NOVEMBER 4, 1640
That wretched dog! He sent guards to arrest me and avoid the duel! Now I am incarcerated in a damp dungeon, with nothing but my ragged clothes. A more parsimonious guard provided me with some paper and ink also, as well as a quill to write with. Oh, but that haughty coward! He shall not escape Doom’s clutches, even if he attempts to evade my own!
NOVEMBER 12, 1640
The cell grows colder every night, and the time is coming – the time I have yearned for all my life – the time of Portugal’s resurrection – yet I’m not present when we recover what we have sought the most for the past sixty years! Sixty years! Sixty years in the hands of ignoble outsiders! Oh Jesus, Son of Mary, wilt Thou forsake Thy loyal serf? Wilt Thou deliver not his sinful self? Dost not leave him to rot in a miserable cage, he prays Thee! Forgive his iniquity; allow him to fulfill Thy bidding for this Country!
NOVEMBER 29, 1640
A grave and pale gentleman released me from captivity last night! Somehow he came unnoticed by the sentinels, knocked the guard unconscious and picked my lock while I lay slumbering in the cold pavement. Once he awoke me, the deft gentleman carried me throughout the dismal dungeon, all the way up to a hay wagon standing at the entrance of the oubliettes’ labyrinth. The wagoner had the amiability of leaving my body, utterly paralyzed by malnutrition and enforced confinement, back to the place its mind calls “home.” When I woke up today, almost past noon, I found a note on the end table, telling me to avoid being detected; I am to stay hidden inside my smithy until the First of December cometh, and so shall I do!