Chapter 21: Imprisonment: II
One single light was visible, and he knew it came from Mercédès’ room. She was the only person awake in the entire fishing village. One loud shout and she might hear him. But pride held him back, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What would the guards think if I started screaming like a madman?
He stayed silent, staring at that light as the boat moved on, thinking only of Mercédès. Then a hill blocked the light from view. When he turned back around, he realized they’d reached open ocean. While he’d been lost in thought, the rowers had put away their oars and raised a sail. Now they were moving with the wind.
Despite Dantès’ reluctance to talk to the guards, he turned to the nearest one and grabbed his hand.
"Listen," Dantès said, "I’m begging you as a Christian and a soldier, tell me where we’re going. I’m Captain Dantès, a loyal Frenchman, even though I’m accused of treason. Tell me where you’re taking me, and I swear on my honor I’ll accept whatever fate awaits me."
The guard looked uncertainly at his partner, who shrugged as if to say, "I don’t see the harm in telling him now." So the guard replied:
"You’re from this city and you’re a sailor, but you don’t know where you’re going?"
"I swear I have no idea."
"No idea at all?"
"None whatsoever."
"That’s impossible."
"I’m telling you the truth. Please, I’m begging you."
"But my orders..."
"Your orders don’t forbid telling me something I’ll know in ten minutes, half an hour, or an hour anyway. You can see I can’t escape, even if I wanted to."
"Unless you’re blind or have never left the harbor, you should know."
"I don’t."
"Then look around."
Dantès stood up and looked ahead. About a hundred yards away, he saw a black, menacing rock rising from the water with a fortress perched on top, the Château d’If. This grim stronghold, which had inspired terrifying legends for over three hundred years, looked to him like a gallows waiting for its next victim.
"The Château d’If?" Dantès cried. "Why are we going there?"
The guard smiled.
"I’m not going there to be imprisoned," he said desperately. "That place is only used for political prisoners. I haven’t committed any crime. Are there judges or magistrates at the Château d’If?"
"There’s only," the guard said, "a warden, a garrison, jailers, and very thick walls. Come on, don’t look so shocked, or you’ll make me think you’re mocking my kindness."
Dantès gripped the guard’s hand so hard he winced.
"So you think I’m being taken to the Château d’If to be imprisoned there?"
"Probably. But there’s no need to crush my hand."
"Without any trial? Without any formal charges?"
"All the formalities have been completed. The investigation is already done."
"But what about Mr. Villefort’s promises?"
"I don’t know what Mr. Villefort promised you," the guard said, "but I know we’re taking you to the Château d’If. Hey, what are you doing? Help, guys, help!"
With a sudden movement that the experienced guard barely caught in time, Dantès lunged forward to throw himself into the sea. But four strong arms grabbed him just as his feet left the bottom of the boat. He fell back, cursing with rage.
"Nice try!" the guard said, pressing his knee into his chest. "Never trust smooth-talking officials again! Listen, friend, I disobeyed my first order by telling you where we’re going, but I won’t disobey my second. If you move again, I’ll blow your brains out." He aimed his rifle at Dantès’ head, and he felt the cold metal against his temple.
For a moment, Dantès considered fighting back and ending this nightmare that had destroyed his life. But he remembered Mr. Villefort’s promise. Besides, dying in a boat at the hands of a guard seemed too pathetic an end. He stayed still, but he was grinding his teeth and clenching his fists in fury.
Just then, the boat hit the dock with a violent jolt. One of the sailors jumped onto shore, a rope squeaked through a pulley, and Dantès knew they’d reached their destination and were tying up.
The guards grabbed Dantès by the arms and coat collar, forced him to stand, and dragged him toward stone steps leading to the fortress gate. A police officer with a bayonet-equipped rifle followed behind them.
Dantès didn’t resist. He felt like he was in a dream. He saw soldiers lined up on the embankment, vaguely aware of climbing stairs, conscious of passing through a door that closed behind him. But everything seemed hazy, like looking through fog. He couldn’t even see the ocean, that terrible barrier to freedom that prisoners stare at in complete despair.
They stopped for a minute, during which Dantès tried to clear his head and figure out what was happening. He looked around, he was in a courtyard surrounded by high walls. He could hear the measured footsteps of sentries, and when they passed under torchlight, he saw their rifle barrels gleaming.
They waited for more than ten minutes. Confident he couldn’t escape, the guards released Dantès. They seemed to be waiting for orders.
Finally, the orders came.
"Where’s the prisoner?" a voice called out.
"Here," the guards replied.
"Have him follow me. I’ll take him to his cell."
"Go!" the guards said, pushing Dantès forward.
He followed his new guide, who led him into a room that was practically underground. The bare, damp walls seemed soaked with tears and despair. A lamp sitting on a stool barely lit the space, revealing the features of his escort, an under-jailer who was poorly dressed and had a grim expression.
"This is your room for tonight," he said. "It’s late and the warden is sleeping. Maybe tomorrow he’ll move you somewhere else. In the meantime, there’s bread, water, and fresh straw. That’s all a prisoner can expect. Good night."
Before Dantès could say a word, before he could see where he’d placed the bread and water, before he could glance at the corner where the straw was, the jailer disappeared, taking the lamp with him and closing the door. All that remained in his mind was the dim memory of those dripping dungeon walls.
Dantès was alone in darkness and silence, as cold as the shadows he could feel breathing on his burning forehead.