"Minister…" a voice said firmly but softly.
Frollo stirred as he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and found that he was still in the top of the bell tower having fallen asleep at the table. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Frollo saw that it was the dead of night.
He looked up and saw the Archdeacon standing over him. Groggily, the Minister asked, "What is the time?"
"Almost midnight," he replied. "The bells will be ringing soon and I am certain that you would not enjoy sticking around to hear them."
"You are correct." Frollo stood up and stretched.
Augustin looked wearily at the judge before saying, "You know, Claude, this is not the most ideal place to keep a child, what with the deafening sound of the bells constantly. Aren't you the least bit concerned that Quasimodo might one day lose his hearing?"
Frollo rubbed his tired eyes and sighed in exasperation. "I'm sure that he will grow accustomed to them, Father. Honestly, for a man who felt that I should take the role of the boy's guardian, you seem very set on trying to take the task into your own hands."
"I am only trying to help you."
"If you wish to assist me, then allow me to have this ungodly creature baptized as soon as possible," he authoritatively bit. "No doubt that the boy is covered in more than just Original Sin; he is probably ripe with witchcraft and sorcery…such wicked practices are most likely the cause of his hideousness."
The Archdeacon rolled his eyes at the Minister's prejudices. "Arrangements can be made for the earliest convenience, but it depends: do you plan on inviting many people to this event?"
"Good Lord, never!" he heatedly answered, fire in his dark eyes. "I want this boy to be kept away from others as much as possible. Best not to make a spectacle by exploiting his deformity. No, it should be the most private of events–not even my brother may attend."
Frollo ran a hand over his hair and concluded, "But we can tend to such matters later, Father, for I believe that I should be returning to the Palace of Justice."
"Another time then," Augustin replied, concern evident on his round features.
Picking up and dusting off his chaperon, Frollo left swiftly, anxious to get out of this place which now felt suffocating. Outside he was greeted eagerly by his horse, to whom the judge casually apologized for their prolonged stay.
As he rode back, the night air was cold but oddly refreshing, accompanied by the silence of the sleeping city. It was bliss as opposed to the on and off again sound of crying that the Minister had endured throughout the day. In the background Notre Dame's midnight bells tolled loudly, breaking the silence.
Soon the ominous and imposing castle that was the Palace of Justice came into view, like an oasis against the tiresome day that had just concluded.
After taking his horse back to the Palace's stables, Frollo entered the great building, relieved at the quiet, peaceful tranquility as he climbed the steps to his chambers.
Running his hand through his hair, Frollo could only think about the day's events in exhaustion.
Was this really what his life was to be now? Juggling between being a prisoner of forced fatherhood, pestered endlessly by Jehan, along with trying to keep Paris in check?
You can endure, he reassured himself, unwittingly tightening his grip on the reins. The Lord will reward you for your service; it is all a part of His plan.
Reaching his chambers, Frollo was pleased to find only the fireplace lit, giving him solace in this night. However, the pain lingered on as he contemplated every nagging thought of his situation.
Frollo had reveled in his position of Minister of Justice not only for the power and influence it brought, but also because he knew that unlike most nobles, there was no one bothering him to commit to a family. Thankfully, his only familial obligation was to his brother; now the burden of having an unwanted son weighed heavily on the Minister.
Looking up at the iron crucifix that hung imposingly above the mantle of the fireplace, his expression changed from one of weariness to one of rage. Delirium and anxiety began to meld together, making his mind hazy. Marching forward, he collapsed to his knees in front of the fire and cried out in anguish, "What have I done to deserve this?!"
The judge buried his face in his hands and rocked back and forth pathetically. Fighting every urge to sob like a child, Frollo continued his pleas at the downcast messiah above him.
"I have always followed Your word above everyone else's. I have done Your bidding my entire life–everything I have done has been in Your name,!" His breathing became erratic and his body trembled with anger.
"How many trials must You put me through to prove my faith?" He asked, slamming his hands against the floor's hard surface, his rings clanking against the stone in response. He hated that his mind began to echo that he was damned–beyond any help, divine or otherwise.
On all fours, the Minister gazed at the open fire in front of him, jaw hung slack. Ignoring the stinging burn that built up in eyes, Frollo crawled back a bit as he imagined the bowels of Hell manifesting before him while he continued to stare at the flames.
Rising shakily, he stared at Christ again in woe before asking, "Do You test me in the way of Job? Do You doubt my faith? To see if I keep it even against the most trying of times?"
Frollo straightened a bit before continuing, "Anything else would have been more bearable, but a child?!" He bit his lip as he thought of the words that just tumbled from his mouth. He couldn't help the hot tears that leaked from his eyes and streamed down his gaunt cheeks.
Turning away, Frollo shuffled towards a nearby wooden chest and began to remove his gown, followed by his tunic to reveal his pale, white skin. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a black leather scourge.
Throughout the judge's upbringing, he had been taught that the only way to instill a lesson into a person's mind was through severe punishment, no matter how deep the scars ran.
If I am to suffer, so be it...The world drifted away from him, leaving him numb to the pain pulsating through him.
With the scourge in hand, Frollo walked back towards the fireplace and addressed the crucifix, "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." After crossing himself, he kneeled again and began to recite his prayers, "Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando…" As the words poured from his lips, the anger continued to bubble up inside him. "…de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen."
Taking a deep breath, Frollo raised the scourge and flung it quickly behind him, striking his back. He cried out at the leather tips' sting upon the map of faded scars that he had carried on him since he was a child.
Hissing sharply, Frollo whipped himself again, biting back his cries from the infliction.
With each laceration, the judge could feel the memories of childhood abuses rushing back to him: vision after vision of punitive injuries as a boy at the hands of his father in order to keep him in line.
Crimson blood streamed down his alabaster skin like rain drops as he continued whip after whip. Once again the Minister's body shook in anguish, every nerve in him begging to stop such torment only for Frollo to ignore such instincts.
Holding himself on his hands, the judge arched his back up and stretched the open wounds as further abuse. Groaning from the straining affliction, he looked up at the flames dancing in front of him in the fireplace.
Atonement, he thought regrettably, his jaw clenched so tight he feared it might break lose from its hinges. Exhaustedly and devoutly he scolded himself, Discipline yields the fruit of righteousness to those trained by it. Frollo gritted his teeth and stood up, ready to strike again.
X
At the crack of dawn, the Minister opened his red-rimmed eyes at the rising sun outside his window. Raising himself up, Frollo winced a little the fresh scars that adorned his backside, which were clumsily bandaged but still enough to allow proper healing.
When he examined himself in the mirror of the washroom, he was shocked to see that dark circles were now forming under his slate-gray eyes. He sighed at this and splashed his face with water from the basin. Like clockwork, he began preparing for another long day.
Upon reaching Notre Dame, he automatically collected the fresh bucket of milk that Augustin had left for him in the church's kitchens before treading up the winding staircase to the bell tower, where upon reaching he was greeted by the harsh pitch of the baby's cry.
Running a hand over his face, he miserably thought, Back into the fray.
Stoically, the Minister went through the typical routine of childcare: feeding, changing, put the child to sleep. It was barely the second day of this new routine and already Frollo was sick of the fact that he would have to return later to check in on Quasimodo, dreading how time-consumingly aggravating it was by robbing him of much of the day that he preferred to spend patrolling the city.
Judging by the sunlight hidden behind the winter clouds, the day was still young and there was much to be done.
Taking another look, Frollo made sure that Quasimodo was fast asleep before gliding down the steps and heading for the church doors.
"Claude!"
Sighing, the Minister turned around to see the Archdeacon approaching him. "What is it now?" Frollo asked harshly, already a fist tightening at his side. "I cannot have my work being constantly disrupted with more distractions!"
Ignoring the judge's snappish attitude, Augustin pressed on. "Excuse me, Your Honor, but I believe it was you that instructed me to make arrangements for the child's baptism 'as soon as possible.' I only mean to inquire the details of your plans."
In pure irritation and exasperation, and without a logical thought, Frollo indignantly blurted out, "Tonight then! Baptize the child tonight! Now that this issue has been sorted out, I cannot afford to waste any more time here! I must ensure that the city is in plausible condition!" With that, Frollo marched forward out the doors before slamming them with a thunderous boom.
How frustrated he was: his whole world was tilted on its axis that he could not keep calm for the life of him. He ignored the usual tightening in his chest, that usually only manifested when Jehan pushed him too far. He prayed that a quiet patrol day could ease the stress that was eating away at him as he headed toward his horse who whinnied anxiously upon his master's return.
However, before he could pull himself on top of the mighty steed, an unknown voice called out, "Minister Frollo!"
Annoyed enough as he was, Frollo reluctantly turned around to see a man in an expensive looking green cloak nearing.
"Monsieur Poussepain," Frollo addressed with feigned politeness. The man, Denis Poussepain, was a renowned doctor among the Parisian nobility. His son, Robin, was a known troublemaker…and (much to the Minister's chagrin) Jehan's best friend; many times over when Frollo received a letter of complaint regarding Jehan's behavior in school, it was not uncommon for Robin's name to be mentioned for being involved.
"What can I do for you today?" Frollo asked, forcing a genial smile.
"I just wanted to bestow my congratulations upon your foray into fatherhood! I must say that I do admire your mercy for taking in a deformed foundling, and with such a demanding job!" The man beamed, promptly shaking the judge's hand.
The Minister went cold and felt as though he was completely exposed and defenseless. He swallowed and, remaining calm, inquired, "I thank you for your kind words, sir. But I must know: how did you happen upon the news of my situation?"
"Why, my Robin came home with the tale from your younger brother about you finding an abandoned, disfigured child and taking it in as your own. My wife wept at the tale, she was so touched and impressed at your initiative–not that we have ever doubted you, Minister!"
"My brother, hmm?" Frollo kept his tone even and cool, despite the fact that inside he was livid with boiling anger. A twitch tugged at his forced smile, which he fought to keep plastered in place. "Well, I wonder with how many others Jehan has shared such knowledge. I should be going, Doctor, for Paris alone will not rid herself of the evils that walk among us."
"Of course," Poussepain replied, now patting Frollo on the shoulder, much to the latter's discomfort. "Ever vigilant, our city is in good hands. Again, congratulations, Minister!"
As the man walked away and Frollo climbed atop his horse, he breathed heavily with fury at Jehan's utter disrespect for what should have been a private matter.
Idiot! He thought spitefully as he headed off to perform his duties as Minister of Justice.
X
*a/n: Really had to channel Silas from the da Vinci code for the self-flagellation thing, which was fun. Had a busy week with a lab report, rhetoric stuff, and a health scare, but it's all good now!
Thank Kamelot's new song "Veil of Elysium" for motivating me to finish this chapter (gonna see them in May!)
Let's see how Jehan's gonna handle his big bro's wrath...
Latin: Catholic Act of Contrition prayer
R/R!