Time passed and Julien was sent off to school. He did not like it a bit. He missed his home in Provence: the beautiful sunny shores; his horse, Gabriel; his tutor, Monsieur Verdoux, with whom he always had such fun arguing; and his dear, lovely mother.
He did not like the way the Jesuits taught, and he did not like their views. Even at the tender age of 13 he was beginning to become skeptical of organized religion. He learned about the government in school, and he thought it profoundly unfair.
One day, he took it upon himself to protest. They were talking about the history of the Bourbons in class, and the priest was spouting his usual propaganda.
"Enjolras," barked the priest in one of his periodical pop quizzes to see who was paying attention, "On what date did Louis XIV revoke the Edict of Nantes?"
"On the 18th of October 1685," replied young Julien drolly. He knew French history backwards and forwards, and it was just as boring as it was infuriating. "Tyrant," he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, the priest heard.
"Excuse me, Enjolras," the teacher said in almost stark disbelief, "but what did you just call The Sun King?"
"You heard what I said!" cried Julien, jumping to his feet in a fury. "Louis XIV, your precious "Sun King" was a bloody tyrant! Not only that, but he betrayed his dead father by undoing the great strides he'd made in the right direction! Complete religious intolerance?! How is that right, or good, or just?! A child, taking the throne at age 4, and thinking he can do whatever he wants, that's what he was! How could that kind of thinking have possibly helped France?! The whole system is completely corrupt!"
"You have the audacity to – ?!" the priest choked out, absolutely livid, and he took Julien by the ear and dragged him to the headmaster's office, where he was sentenced to three weeks detention and a letter to his father.
Julien had a difficult time after that. He simply couldn't contain some of his outbursts, and he was constantly getting himself into trouble. The problem was, he knew he was right. He couldn't just lie back and watch as injustices were committed. So, he continued on fighting for what he believed in.
The younger boys began to see Julien as a leader, and he began to attract the attention of many of the older boys as well. Unfortunately, this variety of attention was not particularly welcome.
The reader must understand that, at a boys' boarding school, where no girls are available, the students often turn to one another to satisfy their… urges. Julien, with his lovely golden curls, big blue eyes, plump cherubic lips, flushed cheeks, and lithe figure, was perfect prey for an older boy.
Julien had noticed for a while now the way the older boys looked at him, and he did not like it at all. He was seeking an avid listener to his ideology, but instead he found hungry stares and secretive smiles. It was enough to give him gooseflesh. Occasionally the boys would brush against his hand or tap his shoulder to gain his attention and, as time went on, the unnecessary touches increased. On a couple of occasions, he thought he felt one or two pinches to his bottom as he walked down a crowded corridor.
One cloudy afternoon in early March, Julien was trudging through a dark corner of the courtyard by himself, on his way to the next building to serve his latest detention when, suddenly, he was accosted by Didier Chenonceaux, a 16-year-old who often attended Julien's seditious tirades in the Grosvenor House common room. Julien did not like Chenonceaux. He was a big lad who often bullied the other boys into giving him what he wanted. Consequently, he tried to avoid Didier by swerving around a corner down the back way, an alley between buildings. But he could not shake his pursuer.
"Bonjour, Enjolras!" Chenonceaux called, approaching swiftly and cornering Julien in the dark alleyway.
"Bonjour, Chenonceaux, but I really must be going. I mustn't be late for detention." Julien replied politely, attempting to skirt around his obstacle. Wrong move.
Chenonceaux shoved Julien roughly against the stone wall. "Chenonceaux!" Julien protested, "What are you – ?!"
Julien was silenced by a greedy mouth upon his. His eyes widened in surprise. For a shocked moment he could not move. Then he began to struggle. He tried to shove Didier away, but his attacker would not yield. He kicked and hit and bit, and screamed for help, but could not escape the clutches of a boy three years older and much stronger than he was.
Didier was breathing hard and he rubbed his arousal against Julien. Julien shuddered in horror. "I always knew you'd be a feisty one," the horrible boy panted in our dear Julien's ear, and he began to trail his tongue up the younger boy's neck. Julien screamed more desperately, throat raw and tears streaming down his cheeks. He moved to knee Didier in the groin, but the older boy sensed the movement, and pushed Julien down to the ground, pinning his legs and arms. Julien sobbed loudly. This is it, he thought. I'm done for.
Thwack, came the sound as someone hit Didier over the head with a board. Julien's attacker crumpled sideways onto the ground, and Julien wriggled his legs out from under the deadweight of Chenonceaux's legs, which had fallen across his own. As soon as he was free he jumped to his feet and scrambled out of reach. Then, he peered through his tears at his savior.
He was a dark-haired, bespectacled boy around his own age. Julien thought he had seen him in some of his classes. He presently remembered the body lying on the ground.
"Is he dead?" he asked the other boy through heaving breaths, hearing his voice shake.
"No. He's still breathing." The boy approached Julien slowly and cautiously, as one would an injured animal, holding his arm out tentatively as if to test the air before him. He peered kindly into Julien's eyes and said gently, just as his hand lightly touched a shaking shoulder, "Are you alright?"
Julien realized he was trembling all over. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and he was beginning to hyperventilate. He started to nod yes, but blackness was closing in, and he couldn't remain on his feet. "No," he said, and immediately fell into a dead faint. Fortunately, his new friend was there to catch him.
Julien awoke to a darkened infirmary, lit only by a few lamps on various bedside tables, including his own. He reached up to rub his eyes, and noticed there were scabs on his left cheek and chin, presumably from being scraped against stone. His entire body felt sore and weak, and the back of his head throbbed from being slammed into things, but otherwise he felt alright. The only thing wrong with him at present seemed to be that he was absolutely parched. He peered around into the blackness to locate an attendant of some sort, and there, in the chair next to his bed, dozed the boy who had saved him earlier that day. He reached out to grab the jug of water and empty glass that had been set on the bedside table, but clumsily knocked over the glass with a thud. It did not shatter, but it was enough to wake his sleeping companion.
"I'm sorry," whispered Julien. "I did not mean to wake you."
"S'quite alright," the boy said, voice still a bit thick with sleep. "I did not mean to fall asleep."
"Say, what is your name?"
"Henri Combeferre, at your service." He smiled kindly. "And, technically, I am at your service. It took a bit of doing to get them to let me stay here. But I had to stay here. He's here too, and I needed to protect you. I told them I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up, so I may as well start learning now. They told me that if I wanted to stay, I'd have to make myself useful. So here I am." At this, he poured water into the glass for Julien, and handed it to him.
"Merci, Combeferre" said Julien, taking a sip. "…And thank you for saving me. I am forever in your debt. My name is – "
"Oh, no need. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You're Julien Enjolras."
Julien blushed. There was a long, thoughtful silence. "Do you know what will happen?"
Anyone else would have taken this question as overly vague, and asked for clarification, but Combeferre knew what Julien meant.
"No," he said. "I hurt him quite badly, but my father has a good lawyer if he decides to sue. I was in the right, anyway. I couldn't have simply sat back and let him…" They sat in silence for a while, both anxiously dwelling what could have happened. But it was too painful for Julien, and he changed the subject.
"Combeferre, you're in my year, correct?"
"Yes, and I know what you're thinking. We probably don't know each other very well because we don't board in the same house. I live in Edouard Hall, and you live in Grosvenor House, right?" Julien nodded. It made sense.
"You should go to bed. I'll be alright here." Julien did not want to trouble his new friend.
Combeferre replied with a surprising amount of force. "No!" then lowered his voice glancing around to see if anyone had awoken. "I won't leave you anywhere near him!" he whispered with purpose.
Julien was flattered, and comforted at having a friend by his side. And, if he was honest with himself, he did not think he would feel safe in the infirmary with Combeferre gone, knowing that Chenonceaux was sleeping near. "Fine, then. At least come to bed, and be a little more comfortable." Combeferre hesitated for a moment, then kicked off his shoes, set his spectacles on the bedside table, and climbed into the bed with Julien.
As they drifted off to sleep, Julien heard a murmur in his ear. "Call me Henri."
He smiled and sighed, "Only if you will call me Julien." And Julien slept more peacefully than he would have if his mother had tucked him into bed with a mug of warm milk.