STILL 1505…
He watched René leave the cathedral, then stepped out of the shadows and turned to the Gypsy girl. She was standing with her back to him, staring up at some painting on the wall. Jean-Claude watched her. She stood with her arms at her sides, leaning slightly to one side. He saw the outline of her slim, shapely hips beneath her skirt, and stepped closer to her. He moved towards her, and she turned around, staring up at him with large dark eyes.
"I'm surprise you can even enter a church without bursting into flames," he said. It felt as though the anger that had been bubbling up within his chest all day would burst out of him. The Gypsy girl seemed to see it and began to back away from him, unknowingly edging her way into a corner.
"Please, I didn't mean – "
"You're a witch," he hissed, advancing towards her. "You've put a curse on my wife, you've killed my son, and you'll burn for it."
"I'm so sorry for what happened," she said. She had realized far too late that she was trapped and was now pressed against the wall. "I didn't cause it, I swear, I would never do such a thing – "
"Witch!" he grabbed her wrist. She cried out, trying to pull away from him. Her skin felt hot and smooth, her bracelets brushing against his fingers as he pinned her wrist to the wall above her head. She was shaking, gasping for breath, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
He could take her if he wanted to. She was smaller and weaker than he was, she couldn't possibly fight back, and if she told anyone, who would believe her? Who would believe that Jean-Claude Frollo, Captain of the Guard and the very pinnacle of virtue, would force himself on a Gypsy witch? She seemed to realize this and opened her mouth to scream. He pressed his free hand against her mouth, savoring the feel of her lips on his palm. She clawed at him with her free hand, digging her nails into his wrist. The terror in her eyes was intoxicating. It would be so easy to take her. The cathedral was deserted, and he had her pressed into a corner. She had nowhere to flee to. She couldn't escape him or fight him. All he would have to do was lift her skirt to gain access to her.
He glanced upwards at the painting that she'd been looking at earlier. The Virgin Mary, surrounded by angels and flowers, stared down at him, her stern blue eyes harsh and disapproving. Jean-Claude felt his skin break out into gooseflesh. How could he bring himself to violate this girl inside of a church? Could he really commit such an atrocity in the house of God? To defile such a holy place as Notre Dame was unthinkable, unforgivable; no amount of confession would save his soul from damnation. This was the Gypsy witch's doing. Her magic was powerful enough to work in a holy place; she had filled his head with dark, lustful thoughts. She had done this.
He jerked away from her, releasing her. She stared at him, trembling and gasping, too frightened to scream. "You will burn for this," he said, feeling his own voice tremble and struggling to steady it. "Witch!"
He turned on his heel and left, storming out of the cathedral and into the night. It had begun to rain, and he was soon soaked to the bone. The icy water felt refreshing; he felt it cleansing him of the Gypsy's curse. He looked towards René and the other guards. "Arrest her if she attempts to leave," he said, "but don't kill her. I want her alive."
~xXx~
The Captain of the Guard would come back. The cathedral was only so big, and she couldn't hide from him forever. He would return, and he would rape her, and this knowledge made Theresa cry even harder. He insisted that she was a witch, that he wanted her dead, yet he looked at her with cold, cruel lust in his eyes. He was stronger than she was, and no one would punish him if he hurt her. He was the Captain of the Guard, he was above the law. If he raped her, he would deny it, and she would probably be put to death for accusing him.
She buried her face in her hands. She'd always been told that God finds a way to make things right, but now she didn't believe it. How could God let such a horrible man try to harm her? If God truly protected the virtuous, then surely He wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Perhaps it was true that God didn't care for Gypsies, that they didn't matter to Him.
She had to find a way to escape the cathedral. She had to find a way out. It was no longer a place of beauty; it had turned into a dungeon. It would only be a matter of time before the Captain of the Guard came back, and if he did rape her, what would stop him from violating the law of sanctuary? What would stop him from dragging her from the cathedral and throwing her on the funeral pyre in the town square? What would stop him from killing her in the cathedral once he was through raping her? He could slit her throat, let her blood spill out over the pristine floor, and no one would care.
"Theresa?"
She looked up, startled, and saw René through her tears. He approached her slowly, sitting down near her. She felt relief wash over her, and wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands. René had been so kind to her; he was nothing like the other soldiers, or even the Captain. He had brought her food and asked for nothing in return. He'd sat with her, listening while she talked and telling her that things would be all right, that she was safe and no harm could come to her. She desperately wished that this was true now.
"What's the matter?"
"René, you've been so kind to me," she said. He handed her a handkerchief, and she took it, dabbing at her eyes. "But I need your help."
"With what?"
"I can't stay here," she said. "It isn't safe anymore – "
"That's nonsense," he said. "It's perfectly safe in here. The law of sanctuary – "
"The Captain was in here, and he grabbed me, and – and I thought he would – he tried to – " she began to sob again and pressed the handkerchief over her mouth to stifle the sounds that escaped from her throat. She heard René slide closer to her and felt his arm around her shoulder. He had never touched her before, and his touch was comforting. She let him put his arm around her and hold her. "He'll do it if he comes back! Please, please help me escape…"
"I won't let him." There was a sudden fierceness in René's voice, and she wasn't sure if it frightened her or comforted her. "He will never hurt you, I swear. Come on."
He pulled her to her feet, and the sudden movement made her dizzy. He was looking around, his eyes scanning the darkened church. "Here." He pulled her along towards a narrow confession booth. He opened the door. The chamber was miniscule and pitch-black. "Stay in here," he said, "and take this." He handed her a knife. She took it. It was heavy, and the handle bore the insignia of the Parisian guard. "I'm going to go and find your cousin. We'll find a way to get you out of here."
"Thank you," she whispered, still staring down at the knife.
"I will not let anyone hurt you," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
She nodded, watching as he hurried out of the church. She closed the door to the confessional, letting the darkness embrace her. She sat down; there was a small padded section of the floor, probably meant for someone who was kneeling. It was comfortable enough. She leaned against the wall, carefully slipping the knife into the sash of her skirt. It was comforting to have the cold piece of metal with her, to know that she could defend herself if the Captain of the Guard ever came back. It was still move comforting to know that René would protect her, and that he would help her escape.
~xXx~
He did not want to believe that Jean-Claude had tried to rape Theresa, but he knew that she wouldn't lie about such a thing. He had seen the way Jean-Claude had looked at her, his eyes full of a frightening mix of lust and hate. Jean-Claude insisted that she was a witch, that she had cast a spell and caused his wife to miscarry. If she was a witch, why would she do such a thing? What could she possibly gain from it? And why would she continue to stay in Notre Dame? Surely if she was a witch she could use her magic to escape.
René was convinced that Theresa was not a witch. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Cosette's miscarriage was a tragic accident of nature, nothing more. It was something that sometimes happened to women; no one was ever at fault. To think that Theresa could cause it by looking at Jean-Claude…well, the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. He entered the inn where Giovanni was staying. The innkeeper looked at him, but saw his armor and sword, and said nothing. He went to Giovanni's room and knocked on the door. He waited, listening and hearing movement within the room. The door opened slowly.
"What do you want?"
"I need to talk to you."
"So talk."
René sighed, glancing around. He found it hard to believe that Giovanni and Theresa were related, or that Giovanni was even a Gypsy. He had blonde hair and blue eyes; even if he was a Gypsy, he could pass himself off as a respectable member of society. He could leave the wandering, poverty-stricken life that all Gypsies seemed doomed to lead. René wondered why he didn't. "It's about Theresa," he whispered.
Giovanni was glaring at him as he stepped aside and let him into the room. The room was small and cheaply furnished. Giovanni sat down on a chair, motioning for René to take the one across from him. "What about her?" he asked.
"She isn't safe in the cathedral," said René.
"I thought she was protected by the law of sanctuary."
"It can be overturned by the king," said René, "but that isn't what I'm worried about." He cleared his throat. Jean-Claude was his friend, and he didn't want to betray him in any way. Still, he was determined to see Theresa executed, and he would undoubtedly do anything to ensure that it happened. "Jean-Claude tried to hurt her," he said finally. "And I'm afraid he'll do it again if she stays in the cathedral."
"What do you mean, 'tried to hurt her'?" Giovanni's voice was filled with anger, and his eyes seemed to burn with it. "Did he try to rape my cousin?"
"Yes." He hadn't wanted to admit it. Telling Giovanni that it had happened seemed to cement the ugly event in history.
"Where is he?" demanded Giovanni, suddenly standing up. René saw the knife in his belt and rose, moving between Giovanni and the door. "Get out of my way, I'm going to kill him."
"No," said René, "listen to me, Giovanni, you can't go after him – "
"She's like a sister to me," said Giovanni, his voice thin and angry, "and if that animal put his hands on her – "
"She's fine! He didn't hurt her. I swear to you, her virtue is still intact." Giovanni was glaring at him, his hands clenched into angry fists by his side. René raised his hands, showing Giovanni that he hadn't reached for the sword in his belt, that he was essentially unarmed and had no desire to fight him. "I've given her a knife, so she can protect herself, but it isn't safe for her in the cathedral. We need to help her escape."
"Why do you want to help her?" asked Giovanni. "What could you gain from it?"
René swallowed. He'd been asking himself the same question over and over, and he still had no answer. Theresa had not offered him anything in exchange for the escape, though he was fairly certain that she would give whatever he asked. He found he didn't want anything from her. Seeing her crying in the cathedral, seeing her alone and frightened, had made his heart ache. He didn't want to see her like that again. He wanted to see her happy and smiling, dancing and twirling and laughing.
"I love her," he said finally. He was not entirely sure if he meant it or not. He had never loved anyone before; he didn't know what it felt like. Seeing Theresa and wanting her to be happy was close enough.
Giovanni looked skeptical. "You love her even though she's a Gypsy? Everyone knows that Gypsies are only good for one thing," he said sarcastically. René winced, hearing his own words being hurled at him. "Let me guess, you'll help her escape if she gives herself to you?"
"No, it isn't like that."
"Then prove it to me!"
René bit his lip, thinking. Giovanni glared at him, demanding the impossible. How could he show him what he felt in his heart? How could he prove his love for Theresa? He glanced around the shabby room, noticing the window for the first time. The rain was still pouring down relentlessly. The guards who were standing on duty would be drenched and cranky, and any one of them would be more than glad to be relieved of his duty.
"I can take you to her," said René.
"I've been barred from the cathedral," said Giovanni. "That Captain of yours has made sure no one will let me in."
"Just come with me," said René. "The rear of the cathedral isn't as heavily guarded as the front, and I'm sure I can convince someone to look the other way."
~xXx~
As much as he distrusted the soldier, he followed him anyway. His desire to see his cousin overrode his fear. They wove through the shadows of Paris in silence, approaching the cathedral from the rear. The guard standing by the rear door looked thoroughly irritated. Rain pelted him, drumming against his armor, and he was shivering, making it clatter.
"Wait here."
Giovanni watched from the shadows as René approached the guard. They spoke, exchanging words in tones too hushed for Giovanni to hear. For a brief instant, he feared that René would turn and point and that the guard would spring forth and seize him. The guard turned and walked away, his armor clanking as he moved. René motioned for him, and he emerged from the shadows.
"They've been patrolling the inside of the cathedral every few hours," said René, pushing the door open. "You don't have much time."
"Why can't we sneak her out now?" asked Giovanni.
"We need a place to hide her," said René, shaking his head. "Besides, they'd catch us before we made it back to your room. What we need to do when we sneak her out is create a diversion somewhere else, make them abandon their posts."
Giovanni nodded, slipping into the cathedral. It was quiet and dark, but dry. René was leading him across the room, towards a narrow row of confession booths. He knocked on the door of one lightly. "Theresa," he whispered, "Theresa, come out."
The door slid open, and Theresa stepped out, blinking at the light from René's lamp. Her face broke into a smile once she saw him, and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Giovanni held her, pressing her to him.
"Giovanni!" she cried, "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Are you all right?" he asked, looking down at her now.
She nodded. "Yes," she said, "René's been so kind to me. He's brought me food, and he says he'll help me escape."
"Yes," said René. He was glancing over his shoulder, looking at the rear door. "Giovanni and I are going to set a plan and get you out as soon as we can."
He noticed that Theresa was looking at René with adoration in her eyes. He was her hero, her champion. It made Giovanni somewhat uncomfortable. Such adoration made her vulnerable; it made her seem desperate and willing. René could easily take advantage of that. What if this whole escape attempt was just some ploy to get into her skirt? What if he was planning to lure her from the cathedral just so he could coerce her into making love to him? And what would he do once he'd gotten what he wanted? Would he just hand her over to Jean-Claude Frollo when he was through defiling her?
Risky as it was, Giovanni had no choice but to work with René to help Theresa escape. He was more familiar with Paris, he knew of better places to hide her. He would know how to distract the other guards. Giovanni looked down at Theresa, stroking her hair. He would let René help her escape, but that was all he would do. He would watch René, and would kill him if he tried to take advantage of Theresa.
~xXx~
He was cold and tired, but sleep refused to come to him. He lay there in the darkness, listening to Cosette's breathing, envying her slumber. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Gypsy girl. He saw her pressed against the wall of the cathedral, staring up at him, her large dark eyes full of fear. He felt her soft lips beneath his palm, felt her shuddering with fear. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it terrified him. He found himself replaying the events in the cathedral, twisting and changing them. In his mind's eye, he saw himself tear her blouse open, saw himself lift her skirt and enter her. He felt her; she was soft and warm, and she tried to push him away from her, striking at him with her fists. Her struggles were futile, and he overpowered her. Her screams for help went unanswered.
He sat up suddenly, shaking and terrified. How could he think such thoughts while lying beside his wife? How could he fantasize about raping a woman in a church? How could such vile, unholy thoughts enter his head? What had that Gypsy done to him? How could she torment him like this? This was her way of tempting him, of course; she wanted to lure him back into the cathedral and take her. Taking her in a church like that would surely damn him to Hell, and that was what she wanted.
He got out of bed, dressing quickly in the dark. Cosette groaned in her sleep, but did not wake. She'd been having nightmares as of late, and sleeping potions were the only things that chased them away. He grabbed his coin purse and left the room, refusing to look at his wife. She lay there, so soft and innocent, so pure and loving, so unlike that dirty Gypsy harlot he couldn't stop thinking about. This was her doing, all her doing.
He left the house. It had stopped raining, and a thick, misty fog hung over the city. He was grateful for it; it shrouded him, kept him hidden from the rest of the world, and perhaps from God as well. He knew that he should go and pray, but entering the cathedral would bring him closer to the Gypsy. He would not be able to control himself if he saw her again. He would take her and sully the house of God in the process. No, he could not go back to the cathedral.
He wove through the back alleys and found what he was looking for. He had not donned his uniform, nor did he carry anything with the insignia of the Parisian guards on it. The prostitutes would not see a soldier; they would not flee from him. They stared at him, posing and pouting, shaking their hips and calling out to him. He pointed at one wordlessly, and she took him to a narrow, filthy room. She looked enough like the witch in the cathedral; most Gypsies looked the same to him anyway.
"I ask that you pay me first," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Jean-Claude looked around the room. There was a small table with a chair by the bed and, in the dim lamplight, he thought he saw a cradle in the darkest corner of the room.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing.
"He won't wake," said the prostitute hurriedly, jumping to her feet, rushing to him, grabbing his hand as though begging him to stay. "He – he's my son, but you needn't worry about him. He won't wake."
He put a few coins down on the table, then grabbed her arms. She gasped as he shoved her, forcing her to bend over the table. He knew that she would not fight him or try to escape, that she would let him have her any way he wanted so long as he paid her. "I want you to struggle," he said, pinning one of her arms behind her back. "I want you to beg me to stop."
"Of course." Her voice sounded frightened. He stared down at her; in the dimness, he could pretend that she was the girl in the cathedral. He lifted her skirt and nudged her legs apart with his knee. She said nothing, and he twisted her arm. "You're hurting me," she whispered.
He entered her without replying and heard her hiss in pain. He was rough with her, slamming her into the little table, making her whimper. "Stop," she whispered, "you're hurting me, please stop."
He closed his eyes, weaving the fingers of his free hand into her hair and pulling, jerking her head back. She cried out, and he felt her squirm beneath him. He imagined the girl in the church, the little witch, imagined her bent over the table, thrashing and begging him to stop. It was too much for him, and he climaxed, unintentionally tightening his grip on the prostitute's hair and pulling even harder.
He stepped away from her, watching her as she righted herself and smoothed her skirt. He pulled his trousers back up, and she turned to him. She was rubbing her scalp, staring at him with terrified eyes. "Leave," she whispered, "get out and never come back."
He reached into the coin pouch and tossed a few more coins onto the table, then turned and left. He passed the other prostitutes, ignoring them as they called out to him. The one he'd been with would undoubtedly warn her friends against him, but he didn't care. He could enter the cathedral and pray for forgiveness now. He doubted that he would see the Gypsy, and if he did, he would be too spent to even think of attacking her. He entered the cathedral, nodding to the soldiers he'd posted. They looked wet and uncomfortable in their dripping armor, but they did not question him and he did not speak to them.
The cathedral was dark. The priests were probably all asleep, but this didn't matter. He did not need a priest to hear his confession; God would hear it. He approached the pews and knelt, taking his rosary beads out of his pocket. He closed his eyes and began to pray, his fingers moving rapidly over the beads.
~xXx~
"Tomorrow, an hour after sunset," said René. "Paris is made out of wood and straw. The fire will spread quickly, and the guards will be forced to leave the cathedral to contain it."
Giovanni nodded. "And you'll be waiting by the docks with a boat?"
"Yes."
Giovanni still didn't fully trust him, but he had no other options. He glanced back at the cathedral where Theresa was being held prisoner. As much as Giovanni hated it, this soldier was her only means of rescue. "All right," he said. "I'll start the fire an hour after sunset."