Chapter 33:
Phoebus had been restrained and forced to watch the woman he loved prepare for death. He had been knocked around until the blood flowed from his wound again, but this time there was nobody to bandage the wound. Nobody really cared, he would die soon, anyway.
Thank God it had healed somewhat, or he might have lost consciousness before reaching the square. He needed to spend those last moments with Esmeralda, no matter how it would break his heart to hear her cries. He could not abandon her to her fate.
As he stood trying to shake his way out of the cage he alone was forced into, watching a mob of peasants try to break through the ring of guards restraining them from rescuing Esmeralda, he heard a familiar voice.
This voice was not among those clamoring to absolve Esmeralda of any wrongdoing, and its owner was not being attacked for her lack of compliance…
Rather, it was none other than Fleur de Lys in the crowd, pointing at him and asking that he be released so she can heal him from Esmeralda's wicked spell.
Jehan was with her, qualifying these statements with a cringe to soften the blow, but with only one hand on her arm to hold her back.
"Go home, Fleur," he shouted at her in disgust. "I'm sure it was very inconvenient of you to come here, but you have no business here. We're done, remember?"
Her eyes flashed, and she pushed past the guard to stand on the other side of the bars, glaring at him. She gripped the bars and pointed to Esmeralda. "You don't have to die for her! You have me! You don't even know her! Come back to me, and you will never have to think of her again!"
Jehan gave her a swift, confused glance, but Phoebus had no interest in dissecting what was probably a tryst between them.
"I wish I didn't know you, at all!" he spat at Fleur de Lys. "But I know you well enough to know that I would rather die with Esmeralda than live with you!"
Fleur de Lys burst into tears, covering her face, and Jehan wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm… sorry… old friend…" Jehan muttered to Phoebus, and because Phoebus knew the manner of man Jehan was, he could not sustain any indignation towards him. He was simply an irresponsible degenerate, and always would be.
In the distance, he heard Frollo giving his speech indicting Esmeralda of her supposed crimes, and he recoiled from these two members of his past circle. "Take her home, Jehan," he said, perhaps coldly, but it was Esmeralda upon whom his focus was riveted.
Phoebus put them both out of his mind, as instead, he would now witness the final minutes of his new bride's life burn away to ash.
The only escape from this torment would be his own turn on the scaffold… and the pain would be compounded by the knowledge that he stood with his own flesh burning away where his beloved's had before…
The instant the flames met the reeds at Esmeralda's feet, someone from above shouted, "No!"
Was this the voice of God, enraged at the murder of one who was precious to him? The bells in the bell tower were ringing… he looked up to see the thin pillars on the façade of Notre Dame crumble.
Just how angry is God? He wondered, and why hadn't he intervened sooner?
Was this the end of the world?
Something swung down from the cathedral. Someone… someone who swung all the way down into the square.
Quasimodo landed on the scaffold and tore the ropes which bound Esmeralda to the stake asunder. He slung her over his shoulder as he noticed three approaching guards. He knocked them back to the ground with the flaming torch which had lit Esmeralda's pyre.
Then, he swung back across the square to the church. It wasn't the end of the world!
Quasimodo had shown the way!
If the bell ringer had done the impossible, why couldn't the captain—former captain—do the same?
"Sanctuary!" Quasimodo shouted again, to the uproarious approval of the assembled Parisians. "Sanctuary!" he roared a third and final time before disappearing into the Cathedral.
Frollo had the audacity then to urge his men to attack the Cathedral! Who did he think he was, Saladin?
An enormous wooden beam careened from the upper levels of the Cathedral to land squarely on Frollo's carriage as he was approaching it. If only Quasimodo had waited a moment longer!
A similar thought appeared to occur to Frollo, himself, as he stared at the shattered remains of his carriage. The horse which had been harnessed to it reared as it was freed and went galloping out of the square. Frollo was having terrible luck with horses these days…
Frollo did not remain shaken long enough for Phoebus's liking. Instead he wheeled around on his men and began to shout orders again. "Come back, you cowards!"
There was really no good option for these men, with beams raining from the sky. What was next? Hell itself would open up and start chewing on people? Phoebus really needed sleep… or a drink.
There went Frollo, still throwing orders left and right, while Phoebus was stuck in his damned cage. Still… Phoebus noticed that since Frollo was focused on the Cathedral doors, so were his men.
Even the one who was meant to be guarding Phoebus was distracted. Seizing the opportunity by the throat, Phoebus chuckled, "Alone at last!" at the frozen guard, and then slammed his fist down on the guard's head for good measure. As he collapsed, Phoebus grabbed the keys off his belt.
Free at last, Phoebus grabbed the fallen guard's spear, and when he climbed to the top of the cage, he raised it overhead. "Citizens of Paris!" he shouted over the din of soldiers attempting to batter down the doors of Notre Dame. "Frollo has persecuted our people! Ransacked our city! And now he has declared war on Notre Dame, herself! Will we allow it?"
The clamor which erupted in the wake of his speech told Phoebus there was a real chance they could end Frollo's reign that very night before it consumed Esmeralda, Quasimodo, and Paris herself.
Swarms of Parisians, no longer restrained by newly distracted soldiers, freed the gypsies, and charged the soldiers.
All was chaos in the square, and Phoebus hurled himself into the nexus of the fray. He barely registered what he was doing as he released the rage that had been boiling in his gut ever since he returned to Paris.
At some point in the fight he lost the spear, but he got more satisfaction out of punching directly into the faces of these cravens.
He caught sight of Djali, and was stunned to find the man who had helped Esmeralda drag him all the way up into the Bell Tower was wearing a monk's robes now. He was also doing something like fighting, but at least there was Djali at his side, doing a much better job.
When the lanky fellow would swing his arms and then duck out of the way, Djali struck out at the soldier instead, and as he had been distracted, invariably the soldier would fall back helplessly.
Missiles rained down from above, thwarting the siege tactics of the men attempting to scale the Cathedral. Phoebus forced his way closer to the church, closer to Esmeralda, until a fresh chorus of screams made him look up to see molten metal pouring from the mouths of gargoyles and onto anyone in its path! Even pigeons began attacking the soldiers, but nobody else. That was a little too specific to be anything but divine intervention!
Phoebus lifted up a prayer that Frollo had gotten caught in the flow before running to ensure he didn't get caught in it, himself.
He could hear the cries of those who had, and was forced to crouch in a nearby alley, shaking. He was back on the battlefield, the cries of the wounded and dying all around him. He had led his men through Hell many times over, but now the gates of Hell seemed to have opened again. He was unarmed, and unprepared… but this riot was coming to an end.
Molten lead was flowing into the Seine, and panicked Parisians were fleeing to their homes… at least those whose homes were not on fire. Though the lead would soon cool, it was a shame it was clogging up the river.
The guards were dispersing as well, but not in pursuit of the peasants. They, like the others, were simply fleeing for their lives! That meant they weren't receiving any orders!
So where was Frollo? Assuming he hadn't died… he would have infiltrated the Cathedral!
Phoebus had to be sure! In fact, he could see an opening that had been cut into the door. He swallowed heavily.
Sure, Quasimodo may very well be able to defend Esmeralda—assuming she was still alive to be protected—but Frollo had some sick power over him. Even residual command could overpower Quasimodo's resolve.
No, Phoebus could not afford another moment's rest. He charged back through the square, which had been abandoned by all but the wounded and the dying.
Some nuns from the church had braved the madness, and were caring for those in need. It alleviated his guilt for not being capable of rescuing everyone as he crossed the makeshift bridge the nuns had shaped out of two pews and some other bits of furniture.
He didn't linger to dwell on its construction, he merely climbed over it into the church. He found the Archdeacon crumpled at the foot of a staircase, and was brought up short.
Had Frollo done that? How was he going to pull off his sanctimonious act after this?
Ah… this must mean that Frollo had left behind all sense of his persona. Now, he was capable of anything.
"Run lad!" the Archdeacon cried. "I can wait, but they cannot!"