Or Else Let Her Be Mine And Mine Alone

Sequel to A Second Arrangement

The guards woke-up Esmeralda early the next day. Before she could ask anything, they threw her clothes at her, the white dress Quasimodo had found her in the cathedral, which she was wearing before being sent there.

'Get ready, gypsy. Master Charmolue and Minister Frollo have called you in the proctor's den.' It took a few seconds for Esmeralda to recall last night's events. She hurriedly put it on. In the Middle Ages they stripped the prisoner of their clothes, but left on their innerwear for modesty's sake. A guard then dragged her out of her dungeon, and through a series of likewise cells. She wondered how many of the unfortunate prisoners inside them were innocent. How many were sent there just because they were different, or for standing up against the system. Likely more than she thought.

--

They stopped at a large room lit by a fire. Seeing it made her jaw drop. She very well remembered her last time at the place. The guard pulled her in, announcing, 'The gypsy girl, Monseigneur.'

Since this wasn't a part of a trial like last time, there were significantly few people there. She saw the proctor's assistants on the ground, preparing their instruments. Her eyes wandered around the room, over God knew what kind of devices, before stopping at Jacques Charmolue, who was lost in conversation with Frollo. The pair ceased talking to turn at the young girl standing at the door. 'A good morning, mademoiselle,' said the proctor, smiling friendlily. 'Please come in.'

She walked in with hunched shoulders, then sat in a small chair Charmolue signaled at. She looked at Frollo, who was going through some papers indifferently.

'How is your foot?' he asked. She felt flustered. 'It still has the scars, although it doesn't pain anymore,' she said.

'That is good to hear. You must be knowing, my dear girl,' Charmolue began, 'that your second-in-commandant, Mathias Sipcali, I think it was? Anyway, he is under arrest.'

She nodded quietly.

'I have been told that you believe you can make him accept defeat and leave Paris with his band, on the condition that the King spares your lives.'

'That's right,' she said.

'We brought him, sir,' a soldier reported from outside.

Charmolue turned at the door, then back to her. 'Very well. You have five minutes. If you fail, then I will perform my duty.'

She looked towards the door. Mathias Spicali was brought in. She almost didn't recognise him. A man in his 40s, he was looking the same, and was probably still strong, but he appeared baffled. He didn't protest, or struggle with the soldier pulling him. Nor did he look horrified at the various torture devices; he just stepped in with his head down like he was supposed to.

Charmolue picked up a rod of iron from the floor, then burned an end of it in the fire. Esmeralda flinched. Frollo put the papers aside and made his seat in his chair. Holding out the rod he walked towards Mathias. 'I hope that we do not need to introduce ourselves, or state out your crimes against the state, gypsy,' he said, sounding considerably more menacing. The Duke shook his head.

'Then you may also know of what we seek.'

'I do, and I will not provide it to you.' He looked up at Charmolue, and Esmeralda felt her heart stop. Mathias's body looked resigned, but his eyes held fury: terrible, powerful fury. Then his eyes shifted, and his expression changed in a second.

'Esmeralda?' he asked, bewildered. She got up uncertainly, not knowing whether she should go towards him. Charmolue turned around and signalled her to come forward. She ran. He looked at her carefully as if to make sure that he wasn't dreaming, then cupped her face.