"Dear boy, if Theresa has committed a crime, then I will not help her. I prefer to remain out of the affairs of Gypsies and criminals."
"But Grandmother, she hasn't done anything! The Captain of the Guard made a false accusation, and now she's trapped in Notre Dame!"
His grandmother only shook her head, and Giovanni felt his heart sink. Helplessness and desperation engulfed him; it felt as though he was drowning. "Please," he said, "please, she's just a girl. She hasn't done anything wrong, and they're threatening to execute her – "
"Dear boy, how do you know she hasn't done anything? Were you with her in the marketplace? Did you see what happened?" Giovanni shook his head. "The Captain of the Guard would not have accused her falsely. He saw what she did and ordered her arrest. The fact that she fled from him only proves her guilt."
"No," he said, "she ran because she was frightened, because he was threatening her. She could never kill anyone – "
"She's a Gypsy, dear boy, surely you know what they're like. They lie and steal and murder. It's what they do. You've spent your whole life with them, surely you must know this."
"That isn't true," he said, rising and glaring at her now. She had made it perfectly clear that she wouldn't help him or Theresa, and he found that he didn't care. All he wanted to do was tell her exactly what had been sitting in the back of his throat ever since he'd first met her. "You're wrong. Gypsies are not liars and thieves. We're good people."
"You aren't a Gypsy, Giovanni – "
"Yes, I am. My father was a Gypsy, and I'm not ashamed of it." She stared at him, and he could see the disapproval in her eyes. He didn't care. "You've insulted my entire family, and you don't even know them. My aunt and uncle took care of me when no one else would. I don't care that they're Gypsies. My cousin is a good girl. She isn't a witch, and she didn't kill anyone."
She merely stared at him, refusing to speak. He turned away from her, heading towards the door. "Where are you going, Giovanni?" she demanded.
"If you won't help Theresa, I'll find someone who will," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at her. "I'm leaving Lyon the minute I've proven her innocence."
"What of our agreement?"
"I don't need anything from you," he said, shoving the door open and storming from the room. He let it slam behind him, knowing that she hated the sound of slamming doors. He didn't care. True, he did need money, he was dirt poor and desperate, but he didn't need her money. He and Katarina could manage on their own; he would find a way to provide for her and their children. He would never accept his grandmother's money.
He headed back towards Notre Dame and was not surprised to see Jean-Claude there. Giovanni took a deep breath and approached him. Jean-Claude was younger than he, but he wielded a considerable amount of power. He held a position that came with authority. Still, perhaps Giovanni could talk to him and make him see reason. Perhaps he could make him see that Theresa hadn't done anything wrong, that she wasn't a witch, that she was innocent.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
"I've already told you, money is out of the question."
"It isn't about that," said Giovanni. "It's about my cousin."
"I don't know who – "
Giovanni pointed to the cathedral. "The girl in the church, the one you've accused of witchcraft, is my cousin Theresa," he said. Jean-Claude stared at him, and Giovanni suddenly found himself wishing he hadn't spoken at all. What if Jean-Claude arrested him? He had nowhere to flee to; Jean-Claude was standing between him and the cathedral.
"That witch is your cousin?"
"She isn't a witch," said Giovanni, holding his hands up, trying to sound calm. "There's been a mistake – "
"She killed my son!"
"No, no, she didn't do anything – "
Jean-Claude drew his sword, brandishing it threateningly. Giovanni had a knife in his belt, but it wouldn't do any good against a sword. The other soldiers stared at him, reaching for their weapons, and he backed away. "Listen," he said, "please listen to me, she's innocent – "
"Get out of my sight," hissed Jean-Claude. "That witch is guilty, and I will personally be the one to light the fire when she burns at the stake – "
"Please – "
"Do you want to be executed alongside her?" Jean-Claude stepped towards him, nearly shoving him down the steps. "Arrest him if he tries to enter the cathedral," he shouted, turning to the rest of the guards. Giovanni stared at them helplessly, wishing that he'd never left the cathedral, that he'd never left Lyon for that matter.
~xXx~
Waiting for Giovanni to return was agonizing. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until he'd mentioned food. She'd been sitting in the cathedral for the entire day and hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. Theresa stared at the door, hoping that it would open and that Giovanni would enter with a sack full of food and good news. Perhaps his grandmother would help her. Perhaps she could convince the guards that Theresa was innocent.
She leapt to her feet when the door did open, but immediately darted back into the shadows when she saw René. He had once flirted with her, called her pretty, but that was over and done with. He was a soldier. He was here to harass or arrest her. Theresa ducked into the alcove, squeezing herself behind the statue of the Virgin Mary. She knew it was sacrilegious to touch one of these statues, but perhaps God would forgive her this once.
"Theresa?" René was close to her hiding place, though she couldn't see him. She shut her eyes, praying he'd leave. "Theresa?"
His voice sounded too close for comfort, and she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, puzzled. She slid further back into the alcove, realizing that she was essentially trapped. He was too big to fit behind the statue; he couldn't possibly grab her. "Please leave," she said, painfully aware of how thin and helpless her voice sounded.
"I…I found this outside." He held up her shoe. He was holding it out of her reach, tempting her to come out of the alcove. Her foot was cold, and she wanted her shoe back. "Listen, I just want to ask you a few questions…please come out?"
She shook her head. It did not occur to her that no soldier had ever said 'please' to her before. "Go away," she said, "please leave me alone."
"No," he said firmly. "I swear, I can't do anything to you while you're in this church, but I need to ask you some questions."
She stared at him, her eyes wandering from the shoe he was holding to his face. He looked sincere enough, but looks were nothing to go by. Anyone could look sincere without meaning it. He was right, though. He couldn't arrest her as long as she was in the cathedral. She slowly made her way out of the alcove, stepping into the dim light. He stepped back, giving her space, and handed her the shoe. Theresa took it, staring down at the scuffed black fabric. She sat down, putting it on her foot, and was surprised when René sat down beside her.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "I was dancing, and then the Captain was there, and he was covered in blood. He was saying that I was a witch, that I cast a spell on his wife and killed their baby…"
"Did you?"
She stared at him, offended that he would even think such a thing. His question should not have surprised her. After all, he was a soldier, trained to think that all Gypsies were evil beings. He saw her as a harlot or an agent of the Devil, nothing else. "No," she said.
"Then why did you run?"
"I was scared."
"Are you a witch?"
She found anger rising within her and wished that she hadn't come out of her hiding place. His questions bothered and offended her. She wished that she could slap him; this was a holy place, though, and she could not commit an act of violence within it. Besides, if she did slap him, what would stop him from dragging her outside and arresting her? "No," she said. "Witches aren't real. They're just stories to frighten children."
"Who told you that?"
"My father."
"And how does he know?"
"He's a storyteller," she said, "he knows enough about fiction to know it when he hears it. Besides, if I was a witch, I wouldn't be able to enter a church, would I?"
He shrugged. "Well…perhaps your magic…"
"And if I was a witch, wouldn't I have flown away on a broom? Wouldn't I have summoned demons and devils up to help me?"
"I suppose so." He looked mildly ashamed, and she found this satisfying. Knowing that she'd bested a soldier made her feel almost happy, though she couldn't hang onto the feeling. René was staring at her, and she couldn't read his emotions. He looked bewildered and ashamed and amused at the same time. "But Jean-Claude wouldn't accuse you if you were innocent."
"He's made a mistake," she said. There was no proof of her guilt, but there was no proof of her innocence either. It was merely the Captain's word against hers, and he was the one that everyone would believe. She couldn't do anything unless he recanted, and he would never do that. She was a Gypsy, and he was certain of her guilt.
"Can…can you do me a favor?" she asked. René looked at her and nodded. "I came to Paris with my cousin, Giovanni. He went out to talk to someone who he thought could help me, but that was hours ago…do you think you can find him? Just to make sure he's all right?"
"He was outside earlier," said René. "He was talking to Jean-Claude about you, trying to tell him you were innocent."
Her heart sank. What if Giovanni had been arrested? What if he'd been killed? If something had happened to him, it would be her fault. If he'd been arrested, then surely she would have to give her life for his. The thought frightened her. She didn't want to burn at the stake, she didn't want to die such a horrific death. But she couldn't let Giovanni, who had done nothing wrong, die in her stead. What would happen to Katarina and their children? Who would care for them if Giovanni was dead?
René seemed to sense her fear. "Nothing's happened to him," he said quickly. "He's been barred from the cathedral. He'll be arrested if he tries to enter it, but he's perfectly safe."
She did not feel the relief that she should have. If Giovanni couldn't enter the cathedral, he couldn't come to help her. He couldn't bring her any food. You can't hide in here forever, witch. You'll have to eat sooner or later. She was going to die, and it would be slow and painful no matter what she did. If she left the church, she would be burned at the stake. If she didn't, she'd starve to death. The thought of dying frightened her, and she felt tears prickling at her eyes. She'd spent most of the day crying, and was stunned to find that she still had tears left to shed.
"Listen, you'll be fine," said René. His voice was hurried and uncertain, as though he could see her terror and didn't know what to do to ease it. "You're perfectly safe in here – "
"Please leave me alone," she whispered, looking away from him. She did not want to see or hear him. His words were empty and hollow; he didn't really care about her. He was a soldier, and it was his duty to see that she was executed for a crime she hadn't committed. She buried her face in her hands, barely realizing he had left.
~xXx~
He was not entirely sure what he would say to Theresa's cousin when he found him. It was well after midnight when René was finally relieved of his duty, and he headed towards the inn where Theresa had said she was staying. He did not know Giovanni's last name, but he had a unique description. The innkeeper remembered the blonde man who was renting a room with a young Gypsy girl, and once he saw that René was a soldier, he showed him where it was without question.
René knocked on the door, and it opened immediately despite the lateness of the hour. The man standing before him was tall and blonde and looked thoroughly exhausted. His blue eyes were large and bloodshot, and he glared at René upon seeing the soldier's uniform. This was the man who'd come by the cathedral, the one Jean-Claude had driven away. He looked older than Jean-Claude and René, though not by much, and he looked nothing at all like Theresa.
"Are you Giovanni? Theresa's cousin?"
"What do you want?"
René paused, realizing that he had no idea why he was even here. Theresa had mentioned her cousin, had mentioned being worried about him. René supposed that he was here to assuage her fears, to make sure that her cousin was all right. "I just wanted to tell you that Theresa is fine," he said. "She's perfectly safe – "
"She's being held prisoner for a crime she didn't commit."
"My Captain would not have accused her if he didn't have proof – "
"And what is his proof?" demanded Giovanni, "the fact that she's a Gypsy?"
"Listen, your people are known for witchcraft – "
Giovanni rolled his eyes and slammed the door. René stared at it blankly, almost unable to comprehend what had just happened. Had a Gypsy really just slammed a door in his face? He had never been treated so rudely in his whole life, and he was suddenly tempted to kick the door in and arrest Giovanni. He stepped back, bracing himself; Giovanni had undoubtedly locked the door, but a cheap, flimsy lock would not keep René out.
René stared at the door, unable to move. Could he really arrest Giovanni for this? It was so minor, really, and understandable. His cousin had just been accused of a heinous crime, she was essentially being held prisoner in a cathedral, and his emotions were probably running too high for him to think clearly. René was certain he'd have a similar reaction if he was in Giovanni's place. He knocked on the door again.
"What do you want?" Giovanni shouted from behind the door.
René groaned inwardly. Giovanni was making this difficult and embarrassing. "I just wanted to tell you that Theresa's all right," he said, "she…she wanted you to know she was safe."
The door opened. "You talked to her?"
"Briefly," said René. "I just asked her a few questions, that's all. She told me where to find you – "
Giovanni glared. "Why would she do that?"
"She was worried about you. When you didn't come back, she thought you'd been arrested."
Giovanni sighed and nodded. "Can…will you tell her not to worry about me?" he said, refusing to meet René's eye.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
René turned and left. He heard the door close behind him, but did not look back. He left the inn, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he really was.
~xXx~
He only went home because everyone else was insisting upon it. He was more than surprised to find Cosette still awake, and all he could do was stare at her. She was sitting up in bed; she'd been reading by candlelight, and was now looking at him. She looked pale and unnaturally thin. She'd been unable to eat anything since the baby's death. Jean-Claude pulled his uniform off and went to her, sliding beneath the blanket beside her.
"Why are you still awake?" he asked.
"I can't sleep without you," she said, placing the book on her nightstand and moving closer to him. "I'm so sorry for what happened – "
"It isn't your doing," he said, wrapping his arms around her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she'd been crying, and her face was stained with the tracks of her tears. He kissed her cheek, wishing he could undo all of her pain. "That witch did this to you, and she will die for it."
Cosette nodded, snuggling closer to him, resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, running his fingers through her auburn curls. She was so beautiful, so pure and good; why had God allowed her to suffer so? Why had this happened to Cosette of all women? Why did God punish the good and allow the evil to flourish? Why was God allowing that filthy Gypsy witch refuge in Notre Dame?
Jean-Claude pushed the thoughts from his mind. The Gypsy couldn't hide in there forever. She would have to leave sooner or later, and he was ready for her. He saw her now in his mind's eye, not dancing and smiling, but tied to the stake, screaming as the flames consumed her wicked body. She would beg him for mercy, she would recant and apologize for what she'd done, but nothing she could ever do would atone for the pain she'd inflicted upon Cosette. Jean-Claude would watch her burn.
He looked down at Cosette now. She had fallen asleep in his arms, and he turned to the candle and blew it out. He closed his eyes. The image of the Gypsy girl writhing and screaming as flames ravaged her was strangely comforting, and it eased him into sleep.