About a month later, not long after the French marched triumphantly into Madrid, Diego exited the dorms one day with some food for his grandfather and his aging servants, who were too afraid at the time to leave the house and go for groceries. He was just returning home when he noticed a white-haired man he knew. Ignacio de Soto came straight at him.
"De la Vega… Visiting your grandfather in such turbulent times. What a brave man you are!" his former schoolmate said.
"Ignacio…" the young don greeted observing that the young man turned his head back as soon as they met, but at a loss to understand the reason for his gesture, attributing it to an attempt to find something or someone. "I hope you are well," he added.
"Better than others, for sure," De Soto replied before saluting and heading away with no more words.
"I am glad," Diego said sincerely as he was already a few feet away, then again started on his way.
He took but a few steps before he was stopped again, this time by two French soldiers.
"Diego de la Vega," one of them asked.
"Yes… Is there something I may do for you?" the caballero wondered.
"Come with us!" the same man ordered.
The young don glanced at their muskets for a moment, remarking to himself that he was unarmed, and decided it was best to do as they said. They escorted him to a nearby street, where a barred wagon was waiting.
"Get inside!" one of the French soldiers ordered.
"Inside? What for? Am I being arrested?"
"Oui, Monsieur. You are under arrest. Now, get inside!"
Certain it must have been some sort of mistake he could easily rectify, Diego, nodded and got inside, careful not to antagonize the soldiers.
When the wagon stopped before a prison, he was forced out and locked in one of the cells, no explanation to the reason for his incarceration ever given to him.
For a while, as he was being kept in Madrid, he remained convinced that a mistake had been made, and was only waiting for someone he could talk to in order to rectify it.
He even smiled when, on his fourth day of captivity, he received a visitor.
"Gilberto Risendo," he muttered as his visitor approached the cell in which he was being kept.
"Fancy finding you here…" the man said.
Diego looked rather puzzled at him. "Do you have any idea why I was brought here? What am I accused of?"
"All I know is that it has to do with your father and the crimes he had committed before leaving Spain."
"My father's crimes? My father was in the army before leaving Spain. He served the king in the colonies, and he never committed any crimes!"
"But did he always behave like a man of honor?"
"Of course, he did! My father is the very personification of integrity, Gilberto. He's an honorable, fair man. A good man."
"Everything my true father is not… Well, then… Perhaps it is all a big misunderstanding."
"Must be! Please, help me sort it out! Nobody here seems willing to even give me an explanation. My grandfather and my friend must be worried... Perhaps you can inform my grandfather of my detention. He might be old, but he might still help me."
"I will see what I can do, De la Vega." Risendo assured him with a smug smile. "I will definitely see what I can do."
"Thank you," Diego said as the other young man left the jail, hopeful he will also be out of there soon.
Yet, Gilberto never returned, and, as time went by and no one seemed interested in hearing him out, he started getting worried.
About ten days after first being detained, he was loaded into a barred carriage and sent up north.
"Wait! Where are you taking me?" he asked as the guards were locking him inside.
"France, Monsieur. Where you will execute your sentence."
"Sentence? What sentence? I was not even given a trial! I don't even know what accusations are brought against me and by who!"
"It's not worth lying to us, Monsieur. With a sentence like yours, I am quite certain you know very well your guilt," one of the men replied.
"What sentence? What guilt? What am I accused of?" Diego tried, yet his efforts were in vain.
Also in vain were his attempts to escape.
Days flew by, yet he kept his faith. Twice a day he was allowed out of that cage in which he was kept, to answer nature's calls. As for food, on some days he got none at all, though, on most days he was given some bread and a piece of cheese or an apple.
Not until he found himself in France's most notorious prison, however, did he fear that he might never again see the starry sky, his father, grandfather, Felipe or Victoria's beautiful face.
Chateau D'If was a fortress. Built on a small island close to Marseilles, in southern France, it was renowned as the last place those kept there, most of them political prisoners, were to see before they died. For, indeed, few of those who entered it ever made it out.
In vain had the caballero tried to find answers. In vain had he tried to make himself heard when the guards placed him in a dirty cell and locked the door. All his protests achieved were to annoy the Commander of the prison who, sick of his shouts, had him taken to the courtyard, tied to a pole, and flogged him.
"That is for you to remember that, in this place, you have no rights and you shall have no deliverance!" the commander had said before ordering his men to take Diego back to his cell. "I will see you next year to refresh your memory, Monsieur!" the man also uttered as Diego was being taken away.
The guards returned him to his cell, and left him on the floor. He had to crawl to his cot, where he remained, suffering with fever for almost two weeks, until his body managed to defeat the infection set in the opened and untreated wounds the whip had caused him.
