~ Le Rumble de l’Ensemble ~
“Kill them all!” Louis orders his army from atop his steed.
With the bullets from their firearms presently spent, the throng of mercenaries draw their blades and enclose on the two grounded bards. Standing back to back, Cyrano and Quasimodo receive their opponents en masse. Cyrano disarms each man who dares come within reach, sending swords flying into the air like hats in a celebration. Nearly every man disarmed suffers a punctured heart or face before he can escape Cyrano's barrage of flickering steel. Quasimodo lays hold of his first opponent and uses the ill-fated pirate like a weapon and shield against those who come soon after. In little time, the pirate's limp corpse has blocked the points and edges of two dozen swords and bludgeoned the same number of his fellows before being tossed at the faces of a half-dozen more.
High above them, Erik reaches into the dark folds of his shimmering cape and pulls out an absurd amount of ropes, at the end of each one, a noose.
“I do not think their ships will be needing these any longer!”
With insane laughter, he tosses the ropes out like streamers of confetti, the nooses landing unerringly around the necks of a hundred brigands. With a spectacular tug of his arm, one hundred necks snap with a sound like a thunderous, but brief, applause. Soaring like a circling vulture, Erik descends and wraps the ropes around a hundred more villains, entangling them all with hemp and fear.
As the pocket of villainy stumbles and wails through the tangle of blades and ropes, Cyrano taps the Hunchback on the shoulder to get his attention.
“This way!” he shouts, with a wave of his blade.
He dashes through the confused mob, and Quasimodo follows. The two men run, dodge, and fight their way into the Le Havre Cathedral.
They slam the doors, slide the bolt, and turn to see a statue of Saint Joan of Arc nearby. Cyrano offers the statue a quick bow.
“Milady, we are besieged. As this is not your first battle, I must ask that you guard the entrance! Quasimodo, if would be so kind to assist me in escorting my lady to her post!”
With brute strength and artful leverage, the two men wrestle the large marble graven image to the entrance and barricade the door. Without, hundreds of bloodthirsty men shout and pound on the doors.
“Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” Quasimodo yells, his thick arms held high in taunting triumph.
Cyrano takes the Hunchback's sleeve and leads him past the holy water font and into the nave.
“I fear our divine protection will only hold so long, brother. This edifice was not designed to keep out such an onslaught.”
He raises his eyes to the level of the altar. Both men stop to see the shadowy figure of Erik standing there, posed as if about to deliver an operatic solo.
“My friends, our audience grows restless. This intermission must not take too long.”
Quasimodo's good eye widens as he points at the Phantom. “I heard you again! How is it I can hear you and nothing else?”
Cyrano's eyes narrow as he takes a step forward and sheaths his sword.
“So, tell us, master Erik, when was it that you ceased to be a fraud and commenced to be the genuine article? Just when did the infamous Opera Ghost become a true Phantom, and not just some mortal trickster assassin maestro? How? How did you survive death and come to be what you are now?”
Erik places a gloved hand upon his breast and lets out a sigh as every candle in the cathedral lights. “I died of a broken heart, a fate I would not wish on any man. Two weeks after my sweet Christine ran away with the viscount, I was dead. Though my bones were recovered in my subterranean abode, my spirit remained there. Christine was my reason for living, but not my reason for existing. This I now know.”
“And why do you still exist?” Cyrano asks, arching an eyebrow.
There is something of a smile in the Phantom's volto mask. “Why, the same reason as yours and Quasimodo's, master De Bergerac; to sing the songs, fight the throngs, and right the wrongs as a Broken Bard of Paris!”
Cyrano eloquently removes his hat, draws his sword, and raises it in high salute. “My friends, Fate has denied us the ultimate adventure—the love of our ladies. But that is not the only adventure to be had. I am honored to share this one with you, even if it be our last!”
Quasimodo beams with a thrill and happiness he has never before felt. He looks to the Phantom and says with a crooked, yet facetious grin, “From one rope-puller to another, I commend you for what you just did outside.”
“Ha ha!” the Phantom laughs. “There is more wit to you than I first gave you credit for!”
Their attention is drawn by a loud crash where the entrance doors begin to break and splinter. The statue of Joan of Arc stays put, but the door will not hold long.
Cyrano tosses his hat away. “If I am to die in a church, let it be said that it was humbly. Erik, have you anymore phantasmal devices at your disposal? Another rope trick, perhaps?”
The Phantom shrugs. “I am at a loss for rope. And as for my unearthly talents, I must confess—they are as much a mystery to me as they are to you. I can become invisible, pass through walls, fly. I cannot touch anyone lest it be through an object I am holding or throwing.”
“I know!” Quasimodo says. “You can take off your mask and scare them all to death as you did those guards in the prison!”
The Phantom crosses his arms and considers the idea and lets out a long, “Hmmmmmmmmmmm, no. No, there are simply too many. It won't work.”
“Why not?” Cyrano asks as he grows more impatient.
The Phantom places a wrist to his brow, sighs, and begins to pace about. “I am the ghost of a genius, not a deus ex machina! I cannot be made to do something, told to do something if I am not in the mood to do it! I am an artist, not a soldier! A trickster, not a strategist!”
“A diva, not an actor,” says Cyrano, rolling his eyes.
The Phantom scoffs and waves his hands in dismissal. “I must be in the mood. I must be inspired.”
“Well then, you precarious apparition, what will inspire you? Think quickly, lest there soon be three ghosts in this church!”
The Phantom takes to the air and floats about aimlessly. “Hmm.” He looks around as the sound of the mob and breaking doors grows louder. Then he sees the church's grand and immense organ.
“Ah! Of course!”
With a whirl, his shady form gravitates to the towering instrument. He sits on the bench and looks back upon the faces of his friends.
“Music! It has ever been my greatest talent. My skills of stealth and talent with the Punjab lasso are but trifles to this—my true calling. But I require an accompaniment. Quasimodo, get you to the church's bells. Ring them loud and keep their pace steady as a clock.”
The Hunchback nods and runs out of the nave, over the pews with simian-like agility.
“And what would you have of me?” Cyrano asks.
Like two dancing tarantulas, the Phantom's hands play upon the organ's keys producing a run of scales that entices the artist's fiery spirit.
“I will need your poetry and voice, Cyrano. When the bells ring, I will improvise a tune and sing wordless harmonies with it. It falls to you to add melody and words. Thus will the spell be realized.”
“This music then is some form of magic?” Cyrano asks incredulously.
The Phantom looks at him with tilted head. “My dear Cyrano, when has great music been anything else?”
The bells above them peel and chime,
As Erik pumps his feet in time,
Giving breath to the organ's pipes,
Across the keys long fingers swipe,
Melodic phrases rise and fall,
As Erik howls his ghostly call,
The doors break down and villains enter,
Cyrano takes front stage and center,
The church floor fills with a sellsword throng,
As the air around them fills with song,
Bells and organ, words and voice,
The mo
b sits down, devoid of choice,
The Broken Bards break murderous resolve,
As Cyrano sings the lyrics that doth solve!
Liberty, Oh Liberty, thou bonny lass,
Who frees us from the fetters of class,
With one breast bared you come anon,
Like a glorious amazon,
Liberty, Oh Liberty, thou stately Dame,
For you they cried and so you came,
Arm'd with torch and tome of law,
With Bonaparte, thy son-in-law,
Liberty, Oh Liberty, sister to Fates,
Set to right the affairs of state,
Strengthen weak and humble strong,
Enter the hearts of this royalist throng,
Liberty, Oh Liberty, to you I pray,
Let thy reign commence this day,
For ne'er existed such beauty,
As that of Lady Liberty!”
The voices, organ, words, and bells,
Bring about the troubadour spell,
The men who before had bended knee,
Forswear their pledge of loyalty,
With humbl'd hearts the brigands file out,
To return to their ships or roads to home route.
Chapter 12