A/N: Well, looks like I was able to post after all! Hello again, dear reader, and welcome back to the story. Once again, thank you for all your comments and reviews - As always, they keep my spirits up!
A quick note before we begin: As a history major, I feel the need to address a historical inaccuracy I committed last chapter - I made it clear that Sancha's claim to sanctuary only lasted about forty days. Despite Quasimodo saying clearly in the movie that Esmeralda could stay at Notre Dame forever because "[she] has sanctuary", I assumed this was either a misstep on Disney's part, or Quasimodo was mistaken about late medieval ecclesiastic law (as I had learned in class that there was a time limit on this kind of immunity). Well, as it turns out, the forty days rule only applied to England; France did not regulate their sanctuary laws as strictly.
Unfortunately, I already wove the forty days stipulation into the narrative, so we're going to continue with it... Just know, dear readers, that I was the one who made a mistake, and not the character who lived his entire life in an ecclesiastic institution during the Middle Ages.
Chapter Fourteen
"Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna"
'Sanctuary', The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Quasimodo struggled against the ropes that bound his wrists, trying in vain to find a way to break them without Tavera's men noticing. The rough fibres dug into his skin, and he bit down hard on the scarf that had been tied around his mouth. The slight movement drew the attention of the guards, and the younger of the two pressed the tip of his sword against his neck. The bell ringer stopped struggling and turned his worried gaze on Tavera, who was shouting something up to the North tower in Spanish.
It had all happened so fast. He had been on his way home when he ran into Esmeralda. She was returning to the caravans, but had beckoned him into an alleyway to share her idea of hiding Sancha in the old Court of Miracles once her claim to sanctuary expired. They had been alone and spoke in hushed voices.
"The old Court of Miracles could work, but we'd have to coordinate a time and meeting place before the last day," Quasimodo had told her.
Esmeralda agreed. "And maybe you should sneak her out before the due date. On the fortieth day, Tavera might come looking for her. I'll let Phoebus and the others know, too. I'm sure they'll have some ideas."
The idea of hiding Sancha in a place with such a tragic history made Quasimodo a little nervous, but he couldn't deny the plan was their best shot. He and Esmeralda had parted with a hug and well wishes, and no sooner had he turned the corner to go home was he stopped by a tall, imposing figure in a red habit.
Quasimodo could only guess that Tavera or one of his men had seen him and Esmeralda talking and knew they were planning something. He never got the chance to ask; as soon as he realized who stood in his way, Quasimodo had been accosted by two soldiers, bound, and informed that he was being arrested under suspicion of helping "the murderess" Sancha Bat Avram.
Quasimodo had been frightened, but not nearly as scared as he was now. Apart from the horrible sense of déjà vu he was experiencing, he finally understood why the cardinal had taken him. It wasn't for an interrogation, as he initially thought; Tavera was using him as bait.
With a sigh, Quasimodo hung his head and closed his eyes, finding brief solace in the darkness.
Whatever you do, Sancha, stay put, he pleaded silently. Please, please, stay inside…
XXX
Sancha couldn't speak. She clapped both hands over her mouth, choking back sobs, as Tavera grinned ghoulishly up at the bell towers. The girl could have sworn he was able to see her from his vantage point, as his gaze had somehow found hers and held her immobile.
"Buenas tardes, señorita," he called. "I regret to inform you that your pet hunchback was caught conspiring with a gitana against my men and myself, and therefore, against the Spanish Crown."
Marguerite was trying to say something, but all Sancha could hear was Tavera's clear and methodical oration.
"As such, I have half a mind to bring him to the Palace of Justice for questioning. Minister du Chastel has granted me such permissions, and I thought I would do you the courtesy of informing you."
"No…" Sancha's gaze shifted to rest on the bell ringer's kneeling form, fiery red bangs hiding his eyes as he bowed his head. "Quasimodo…"
"Alas, I know your race is partial to good bargains," Tavera continued, "so allow me to proposition one: Come down here and end this, and I won't arrest him. Stay up there if you like, little Jewess, but know this may be your last chance to look upon his twisted countenance again. The choice is yours."
A gust of wind dashed through the bell tower and whipped at her hair. Sancha exhaled with the breeze, two tears racing down her cheeks. In the silence that followed, she finally heard Marguerite in her ear.
"What's going on, girl? What is he saying?"
"He…" Sancha swallowed down the wave of nausea rising in her throat. "He has Quasimodo…"
"I can see that," Marguerite snapped impatiently. "What does he want?"
Tavera continued to hold Sancha's gaze from his place in the square, and her entire body grew cold. Hardly hearing herself, she answered, "He will arrest him if I do not leave the church…"
Marguerite blinked, looking from her shell-shocked granddaughter to the square below. Briefly, the woman wondered where the night watch was and if they could do anything about this nonsense.
"What does he honestly expect will happen? Your bell ringer hasn't committed any crime." Marguerite sighed and shook her head with annoyance. "Sit tight, young lady. The hunchback will be released as soon as Minister du Chastel – "
"No," Sancha muttered. "No, he won't be released. You don't know what it is that Tavera is known for. Once he has arrested someone, they either become informants or they die." She looked up at her grandmother, tears and horror shimmering in her large, dark eyes. "And Quasimodo will never tell him a word on me."
Marguerite stared at her for a beat. "Well you're certainly not going to go out there, are you?"
Sancha didn't answer. Instead, her gaze wandered back to the window, and Tavera's distant shout of "I'm waiting" rose up into the night. Marguerite grabbed the young woman by the arm, her fingers digging into her sleeve.
"Are you?"
The girl stared down at the square, her breathing silent and her face vacant. When she finally looked back at the older woman, her entire face was pale, giving her haunted eyes a particularly hollowed-out look.
"Madame," she said quietly. "I will not see anyone else I love die in this lifetime."
Marguerite gaped. "Don't you dare – "
"If I do not leave this place," Sancha continued slowly, "he is going to die, and it will be my fault."
"You idiot girl," Marguerite snarled. She shoved Sancha's arm away and pointed out the window. "Don't you understand what's going on? If you walk out there, you will die. You're being lured out!"
"I know." Sancha looked down at her hands, gently touching the polished emerald in her golden ring. "But it is the only way to ensure Quasimodo's safety. If Tavera does to him what he has done to my mother…" Sancha trailed off and drew in a deep breath. She looked as if she was going to be sick.
"Sancha…" Marguerite grabbed the young woman's shoulders and bent to look at her. Sancha was surprised to look up and see her grandmother's eyes were once again shiny with unshed tears. "Do not go out there. You're the last… You're the only thing left of Jeanne that I have. I'm ordering you, as both your superior and your grandmother, to obey me and stay in here."
Sancha bit down on her lip, the protectiveness numbness that enshrouded her heart threatening to crack. The noblewoman's eyes reminded her too much of her mother's, and in a disturbing moment of lucidity, Sancha realized they both looked similar when they were panicking.
Still, she had not forgotten that the man she loved was out in the square on borrowed time. As she stared into her grandmother's eyes, she was reminded of her mother's sacrifice. Finally, she understood what it meant to love someone so much she would do anything to make sure they would not be hurt. Personal safety be damned; if she had to live the rest of her life knowing Quasimodo had been a sacrificial lamb for the Inquisition, she would never sleep again.
"I'm sorry, madame" she said in a hoarse whisper. "But I cannot obey. If my mother taught me anything, it was that we all must take our own paths in this life."
With that, Sancha stood on her tiptoes and gave Marguerite a kiss on the cheek. Then, she gently removed her hands from her shoulders and hurried towards the staircase, unable to look the old woman in the eye.
As Sancha climbed down, she silently prayed to whoever was listening that the Marguerite would forgive her. Perhaps it was selfish to rob the lady of her last female descendant, but allowing a mass murderer to rob her of the man she loved was unacceptable. And, as Sancha entered the church, she hoped that she had not taken too much time in making her decision.
The cathedral was quiet and sombre, the pillars standing guard as Sancha moved down the aisle. She barely heard her footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling, only watching as the heavy double doors drew nearer. Her stomach roiled with nerves, and she swallowed down hard. If she was going to be ill, she could at least do it on Tavera's shoes and not in what she had come to recognize as her own foyer.
Too soon, her hands came to rest on the cool iron handles of the doors. With a glance over her shoulder, she silently thanked Notre Dame for sheltering her and affording her the opportunity to meet Quasimodo. Nothing in the church moved, but Sancha couldn't help but imagine the air around her lifting, almost as if some unseen entity had bestowed her with a kind smile.
With that, Sancha turned back to the doors, drew in a deep breath, and pushed them open.
XXX
Quasimodo's heart dropped when the groan of the cathedral doors echoed through the empty square. He jerked his head up to see Sancha's terrified face peaking out of the church. For a moment, she stayed there, and he genuinely thought she was only peering out to see what was going on.
But, then she emerged in full, and Quasimodo immediately tried to struggle free. The guard jabbed him again with his sword.
"¡Cálmate!"* he barked.
What is she doing? Quasimodo wondered.
"Ah, finally! The lady graces us with her presence!" Tavera said over his shoulder in French.
Sancha squared her shoulders as the cardinal approached her, chin raised and lips trembling. "If I go with you, will you promise to release Quasimodo?"
What are you doing, Sancha?!
Tavera stopped and bowed his head, spreading his arms in a gesture of humility. "By all the saints that guard Notre Dame, I swear to let him go. I made a deal, did I not? I only expect you to hold up your end of the bargain."
A tense moment passed where no one spoke. Quasimodo watched with mounting horror as Sancha glanced over at him, her eyes wide and eerily glassy. "Will you let me say goodbye?" she asked Tavera.
The inquisitor shrugged and waved his hand as he turned from her. "I'll allow it, but don't take all night. It's a long journey back to Spain."
As he walked towards the prisoner carriage, Tavera shot off a few commands in Spanish, and suddenly Quasimodo was relieved of both the sword at his throat and the scarf around his mouth. One of the guards went to join Tavera by the carriage, and the other stepped aside and Sancha ran over to Quasimodo. She dropped down to her knees before him, her pallid face inches from his.
"I don't want you worry, mi alma," she said breathlessly. "Everything will be all right."
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, fighting to control his voice. "Go back inside, please, before they…"
Sancha sniffed and shook her head as she brushed his bangs from his eyes. "I cannot do that. If I return, they will take your life, and I cannot let that happen."
The mask of calm she wore began to crumble, tears spilling onto her cheeks and her mouth pressing shut to repress a sob. Words failed him. Confronted by her frightened eyes and the restraints around his body, Quasimodo was taken back to another time not long ago, where he watched on in horror as someone else he cared for chose death over the alternative.
"No, please…" he moaned.
Sancha bit down on her lip as the sob escaped, and she reached for his shoulders.
"Quasimodo, I want you to know…" She smiled, and though it was twisted with pain, it was genuine. "You made me so happy. I don't want you to ever forget that."
She tipped forward and planted a soft, sincere kiss on his lips. "I love you – "
"All right, that's enough." Tavera's voice barked from on high. "You're making me sick."
And in an instant, the squire had Sancha by the elbows. He hauled her up and away from Quasimodo, dragging her to the prisoner carriage. Her hands, her lips, and her warmth left the bell ringer, along with his last shred of self-control.
"SANCHA!"
The snap of a rope shot through the square, and Quasimodo might have felt a sharp pain in his wrists as he pulled his bindings loose, had it not been for the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The guards cried out in surprise and lunged for him, but with a well-timed duck and a powerful shove, the bell ringer sent both Diego and Gomez toppling over each other and onto the ground.
Quasimodo ran as fast as he could towards the prisoner carriage, where Juan was attempting to force Sancha into the cage. Tavera shouted something in Spanish and leapt from his seat at the front of the vehicle. Sancha, realizing what Quasimodo was doing, tangled her legs with the squire's and heeled him in the apex of his thighs. With a cry, the young man crumpled to the ground, and Sancha ran to Quasimodo.
Tavera came around the other side of the carriage and reached for her. But, before he could so much as graze her shoulder, Quasimodo grabbed Sancha, swept her off her feet, and took off in the opposite direction of Notre Dame. Sancha looped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, gathering fistfuls of his tunic in her hands.
"Don't let go," Quasimodo told her as he shifted her weight. They were approaching a shopfront, where a loose awning rope waited for them. As long as Sancha dropped her legs when he let his left arm go, he should have been able to climb up with her.
His estimation was correct. With Sancha hanging on parallel to him, Quasimodo was able to climb up the rope and reach the awning. Shifting Sancha's weight again, he leapt up to the roof, using the gables as leverage, and dashed off over the uneven tiles with her. Tavera was left screaming below in their wake.
Leaping from roof to roof, Quasimodo ran as fast as he could through the city. Sancha, positioned once again in a bridal-style hold, clung to him for dear life. She buried her face in his shoulder, praying to whoever was listening that the light of the full moon would be enough to guide them safely away from the Inquisition. She had no idea why they were going away from the sanctuary, but she was too shaken to ask. Instead, she held her breath and braced herself for the next big jump.
XXX
Tavera pulled at his hair and bellowed like an enraged bull. He marched over to Juan and yanked him up off the ground, ignoring the greenish pallor in the youth's face.
"¡Pendejo!" he snarled. "You let her escape again! Some knight you'll make, who can't even handle one stupid woman."
He threw the squire back against the carriage and turned to see a shaken Gomez helping Diego to his feet.
"And you two," Tavera shouted, spit flying from his lips. "Are you not trained soldiers?!"
"Sir, the hunchback is stronger than any man I've ever known," Gomez stammered. Tavera thought he might throttle the man.
"I won't entertain any excuses," the cardinal raged, shoving his subordinate. "Get out there and find her – Now!"
With a rueful look, Gomez muttered, "Yes, sir", and departed with Diego, who had been shamed into an embarrassed silence. When they were gone, Tavera rushed over to the carriage and tore at the straps of the horse's harness.
"Your Eminence?" Juan began weakly, peeking around the side of the cage. Tavera said nothing as he pushed past the squire, opened the lower compartment of the carriage, and produced the youth's own training sword. Without a word, he buckled the sheath around his waist.
"Guard the carriage," Tavera ordered as he mounted the newly freed horse. Ignoring Juan's half-formed protests, the cardinal dug his heels into his steed's sides and took off at a gallop. He didn't even spare the bewildered archdeacon a passing glance, who had emerged from the cathedral to investigate the commotion.
With only moonlight to guide him, Tavera surged through the streets of Paris, his teeth grinding together as he scanned the rooftops for a misshapen silhouette.
I will find her, and I will kill her myself, he silently vowed, if it's the last thing I do on this earth.
*¡Cálmate!" : "Calm down!"
As I'm sure you can tell, dear reader, we're reaching the climax of the story. There are only a few chapters left, which makes me a little sad, but I'm also very excited to share them with you.
That being said, better strap in, kids - We're descending from gothic romance into gothic horror very soon! But that's all I'll say on the matter for now ;)
Thank you for reading!
