another attack.

"If there is one thing you cannot do besides keep out of my way, it is to play stupid. Your sister had a note for me—for Calais. It's missing and I know you know where it is. If you want, you can survive all of this… just give it to me and you'll even be promoted after the new king."

The fact that it was Badeau who brought his beloved, pious sister to such delinquent and deluded acts would sink in much later, but all Claude could think of, under the roof of the cathedral to the Holy Virgin was that Badeau had dared defile his sister's corpse with his touch—the girl he felt was like the saint incarnate, the only reason he had fled here in the first place: to seek a substitute.

1483-Outside Oroitz's tent

To break the code of the Divano serious. To break the code is to kill yourself, your identity. To break the code of the Divano is to never be trusted by the group again, to be cast out, to no longer be a gypsy. You are between worlds when you break the code of the Divano. A wandering monster even the Mulo disregards.

There was a lot of screaming. No one wanted to be involved and if they could keep it that way, they ran to their homes to hide from the fight. Often, everyone allied or in the family would join a fight, taking their friend or relative's side. This time, the court was abandoned.

Claude did not know of the protection the Divano gave him. He never would understand. He knew for most of his life and would never forget: it did not take much to cross the line and abandon such protection.

……………

14563-Lilas Estate

Aurore collapsed to the floor in tears. Her sister stood over her, unemotional. Blood dripped from the knife in her hand.

All she could do was cry. For years, she did nothing but cry.

She hated herself for it, but it only made her cry more for the will she never had. The hatred stung deep, more painful as time wore on. It was a pain she began to live with.

She was smart, an educated woman—a rarity—and a married one at that…now widowed because of her own weakness. She knew. She knew for years. She should have acted. What is intelligence if only held by the weak?

She hated and she kept on hating. One day, she stopped crying.