Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any characters from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I do own Galor, Gitana, Celie, Latimer, Eskarne, or Dartagnan.
It was dead quiet in a small village near the outskirts of Paris, France. Eight year old Gitania Aurelia and six year old Celie Aurelia lay asleep in the back of their family's wagon. Latimer and Eskarne Aurelia whispered amongst themselves near the front. The shadows played among the two, slipping inside through the partially open door. Every so often the couple would stop and look outside, as to make sure there was no one else around.
"Eskarne, relax. Everything is fine. Judge Frollo cannot capture us out here. We are not in Paris, there is nothing to fear. I promise," Latimer said and smiled down at his wife of ten years. Eskarne smiled back up at him with a look of feigned reassurance on her face. While she was gazing at his aging face, she couldn't help but notice the increased number of wrinkles he had. His black eyes were surrounded by creases, and even his black hair was graying, despite his balding.
"I know, I know. But no matter where we go, I'll always be afraid of Frollo or his guards arresting us. And the children..." Eskarne trailed off, lost in thoughts and memories of Frollo burning her mother and father at the stake after a false accusation of murdering his niece. Tears welled up in her eyes and Latimer pulled her into his arms.
"You're thinking about your parents again, aren't you?" he asked while stroking his wife's hair.
"They're always on my mind. I can barely even remember them. The only thing that comes back to my mind is my mother's last words to me, she told me to return to the Court of Miracles with her future-grandchildren. She didn't want our daughters to be raised in a caravan. I don't blame her. Gitana and Celie haven't had the chance to make a single friend. They belong with our people, and for them I am prepared to return to Paris, to return to the Court of Miracles. I just hope that Dartagnan Trouillefou is still the King of the Court," Eskarne's eyes glittered as she recalled memories of life in the Court from when she was a child.
"You know, you never did tell me how you ended up moving from Spain to France," noted Latimer, who had been born and raised a French gypsy.
"Well, my mother was a Spanish gypsy, and my father was half gadje-half gyspy. I was conceived a week before they were to be married to one another. My mama's family found out and disowned her, because as you know, it's a terrible dishonor to be with child before you are married. My papa had always wanted to see the world, so they decided to travel with a passing caravan. I was born while the caravan was passing through Greece, and my mama missed her family terribly so she begged my father to take her back to Spain. He agreed, because he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, even though he knew my grandpere would not see her. My mama was heartbroken after her papa turned her away. My parents walked towards the west to try to find a shelter or a passing caravan to join, luckily, they succeeded in finding one. In fact, it was Dartagnan Trouillefou's father's caravan. They took pity on my parents and told them they would bring them to a place where any gypsy could call home. That is how I, and my parents, happened to live in the Court of Miracles for the first thirty years of my life," explained Eskarne with tears in her eyes from reliving her earliest memories.
"That must have been awful for them. At least nothing like that had to happen to us," sighed Latimer, wiping away his wife's tears. The couple sat in the surrounding silence, staring out the door, as if captivated by the arrangement of trees and rocks. Eskarne pointed to a rabbit near the edge of the woods. Latimer quietly jumped out of the caravan, making sure as not to scare the creature away. Suddenly, the rabbit turned and looked off into the distance, an urgent expression in it's small eyes, and with that it darted off into the woods. After this display of fright Latimer decided to listen quietly to see if someone was coming. A mask of fright plastered itself onto his face as he jumped back into the wagon.
"Horses. Two of them. They're coming from the direction Paris is in, so I'm assuming they're Frollo's guards," he stopped when he saw the look of fright on his wife's face. "Don't be scared. Wake the children."
Latimer took another look out the door and jumped back down from the wagon. Eskarne handed him little Celie, and with his other hand he helped his wife out of the wagon, who held Gitana in her arms. The tall gypsy man signaled for Eskarne to follow him into the woods with their eldest daughter.
"I want you to go deeper in with our children," he whispered as he handed the half asleep Celie to his frightened wife.
"Latimer, I won't leave you to the same fate my parents had!" exclaimed the shorter female gypsy.
"I'll be alright, I promise. Now, please, just do as I say. If not for me, do it for the children. S'il vous plait," Latimer requested, knowing she would oblige as she did everytime he accented his French.
Tears welled in Eskarne's eyes as she kissed her husband and retreated deeper into the woods. From behind she could hear the horsemen approach and begin to talk to Latimer. She turned to see what was going on as the guards raised their voices. Her stomach lurched as the shorter of the two guards beheaded her beloved husband right before her very eyes. A small sob escaped her lips and the guards turned their attention to the grove of trees where the three remaining gypsies were hiding.
Fear overtook Eskarne and she ran, Celie in her arms, Gitana's hand in hers. She stopped behind a tree to whisper to Gitana, "Mama loves you Gitana. Papa loved you too. If I don't see you when the guards are gone, I want you to stay here. Stay here until the sun comes up then run. Run to Paris. Find another gypsy and ask them how to get to the Court of Miracles," these words only caused Gitana to start crying, but she nodded in obedience nonetheless. Eskarne pulled her into a tight hug, then ran, leaving her there in the safe hiding spot, so as to draw attention away from her.
All of a sudden Eskarne felt a sharp tug on her arm. With a wrench of her body she was mere inches away from the face of Frollo's guard.
"You're under arrest, gypsy witch!" spat the guard.
"For what?" she spat back haughtily.
"Witchcraft, as said by Judge Frollo, all gypsies out past curfew practice their witchcraft, and are to be put under arrest and delivered to the Palais du Justice," replied the guard that had beheaded Latimer.
"The only witchraft here is that of which your esteemed Judge Frollo has played on your minds," whispered Eskarne menacingly. She caught out of the corner of her eye Gitana coming towards her and a look of fear washed over her face.
"Now you're scared. And you should be. Jacques, you know what Frollo wants us to do with those who don't cooperate," and with that, Jacques pushed Eskarne to the ground and slit her throat, the force of the blade also making a cut on Gitana's side. Gitana fell to the ground in pain, not saying a word, just listening to the sick laughter of the guard's and to the crying of Celie. She felt a slight kick to her body, undoubtedly for the guard's to be sure she was dead. A wave of dizziness passed over the eight year old, and in her last moments of consciousness she heard her younger sister's cries grow further and further away.
