A/N: Welcome to another chapter, dear reader. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - It really made my day!
Before we get on with the story, allow me to make a quick disclaimer. I know you, dear reader, are an intelligent and logical person, but I still feel compelled to put this out there: For the love of all that is holy (and not), please don't take anything in this chapter as medical advice. Should you or someone you know ever find yourself in a similar situation as Sancha in this chapter, go see a 21st century doctor who has had almost a decade of training and centuries of improved medical practice behind them.
Disclaimer over - On with the story!
Chapter Eleven
"Que sons bons els blaus dels qui s'estimen"*
'Shir Nashir', A Sephardic folk song
Sancha woke up with the sun on her face. She blinked her eyes open and shielded her gaze. The bell tower was flooded with soft morning light, illuminating the dust particles floating overhead.
The young woman rolled over and reached out, only to find she was alone in the bed. For a moment, she stared at the empty space on the palette and the rumpled blanket. Had everything last night been a dream?
Slowly, Sancha looked around her room. Her dress was discarded in a crumpled heap on her side of the bed. Her shoes lay on opposite ends of the platform, where she had haphazardly kicked them off last night. She had no idea where her chemise was, and she was almost scared to go looking for it.
Sancha sat up, letting the blanket pool around her bare hips. Sighing, she hugged her arms and let her mind wander back a few hours, when the moonlight and darkness courted each other, and time fell away to nothing. Her skin warmed with memories of being held, being touched, whispering words she never thought she'd say…
With a heavy sigh, she fell back onto the palette and stared up at the rafters. A now-familiar ache bloomed somewhere deep within her and spread down to her legs, reaching down to tickle her toes. Sancha closed her eyes and listened to one of last night's exchanges replay in her head.
"D-Did I hurt you?"
"No…" She had sighed the word, hardly aware she was speaking at all. "No, not at all."
Relief in his voice. "Oh, okay… Good…"
A smiled spread across Sancha's face as another memory surfaced.
"Sancha…"
"S- Y-Yes?"
She had become still, and calloused hands gripped her hips with a startling urgency.
"No, don't stop… Please…"
She didn't remember what was said after that, if anything at all. All she remembered was the warmth of his lips as they found hers in the darkness.
As these voices died down, another one amplified. It was unexpected, as it was neither hers or Quasimodo's, and she had not heard it in months: It was her mother.
"In a church? A church? Sancha Bat Avram, have you no shame? You're not even married yet!"
Sancha's eyes snapped open, her lust instantly evaporating. She reached down to her belly, where the blanket lay, and grabbed it. She intended to pull it up to her chin and cover herself, but after a moment's consideration, she left it where it was.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Sancha whispered in Ladino, "but this was my choice. If anyone has taught me that we can't always obey our parents, it was you."
And with that, Jeanne's angry voice fell silent. The girl laid there for a moment longer, with the sun on her chest and a grin on her face. Eventually, she found her chemise (it was half thrown over a broken icon of Saint Aphrodisius), shook out her dress, and retrieved her shoes. After pinning the curtain back and removing the candle wax from her ears, she made her way out of her room and into daylight.
She found Quasimodo outside, sitting on the balustrade between the two bell towers and looking contemplatively out at the city. He seemed so lost in thought he didn't hear Sancha approach. As she neared him, she crossed her arms and pretended to pout.
"Ay, now it is you who has run off on me," she murmured.
Quasimodo started slightly at the sound of her voice, but when he saw a smile threatening to break through her pout, he returned the look with a shy grin.
"I'm sorry," he said, and reached for her hand. "I had to get up for Matins, and I didn't want to disturb you."
"I barely heard the bells this morning," Sancha said as she settled down next to him. "You ought to be proud."
"Hm? Why?"
Sancha gave him a patient smile. "Because I was very tired."
A beat passed before the implication sunk in. Quasimodo blushed something furious and looked away from her. She giggled and linked her arm in his.
"I didn't intend to make fun," she said. "Don't feel embarrassed."
"I'm not," he insisted. "I just…"
He paused to collect his thoughts. His brow furrowed for a moment, but then his entire face softened, as if in mildly bewilderment. "I just thought… I never thought it'd happen to me."
Sancha frowned, her heart aching a little at these words. She wasn't at all surprised by this sentiment. His initial disbelief of her desire to sleep with him last night was telling enough. Nevertheless, knowing where these self-deprecating thoughts came from brought out a fierce sense of protectiveness in her. Willing it cool a little, she leaned her chin on his shoulder and squeezed his arm.
"I didn't know when my time would come either, or with who," she told him softly. "But it has happened with you, and I'm glad of it."
Slowly, Quasimodo met her gaze, and though the colour never left his cheeks, he seemed comforted. With a sheepish smile, he turned towards her and took both her hands.
"I'm glad too."
With that, Sancha closed the gap between them with a kiss, hoping the next time he came to bed with her would not be too far in the future –
Sancha broke off the kiss immediately, feeling as if someone had just kicked her off the ledge. She held onto Quasimodo for dear life as the balustrade swayed dangerously beneath her, looking past him as she remembered something very important.
Something she had completely forgotten about last night.
"¡Joder…!" she cursed under her breath.
"Sancha?" Quasimodo's voice sounded distant and muffled. "What's wrong?"
She blinked, his face coming back into focus. His eyes were wide with concern, and his lips were parted with an unvoiced question.
"I-I need to go to the apothecary," she stammered.
"Are you sick?" He pushed a few locks of her hair aside to feel her forehead.
"N-No, not quite. I just need to go right now. Before it's too late."
Without much more explanation, she hopped off the balustrade and rushed back the way she came. Quasimodo followed behind her as quickly as his bowed legs would carry him, and he watched her rush around the mezzanine, grabbing her cloak and questioning aloud where her satchel had gone. After a moment of this, he caught up to her in her bedroom, where she was strapping on her overshoes.
"Sancha, will you slow down and tell me what's wrong?" he pleaded, his voice gentle but earnest.
At the sound of his request, the girl seemed to come back to him a little and slowed to a halt before him in silence. Her right hand was balled into a fist, her thumb turning her emerald ring around her finger. She looked ready to run right past him, but Quasimodo refused to let himself believe she would. After everything they had talked about, after what they had done last night, he knew she wouldn't just leave him cold. He knew Sancha better than that.
"Listen," she said eventually, "I know it is not a good thing to speak about, but it is very, very important that I go to the apothecary before the day is out. I have only begun to start my life in Paris…"
She looked down at her shoes, a troubled frown pulling at her full lips. "I cannot become a mother yet. Do you not feel the same?"
The weight of her words hit Quasimodo like an errant bell. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind last night, let alone this morning. The shock quickly gave way to an acute sense of guilt, and he silently berated himself for putting Sancha (and to a lesser extent, himself) in such a compromising position. Although he was more than a little inexperienced with these matters, he told himself he should have known better.
Unsure of what to say, he only nodded. He stepped aside as Sancha hurried past him. She called over her shoulder, "I won't take long, promise."
She all but leapt off the mezzanine and disappeared from view. When she was gone, Quasimodo stood rooted to the floor for a moment, wringing his hands and bracing himself against the waves of guilt that washed over him in succession. How unfair was it that such a wonderful night could be followed by a morning filled with uncertainty and dread?
After a moment, he rubbed his faced in frustration and made a move towards the nearby rope. He had intended to start repairing one of the bells, when he heard a set of returning footsteps pounding up the stairs. He paused and turned around to see Sancha leap back up to the mezzanine. She rushed over to him, planted the forgotten goodbye kiss on his lips, and ran off again.
XXX
It was a warm day in Paris. The snow from last night had melted and created puddles in the street, which Sancha splashed through. She all but ran through the city, whipping her head about in search of the apothecary's sign. She thought about asking for directions, but embarrassment and stress killed the idea immediately.
Eventually, after running down the same street three times, she found what she was looking for. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the apothecary after she asked him for a specific medicine.
"Silphium?" The old, balding man furrowed his bushy brows at her. "Are you certain that's what you want?"
Swallowing down hard, Sancha nodded. There was no one else in the shop, and she was grateful for it; the apothecary's perplexed gaze was hard enough to deal with.
"Not even my master had silphium in his repertoire. It's long believed to have been harvested out of existence."
He eyed her for a tense moment. "May I ask what you need it for, mademoiselle? If it's an upset stomach, I can prescribe something else…"
"No, no," Sancha said, though the way her stomach lurched made her reconsider. "I… I will just go and… lie down. Thank you."
The girl turned and left the shop before the apothecary could respond. She watched her feet carry her down the road, her anxiety mounting and tightening in her chest. She could have sworn she once overheard her father discussing silphium with a pair of clients. Did Avram not say it was a powerful contraceptive herb? Sancha was starting to doubt her memory, as it had been a long time ago… Maybe silphium was unknown in France?
Maybe she would be fine, she told herself. Maybe this was all for nothing and she would remain as childless as she ever was
There again, her conscience whispered to her, maybe she wouldn't.
Sancha bit down on her lip, fighting with all her might to keep from crying in the street. She might really have shed a tear or two if she had not suddenly heard something that stopped her: Music.
Sancha followed the jaunty tune until she rounded the bend and found herself part of a small crowd. In the corner of the cul-de-sac, Esmeralda danced for coins, tambourine in hand and Djali prancing around her feet. The musician that accompanied her playing a shawm*, and despite her restlessness, Sancha made herself stay and watch. She even managed a smile when Esmeralda spotted her and winked.
When the song was over, and Esmeralda and her musician bowed, the onlookers threw their coins into an upturned hat and dispersed. Sancha fished in her satchel for a few sols* and approached Esmeralda when the crowd cleared.
"You are an amazing dancer," she said, holding out her coins. "It is not much, but this is for you."
Esmeralda closed Sancha's fingers over the sols. "Keep them," she said, not unkindly. "I saw you bent over someone else's linens on the Seine the other day. Consider this a free preview for what I'll be performing at the Festival of Fools."
"Oh. Thank you."
Sancha shifted her weight from foot to foot, her cheeks burning as she struggled to ask what needed to be asked. Esmeralda bent to look the girl in the eye, her arms crossed.
"What's wrong? You look like you want to say something."
Sancha stared at her feet, where she met Djali's questioning gaze as well. With a sigh, she muttered, "I need help."
Esmeralda cocked an eyebrow and waited silently for an explanation.
"I need a… Do you know… H-Have you ever heard of silphium?"
"No." Esmeralda's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What's that?"
"It's…" Sancha wanted nothing more than to disappear where she stood. She glanced over Esmeralda's shoulder to see her musician discreetly take his leave. She tried again.
"It is a thing for women to take when… I mean, after they… I need it to… for not to… become with a… child…"
Esmeralda's face softened as soon as Sancha whispered the last word, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. The younger woman looked down at her shoes, suddenly feeling ashamed of herself. She completely expected Esmeralda to recoil from her in horror for what she was asking, or perhaps even to scold her for what she did. Instead, a soft hand fell on her shoulder, and she looked up to see an empathetic warmth in the gypsy's green eyes.
"Don't worry," she said. "I think I've got something that can help you."
Esmeralda led Sancha down the road and into the town square, where caravans were parked amid the skeletons of festival tents. As the two women and the goat approached Esmeralda's caravan, Sancha noticed Phoebus was nowhere in sight. Although she was fond of the man, Sancha was glad for his absence this time.
Inside the dark, cramped wagon, Esmeralda pawed through a few shelves until she produced a small wooden box. Approaching Sancha, she lifted the lid, took Sancha's hand, and tipped out a few teardrop shaped leaves with softly serrated edges.
The girl squinted at the specimens in her palm. "What is it?"
"They're raspberry leaves."
Sancha had never heard of a "rasp-berry" before, but a larger question overshadowed her curiosity about foreign fruit. "What do I do with them?"
"That depends. Are you regular?"
"Sí…"
"Then wait until you miss your courses – if you do – and brew a tea with these leaves."
"And it will work?"
Esmeralda smiled patiently and placed her hands on Sancha's shoulders, which were raised like the hackles of a frightened dog. "It's worked for me every time. I'm confident enough to say you're going to be just fine."
The younger woman drew in a deep, calming breath and smiled in thanks. "You must now accept my sols, Esmeralda. How else may I thank you?"
"That's not necessary," the gypsy girl insisted. "You can take them. Phoebus and I have no more use for them."
"Ah! Congratulations!"
Esmeralda shook her head. "Hold your applause; there's no baby yet. Hopefully that will change soon… In any case, those leaves are yours now. And, don't look so guilty. You're not the first or last woman to deal with something like this. Just be careful, all right?"
"Yes, I will. Thank you so much, mi amiga."
Sancha gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to leave, when Esmeralda's voice stopped her.
"Sancha?"
The young woman glanced over her shoulder, her hand holding the caravan door ajar. Sunlight poured into the little room, lighting up Esmeralda's face, where a knowing smile tugged at her full lips.
"This isn't just your responsibility. Tell Quasimodo to be careful too."
Sancha's cheeks flared with a painful blush. "How did you…?"
"Venga ya, mija*," Esmeralda laughed. "Could there be anyone else?"
Despite the younger girl's embarrassment, the gypsy's good humour and frankness was contagious. Now armed with a solution to her problem and the reassurance of a friend, Sancha felt herself smiling too. After all, Esmeralda was right: There couldn't possibly be anyone else for her. And, Sancha hoped in a moment of silent wistfulness, there never would be.
* "Que sons bons els blaus dels qui s'estimen": "How lovely are bruises when they're given in love"
* shawm: A woodwind instrument similar to an oboe (in the Disney movie, it's what Esmeralda's musician was playing when Phoebus first saw her)
* sols: A unit of currency used in Western Europe during the Middle Ages
* "Venga ya, mija": "Come now, my girl"
I know this chapter might seem like a digression from the main plot, but I promise, there's a reason for this part in the story. You'll just have to keep reading to find out ;)
As always, thank you all for reading! More on the way...
