- Is he gone? - Esmeralda whispered, with her back still pressed against the wooden wall.
- Yes, miss. - Pat reassured her.
She came out of her hiding spot, just in time to see the judge's back as he walked away through the courtyard.
However, she didn't see Frollo's face as it bursted with relief. He had come down to the stables after the servants had informed him that Esmeralda hadn't spent the night at her chambers and hadn't been seen anywhere in the Palace. He intended to take his horse and search the whole city until he found her. He didn't have anything else to say about their discussion last night, but he was worried about Clopin's threat. Though he was pretty sure that the gypsy wouldn't hurt her, Clopin had sounded very confident when he stated that he didn't want to see any of them around anymore, so Frollo figured it was best to give her a warning. He didn't trust the gypsy's methods of impulsive justice.
However, when he got to the stables, he found Pat awfully restless, and his nervous smile when they spoke didn't conceal the fact that his face was brightly red. Frollo was about to ask him what was going on, when something clicked in his brain. He was a clever man, and he understood almost immediately that Esmeralda must have gone to him in search for shelter, for she probably knew better than to approach the Court of Miracles without a warning. Besides, he knew it wouldn't be the first night the gypsy had spent at the stables.
When he realized she ought to be there, hiding somewhere, his heart felt a tiny bit lighter. At least now he knew she was safe. He knew this wouldn't be a permanent solution, but he wished she would choose to stay there at least long enough so he could approach her and warn her about Clopin. But he was pretty sure that she would run away immediately if he tried to do so now, so he pretended not to notice Pat's evident nervousness, and just instructed the lad to have his horse ready after breakfast, for he was taking him for a whole day out in the city. He made sure to announce his plans loud enough so Esmeralda could hear and hopefully, she would choose to remain there for the day, knowing that he wouldn't be around.
- Do you think he suspected anything? - Esmeralda anxiously asked the stable boy.
- I don't think so, miss. He just asked me to…
- I know, I heard. - she interrupted him with a weak smile.
- That means you can stay here today, miss.
- I don't know… - she hesitated.
But she truly had nowhere else to go. As long as Frollo didn't know she was there, it was the safest place she could think of.
- Well, if I'm going to stay, you should put me to work. The least I can do is help you.
- Oh, miss, you don't have to! - Pat quickly reassured her.
- I want to. It will help me stay distracted from… - her voice faded as she failed to pronounce the next words.
- Do you want to talk about it? - Pat offered, though he was pretty sure of what her answer would be.
- No. - Esmeralda shook her head, attempting another smile. - Let's not think about that now. Tell me what I can do!
The truth was, Frollo had actually nothing to do. It was a Saturday and he had no judge duties. But he had said that he would be spending the day out, and he had even made his servants prepare him some food to carry, so he had no choice but to leave until sunset.
He rode his horse outside the city, along the river. He entered the forest, which was all humid from the previous night's rain. He would have noticed the wet earth scent, or the medicinal smell from the herbs by the riverside. He would have noticed how the timid sun was making the tiny drops hanging from the leaves shine. He would have noticed the hopeful and grateful bird songs after the storm. But he was completely unable to notice any of this, because all he could think of was that dreadful night.
He had been riding that same horse, though back then it was barely a young stud, thinner and faster. It was a cold winter night, and the snow was falling heavily, covering the streets and buildings. He was patrolling the river banks with a bunch of his soldiers, for he had been warned by an informant that a group of gypsies were planning on entering the city illegaly that very night.
The soldiers were waiting by the docks, while he was standing out of sight, vigilant. Around midnight, the sound of hushed voices and a rowing in the water alerted them of the gypsies arrival.
Soon, his soldiers had surrounded the three criminals, two men and a woman. But when he had ordered that they took them to the palace of justice, the woman had tried to resist, holding onto a bundle that she was pressing against her chest.
In that moment, the memory of another night, buried long ago, emerged in Frollo's mind. He almost felt the sharp pain of his nose as it bled broken, while the old gypsy woman held onto the bag that contained all he had left, and tossed him a flask of urine to cure his parents plague.
He was then sure that the package the gypsy girl was carrying ought to be something they had stolen, and he ordered his soldiers to take it from her at once.
But she ran.
So he spurred his horse and raced after her forgetting all about the rest. A blinding rage was taking over his entire being, and suddenly trapping the thief became a personal matter, as if he was chasing the ones that had assaulted him when he was just a child, only now he was finally in the powerful position. It was time for justice.
The gypsy stalled him by running into an alley, but then she raced towards the open space at the cathedral's feet. It was his chance.
He reached down to grab the bundle, but the woman held onto it with all her strength. But he was no longer a defenseless child. Now, he was stronger. He kicked her away with her foot, and she slipped in the ice over the steps and fell head first to the ground.
Frollo heard the crack of her neck as it snapped broken, killing her instantly. But he didn't even had the time to process it, for all his attention was set on finding out what he had managed to retrieve from the thief's hands. He knew rationally that it could be anything, but in his altered state, somehow he expected to see the stolen bag containing his gold coins and the couple family heirlooms that his younger self had thrown into it, to make sure it was worth enough to pay for the gypsy's cure.
But, to his dread, his bag wasn't there. In fact, no stolen goods were.
It was a baby.
He heard the cry and for a second, his heart stopped. But before he could begin to understand what was going on, he uncovered the baby's face to find a misshapen creature inside, twisting and screaming. That was no baby! It was a monster! He had never believed in witches tales of evil spirits and so on, but on that horrible, haunted night everything seemed suddenly possible.
He looked around, searching for an answer to his terror, and then he saw the well. Whatever that demon was, it was probably susceptible to drowning. So he pointed his horse to the well, but a yell stopped him once again.
The archdeacon of Notre Dame had witnessed the whole scene, and was demanding an explanation. Frollo tried to explain what had happened, that the gypsy had run away from the soldiers so he had been forced to chase her. That he was carrying an unholy demon and intended to send it back to hell.
But the archdeacon's accusing tone made him slowly fall back into reality, releasing him from the vengeance and fear spell he had cast upon himself.
Only then, looking down on the dead woman and the screaming baby he was still holding, he realized what he had done.
A layer of cold sweat covered his face as he looked up at the thousand stone eyes that stared at him from Notre Dame's walls.
- What must I do? - he asked the archdeacon, swallowing hard, terrified of the magnitude of his acts and its consequences.
The priest instructed him to adopt the baby as if he was his own. Frollo had never in a million years envisioned himself as a father, but he understood that it was the right thing to do. And he trusted that God's ways, however ineffable they were, would work out eventually for his own good.
So that's what he did. He adopted Quasimodo, though very reluctantly at first.
He also took confession with the archdeacon, though he did it for the sole purpose of forcing his silence, since the priest was obliged to maintain the confession's confidentiality.
He knew that priests could make an exception if a crime had been committed, but in this case, he was also the main justice authority in Paris, so the archdeacon had no one else to report his crime to.
A few years went by, and Frollo rarely thought of that night again. He was very busy, taking care of the city and securing his position, earning the king's favor. Though now and then something would remind him of that event, he would discard the thought quickly, convinced that he had done the only thing he could do, what was expected from him as an officer of the law, chasing after a criminal.
However, when baby Quasimodo turned into a young child, Frollo found himself developing certain affection for him. It was mainly based on pity, since his deformity was so obvious that Frollo knew he would never be able to have a normal life. Frollo had tried once to take him to school, with disastrous consequences. So the judge decided that he would educate Quasimodo himself, and make sure he had everything he needed brought to him, so he wouldn't have to leave the tower. The boy asked no questions about his secluded life in the cathedral, for he didn't knew any other way to exist in the world. Frollo's desire to protect the boy reconnected him with the urge he had had to keep his little brother safe when they were children, and he found himself remembering a part of him he had repressed long ago. The caring, protective side of his heart.
He realized this was a chance to finally have someone to whom he could teach his vision of the world, someone that would listen to what he had to say. And somehow this made him feel less lonely, for even if Quasimodo was just a child, it no longer felt like he was completely alone against the world.
It was around that time that Quasimodo asked about his parents for the first time. He had heard people talking in the cathedral about the mother of God, so one day he asked Frollo what a mother was. Frollo tried to give him a simple, brief explanation, suitable to his age, but the boy's mind was overflowing with questions.
He was way too young by then to even consider telling him the truth, so Frollo lied without second thought. He told him he had found him abandoned at Notre Dame's steps one winter night, and chosen to adopt him. He said he didn't knew who his parents were. And of course, the boy believed him.
Frollo didn't give it much thought back then. Lying to him was the right thing to do, the same way that chasing after his mother had been the right thing to do. It was an unfortunate circumstance that the right thing to do wasn't always easy or comfortable, but nothing more.
However, by the time Quasimodo was a teenager, something else changed in Frollo's life. One day, returning home from a journey, he stopped to get some water at a local farm, and he found a widower and his son, whom the man was mistreating badly. Frollo decided to take the boy back home with him, and he became his guardian. Once again, without planning it in advance, he found himself developing affection for a child, and feeling protective of him. Patrice's sweet and cheerful temper easily made its way to Frollo's heart, softening it even if just a little.
Maybe it was that crack in his inner walls, or maybe it was just time finally catching up to him, but Frollo started having nightmares about the night Quasimodo's mother had died. The scene kept replaying in his mind at night, and he began to feel restless during the day as well, struggling to distract himself from those dark thoughts.
One evening, sixteen-year-old Quasimodo asked him again about his parents. He knew he had been abandoned at birth, but he wanted to know every detail Frollo could remember.
This time, the judge did consider telling the truth for a second. But it was too late for that. He had grown to care too much about Quasimodo, and wasn't willing to hurt him so. Telling him would only break the boy's heart, and it wouldn't change the past. So he made up a detailed story about how he had found a bundle in the snow, containing a crying baby, and he assured him again that he didn't know who his parents were. He just told him they were gypsies, which was also convenient to help him explain his own distrust for their kind.
Once again, Quasimodo accepted this story and believed Frollo's words. He never brought it up again.
But the lying and the guilt were eating away at the judge. Something had changed within him during the years, and he no longer believed that his actions had been justified. Granted, he had thought he was chasing a criminal. But she turned out to be just a terrified mother, and that was the life he had severed. He couldn't forgive himself, but he couldn't do anything to fix it either. So he went to the only person he could spoke about it.
The archdeacon comforted him, secretly glad that he was finally showing signs of true remorse. Frollo asked for a confession again, and this time he let his whole guard down and revealed his true anguish to the priest, sheltered by the obligation of confidentiality. The archdeacon absolved him again, and told him that God had cleaned his slate. This soothed Frollo's tormented heart, and the judge chose to rewrite his own narrative. He told himself the same story he had told Quasimodo, and he did it with such conviction that he ended up believing it. The boy had been abandoned and he had adopted him. He was a good man. From that day on, every time he spoke about that story, either with Quasimodo or with himself in his inner dialogue, that was the version he recalled.
What a fool he had been, actually believing that he was forgiven, that it was as simple as convincing himself of a fake story.
It was crystal clear to him now that he had never been given a clean slate. The weight of his sin had just been patiently waiting the right moment to drop on him and crush him for good. Just when he had finally allowed himself to open his heart and soul to another human being.
And what now? There was nothing left to say or do.
He made a choice.
He would wait a few days for the opportunity to face Esmeralda again, and then, if she was merciful enough to allow him the chance, he would warn her about Clopin's threat so she would be careful not to show up at the Court of Miracles.
He would also write Quasimodo a letter explaining the whole situation and apologizing as well.
And then, he would kill himself.
If there was an eternity of doom awaiting him, there was no point in delaying it anymore.