Sunlight peeked through the clouds, shining brightly over the city, and a mob gathered in front of Notre Dame. The ever-exciting execution stage had been erected in the square, a wooden chopping block centered, and the citizens crowded eagerly to watch the grisly spectacle, the Minister of Justice standing high and mighty above the sea of his small-minded audience.
Parisians hurled their insults and curses as the judge motioned for his men to bring forth the shackled prisoner, who only stared coldly and expressionlessly at the Minister and out towards the spectators. Frollo expected tears and incoherent utterances of repent, but the man only exhibited stoicism, serving to annoy him.
As he dressed himself earlier that morning, Frollo examined the new scars that now adorned his shoulder and side, gripping the small brown scapular hanging around his neck as a surge of anger overcame him. He saw the blank expression of his attacker in his mind, hatred making him grit his teeth. Nobody humiliated the Minister of Justice without facing the consequences.
Now he stood powerfully above the masses, a scroll of parchment in hand with the sentence written on. What he should have relished in with vindictive pride was now replaced with sole desire for bloody vengeance. Unfurling the scroll, Frollo cast a sideways glance at the still gypsy, stone-faced and ready to be martyred.
Frollo read the charges to the city, deadly baritone resonating authoritatively. Attempted assassination of a public official…Fingers clenching around the parchment and igniting the crowd's scorn and boos, some going as far as to fling garbage at the Minister's prisoner.
Frollo gestured to his henchmen, who shoved the gypsy man forward to his knees, pressing his face against the chopping block. A black-hooded executioner stepped forward, cradling a heavy axe in his gloved hands while the gypsy man still showed no signs of remorse, even as the crowded rained rotten food upon him. With one nod from the judge, the axe swung high, sunlight beaming off its perfectly sharpened blade…
X
"Sir, the actions of one gypsy shouldn't be grounds for oppressing the entire Romani population!" The Captain protested as he stood in the Minister's study while the latter shuffled through numerous parchment pieces.
Not bothering to look up at the rough-faced soldier, Frollo answered, "The people seem to agree with my decision; I have handled the gypsies' banal crimes for years and now the reality of them has finally come to the public's full attention. And besides, Captain, I have the support of the King on my side—His Majesty himself sees these people for what they are as well. Remember that those gypsies brought this upon themselves! It only takes one to worsen it for the rest. That assassination attempt was the key to getting Louis's permission to keep them down on the social food chain."
Spring was drawing close to summer and the Minister had worked diligently in creating propaganda against the gypsies of Paris, fueled by the calamity of the incident in front of the cathedral. Penning letters to King Louis expressing his concern over the danger posed to the city by so-called "lawless heathens," he purported that the only rational way of curbing the problem was too enact stricter laws, further limiting what little freedoms they already were allowed in Paris. Given Frollo's nearly immaculate judicial record, he did not have to wait long for Louis's response on the issue; with full regal support, the judge began writing up new mandates restricting the actions of the city's gypsy population.
"I can't believe he is actually allowing this," Gerard commented, mostly to himself but not going unheard by the judge.
Locking eyes with the man, Frollo grimly asked, "Does the fact that they have no regard for the law mean anything to you, Captain? Do I have to remind you that our duty granted by our country is to execute the law against those who violate it? Does the fact that that gypsy tried to murder your superior on the very steps of Our Lady—in front of witnesses—mean nothing to you? I will do what is necessary to prevent something as inconceivably foolish as this from happening again, whether or not it seems moral in your eyes. You will not stand idly by and allow for such crimes to be committed simply because of a difference in ethical opinion. Are we clear?"
Fighting the urge not to bash the judge's head into the stone wall, the reluctant Captain mechanically answered, "Yes, Your Honor."
"Good," Frollo said, hoping that there would be no further protests from his second-in-command. "Remember your place, Captain."
The man's face was stone-like, holding back curses. "And once we evict them from their homes, where do you suggest that they go?" The impertinent Captain inquired boldly.
"Well they pride themselves on being nomadic, do they not?" Frollo replied. "Finding another hole to dwell in will certainly not be a problem for them. As long as they are not in the way and threatening the livelihoods of hard-working citizens, then it is of no real concern of mine."
Captain Gerard showed great apprehension towards his employer's attitude, not at all in agreement with the decision. He could only bite his tongue while his expression betrayed him, showing the uneasiness with his orders.
"Oh, please, don't act so noble," Frollo taunted when he saw his Captain's look of concern etched on his rugged face. "You knew damn well what was in store when you took this position."
"I didn't think displacing masses of people because of some prejudice would be part of it."
Frollo's hand tensed on the quill. "I am beginning to question where your loyalties lie. For your sake I hope that you will not use these personal morals of yours to justify doing something, let us say, rash." Something about the soldier's constant questions and impassioned words against the Minister's orders did not sit well with him. "After all," Frollo mocked. "It would be quite a shame to lose an effective Captain with such a gleaming record, wouldn't it? Especially since the consequences for treachery are quite severe."
The judge rose from his seat. Gray eyes burning into the Captain's, Frollo icily responded, "Just do your job." Handing Gerard a scroll of parchment, he then said, "You and your men's orders for today: clear the left bank of the Seine of beggars, vagrants, entertainers—any gypsy you come across. After we have driven those underground, we may begin to clear the right bank, then outwards to the rest of the city."
Before he could start his crusade, Frollo ordered his men to give notice to the citizens of an official announcement. Opening the doors of the Palace of Justice and walking down some steps, he studied the intrigued and confused faces of his subjects, who wondered to each other what was so pressing that the judge called the city for an announcement.
"People of Paris!" Frollo thundered. "Give the recent insubordinate and destructive behavior carried out by the city's Romani, or "gypsy", population, I am obligated to do everything in my power to ensure the safety of our citizens. They are the poisonous root preventing Paris from flourishing to its full potential—and to survive, a poison must be extracted…"
Frollo's words stirred the people. Some were already quite fearful that the city was grave danger if the Minister of Justice himself was almost murdered by a mere gypsy beggar. His words offered assurance to those in doubt of the protection and well-being of their city, and with an unwavering leader like Claude Frollo at the helm, perhaps all there was to do was give him their complete support. The Parisians cheered, rejoicing and wondering what the judge had up his sleeve, and eager to see their city safe once again.
The days marched on as Frollo's agenda was put to work as he rallied his men to "clean up" the city of stray gypsies, the support of the citizens fueling him. However, King Louis had written his guidelines for Frollo's actions, which noted that stray gypsies or those residing in cars in the city were to be pushed to the outskirts of Paris, while the few living in proper lodging as other citizens would be allowed to stay where they were.
However, many were not fortunate to be simply ejected from their dwellings. Frollo had ordered countless to be apprehended for trespassing, vagrancy, soliciting, and every other crime he could find as means of arrest.
He watched impassively as his men tore countless innocent Roma from the streets,being ordered to leave and cease performing or face arrest. Some wept and pleaded that the Minister show clemency and not force them from their homes. There were those brave enough to defy judicial orders and refused to comply, cursing and spitting at the city guards until they were met with shackles and, occasionally, violent reactions.
Day after day, Frollo would sit atop Romulus and watch as one caravan after another somberly tow its way out of the city and into the country. Under the Minister of Justice's orders, the gypsies found themselves uprooted and even more penniless than before.
X
"You've really gone off the deep end with this gypsy stuff, you know that?" Jehan's voice interrupted.
Frollo and Quasimodo looked up from the book they carefully studied as they sat across from each other at the small table, seeing the third member of their de facto family tread up the wooden steps. "All of a sudden the whole city seems to not to trust them anymore—not even letting them near their stands and carts! Well, you know… the ones who are left in the city, at least. What did you do?" Jehan asked, eyebrow arched.
A sly grin stretching his thin lips, Frollo answered, "The people have finally decided to listen to reason, realizing the pestilence they are to the city and deciding to take charge." Quasimodo, not interested in listening to what he assumed would be an oncoming brotherly bickering, put his climbing skills to use and disappeared up into the rafters.
"You turned all of Paris against them? You've really used that knife thing to your advantage, haven't you?"
"It was not as though such animosity hadn't already existed; that little incident just brought the threat that they pose to the light."
"I thought it might be your doing when I was walking over here and saw a couple of them getting pelted with rocks and garbage," Jehan remarked. "Turns out, that old woman with the fish cart has a pretty good arm—got some gypsy kid right between the eyes!"
"I don't encourage such crass behavior, but I can't keep the people from doing what they will to their kind," Frollo smugly retaliated, ignoring his own flagrant hypocrisy.
"I'm no bureaucrat or lawyer, but this character assassination seems a little harsh, don't you think? I'm sure if you want to stamp out crime there's probably a simpler way of doing that. After all, there's more than one way to skin a cat, Claude."
"Thank you for the political advice, but I believe I am more than capable of containing the situation without it."
Jehan simply shook his head and scoffed at his brother's statement. "If you say so. You may walk around with a chip on your shoulder, but your issues with gypsies are none of my business."
"Correct. Now then, what do you want, and also," Frollo nodded and then gestured to the bag hanging over his Jehan's shoulder. "Why are you carrying this around?"
Removing the canvas haversack from his shoulder, Jehan carefully emptied out its contents onto the wooden table before his brother and hunchback, who swiftly climbed down to rejoin his master at ground-level. Out of the bag spilled coins of gold and silver, jewelry from brooches to necklaces, even a dagger or two in their finely crafted leather sheaths. Quasimodo's eyes gleamed with fascination while Frollo's shone with astonishment and suspicion, all the while Jehan smiled contently. "Feeling charitable today, I suppose," he remarked.
Quasimodo busied himself with sifting through the various treasures while Frollo inspected a coin himself, surprised to find that it was not counterfeit. Pursing his lips and looking up at Jehan, the judge incredulously asked, "Pray tell, little brother …How did you acquire such a bounty?"
Placing his hand on his brother's rigid shoulder, Jehan answered, "Does it really matter, Claude? You wanted me to earn money on my own, and I found a job that pays well—very well, actually!"
"A job? I wasn't aware that such a word was even in your vocabulary," Frollo sardonically commented in disbelief. "What kind of work did you find that you are actually willing to do?"
"That's for me to know. What do you care?"
Quickly grabbing his wrist and pulling him aside, Frollo looked unyieldingly at him. In a low, threatening voice he explained, "I care because if you earned this money through means that are not aligned with the law, then the consequences will be quite unforgiving."
Snatching back his hand, Jehan lowly replied, "It's under control. No one is getting hurt, and the people I work with know what they're doing. Therefore: these things were given up willingly—I didn't steal it!"
"You'll have to forgive my inquiry; when someone who failed every examination from grammar school to university and suddenly finds work under an unnamed trade, one cannot help but grow a tad bit suspicious," Frollo drawled sarcastically.
"Oh, well I'm sorry I didn't make it to the clergy or become a merchant—or even some penniless poet!"
"What poet?" Quasimodo asked as he stepped forward between the brothers.
Blowing a sound of indignation, Jehan answered, "Just some failed troubadour who Claude took under his wing ages ago."
"His name was Pierre Gringoire, and yes, he was a pupil of mine for some time," Frollo elaborated. "A little older than Jehan by about a decade or so, and a local vagrant of humble name. At first meeting, he was just as my brother here: absolutely helpless. He couldn't find a trade that suited him, preferring to write poetry and plays. I saw scholastic potential in him and offered to teach him some of my expertise: letters, classics and such. As I recall, he took greatly to the works of Cicero."
Quasimodo's dark blue eyes shifted from his master to the disgruntled-looking younger Frollo and back again. "What happened to Pierre, Master?"
Bitterly, Jehan spoke up, "Yes, let's revisit what happened to good-old Pierre!"
Expression twisting in annoyance, the Minister looked down at Quasimodo and replied, "Last I heard, Pierre had left Paris in hopes of performing his tragedies for the masses all over the world."
"Translation: he probably ended up dead under a bridge somewhere, using those scripts of his plays as bandages!" Jehan commented cynically. "He was the worst, Quasimodo! Always walking around as though he was some Italian poet—acting like his work would change the world."
"Maybe so," Frollo replied coolly. "But he had a strong devotion to learning; a quality that has sadly been lost on others."
"Well, I've found a line of work that's a little more profitable than writing plays—plays that the townspeople would rather pelt with eggs than watch, if you recall that particular festival."
"But is it legitimate? The last thing I want to see filed in a report would be regarding some seedy street business that my brother has gotten tangled up with yet again."
Irritatedly, Jehan glowered at his older brother, the Minister. "Would you stop worrying—I swear, one of these days you're going to just keel over in the middle of your courtroom! Claude, if anything goes wrong, it's taken care of. It's nothing to lose any sleep over, got it?"
Crossing his arms sternly, Frollo kept his same unbending self against Jehan's assurance. Despite such words, the Minister could not help but sense that his brother's operation was nothing more than some underhanded scheme of criminal nature. His experience as a bureaucrat had rewarded him the gift of detecting deceit in others, especially one as dishonest as Jehan.
"Tell you what," Jehan piped up, clapping his hands together. "I said I was feeling charitable, so take whatever you want from my earnings today! Quasimodo, you too!" A smile stretched over the boy's face as he went back over to the pile of riches, eagerly trying to pick something out, Jehan right behind him.
Frollo only frowned at Jehan's sudden sense of giving, still not entirely convinced over the validity of his brother's work. "Just take something, Claude," Jehan said stubbornly, irked at his brother's staunch demeanor. Shifting his blue eyes away and back to the mountain of his earnings, Jehan's fingers dug through the coins and jewels, Frollo wondering what on earth he was doing.
"Here it is!" Jehan exclaimed, clasping his fingers around something hidden in his palm. Taking his brother's left hand, Jehan dropped into it a ring—a large emerald orb adorning the jewel, as imposing as the man to whom it was now presented. Frollo still looked skeptically at his younger brother, who stated, "You said you one like this stolen from you years ago, so here you go. From me to you, as I said: a little something for my brother."
Carefully inspecting the large stone and looking back at Jehan, Frollo hesitantly slipped the ring onto his left index finger. "For your sake, Jehan, I hope that you know what you are doing."
"I told you already, it's under control. If worst comes to worst, I'll handle it."
"Or come running to me," the judge retorted bitingly, eyes once again gazing at the magnificent jewel.
"What's this?" Quasimodo asked suddenly, holding up a silver coin. Frollo examined it, one side a bearded man with the words "Tron Dux Nicolas," the other side showing a winged lion.
"Venetian currency, most likely the doge's new policy," the judge commented, handing it back to Quasimodo.
"Can I have this?" he asked, holding a simple gold cross on a chain about the size of his hand, Jehan nodding in response.
"Food for thought, Jehan," Frollo interjected. "If this does indeed turn out to be an unlawful business that you are a part of, remember that you will not only have to answer to me, but also to your higher power: He who made man's mouth and sight, and can just as easily take it away, just as I can take away your life."
Jehan ignored Frollo's threatening, stone-like expression. "I know, I know—I've heard it all before. Now, since you both have picked your winnings I have to get back to work, so I will see you later!" Jehan swept the rest of his riches back into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Enjoy!" As the Minister and Quasimodo watched as Jehan strode off, Frollo not quite convinced of what his brother told him.
"So where do you think Jehan works, Master?" Quasimodo inquired, less suspecting than the judge, hand clutching the golden ornament.
"An excellent question, given that he has limited education and skill. Unfortunately, I cannot say but if there's any hope, it is nothing questionable. At this rate he'll need more than confession to atone for his deeds."
X
"What do you propose we do about the dungeons, Minister?" The Captain once again stood in the center of the judge's study late one evening, inquiring about the further course of action to be taken. "The gypsies who weren't exiled to the outskirts have been arrested, but now the dungeons are vastly overcrowded."
"You needn't worry about something so trivial," Frollo nonchalantly answered, as he scribbled down the last few notes of the day. "I will see to it that every one of them is given a trial and proper punishment for their actions."
"Sir, it's not livable down there! There are too many people cramped in each cell, there's hardly any ventilation or light, and some of those people need immediate medical care. We must do something, quickly before there's an outbreak of sickness—or even violence!"
"All in good time, Captain. I will oversee such matters as soon as I can. Now, it is late so you may take your leave."
For a moment the Captain of the Guard just stood there, expression defiant against his leader. Frollo in turn looked up at the soldier, hissing out a commanding and warning, "Good day, Captain." With that, the man reluctantly turned and exited the judge's study.
Frollo rose from his seat, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his arms forward. Relieved to be done with the monotonous work of the day, he strode over to one of the nearby bookcases and taking a thick volume form it. He flipped through the pages of the little dated but still interesting Travels of Marco Polo, seating himself back into his desk chair.
A few minutes later a knock at the door roused the Minister from his reading. "Enter," he ordered, marking his place in the book and setting it down.
The young valet entered, bowing respectfully. "Minister Frollo, a message has arrived."
Frollo took the scroll and sent the boy away, eyes skimming through the document. A message from the Bishop of Orleans: An academic conference to be held at the University of Orleans, he read, eyebrows rising. It had been quite a while since the judge had attended such an event, the last few years having been more hectic than necessary, in doing so, preventing him from participating.
Frollo pondered it momentarily. To escape the grueling demands of his everyday duties in exchange for some invigorating, educated discussions with his fellow learned men would certainly serve for a much needed break. To gather with his peers and discuss law, theology, politics, medicine—it was not as simple to find someone discuss such subjects with in Paris.
The Captain can handle things on his own, Quasimodo will be fine, and Jehan has his own affairs to see to, he mused optimistically. Why not take a trip to Orleans? The date indicated that the gathering was to take place in just a few days, plenty of time to plan.
x
"A/n: Did I ever mention that I always envisioned Jehan being voiced by Jason Marsden? Just my opinion. Also, I barely realized how much violence is in my story, so maybe that's grounds for upping the rating. As you can see, Frollo's really looking for more excuses to make life more miserable for gypsies. And concerning the ring, I'm using the book "Frollo Meets His Match" as a reference because, just saying, it looked way different than in the movie. So...artistic license! Plus I thought I'd mention Gringoire, even though he wasn't my favorite NDdP character.
But what is this? Jehan's come into some money...Frollo's constantly arguing with his Captain...Let's see what happens! But first, off to Orleans!
Btw, I'm considering rewriting my last story, "Little Boy Frollo." Thoughts? Opinions? R/R! And thank you for all the encouraging reviews that keep me writing!