The Count of Monte Cristo (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (32 page)

It was then he rejoiced at his precaution in taking the timber, for without it he would have been unable, perhaps, to reach the vessel — certainly to return to shore, should he be unsuccessful in attracting attention.

Dantes, though almost sure as to what course the vessel would take, had yet watched it anxiously until it tacked and stood towards him. Then he advanced; but before they could meet, the vessel again changed her course. By a violent effort he rose half out of the water, waving his cap, and uttering a loud shout peculiar to sailors. This time he was both seen and heard, and the tartan instantly steered towards him. At the same time, he saw they were about to lower the boat.

An instant after, the boat, rowed by two men, advanced rapidly towards him. Dantes let go of the timber, which he now thought to be useless, and swam vigorously to meet them. But he had reckoned too much upon his strength, and then he realized how serviceable the timber had been to him. His arms became stiff, his legs lost their flexibility, and he was almost breathless.

He shouted again. The two sailors redoubled their efforts, and one of them cried in Italian, “Courage!”

The word reached his ear as a wave which he no longer had the strength to surmount passed over his head. He rose again to the surface, struggled with the last desperate effort of a drowning man, uttered a third cry, and felt himself sinking, as if the fatal cannon shot were again tied to his feet. The water passed over his head, and the sky turned gray. A convulsive movement again brought him to the surface. He felt himself seized by the hair, then he saw and heard nothing. He had fainted.

When he opened his eyes Dantes found himself on the deck of the tartan. His first care was to see what course they were taking. They were rapidly leaving the Chateau d’If behind. Dantes was so exhausted that the exclamation of joy he uttered was mistaken for a sigh.

As we have said, he was lying on the deck. A sailor was rubbing his limbs with a woolen cloth; another, whom he recognized as the one who had cried out “Courage!” held a gourd full of rum to his mouth; while the third, an old sailer, at once the pilot and captain, looked on with that egotistical pity men feel for a misfortune that they have escaped yesterday, and which may overtake them to-morrow.

A few drops of the rum restored suspended animation, while the friction of his limbs restored their elasticity.

“Who are you?” said the pilot in bad French.

“I am,” replied Dantes, in bad Italian, “a Maltese sailor. We were coming from Syracuse laden with grain. The storm of last night overtook us at Cape Morgion, and we were wrecked on these rocks.”

“Where do you come from?”

“From these rocks that I had the good luck to cling to while our captain and the rest of the crew were all lost. I saw your vessel, and fearful of being left to perish on the desolate island, I swam off on a piece of wreckage to try and intercept your course. You have saved my life, and I thank you,” continued Dantes. “I was lost when one of your sailors caught hold of my hair.”

“It was I,” said a sailor of a frank and manly appearance; “and it was time, for you were sinking.”

“Yes,” returned Dantes, holding out his hand, “I thank you again.”

“I almost hesitated, though,” replied the sailor; “you looked more like a brigand than an honest man, with your beard six inches, and your hair a foot long.” Dantes recollected that his hair and beard had not been cut all the time he was at the Chateau d’If.

“Yes,” said he, “I made a vow, to our Lady of the Grotto not to cut my hair or beard for ten years if I were saved in a moment of danger; but to-day the vow expires.”

“Now what are we to do with you?” said the captain.

“Alas, anything you please. My captain is dead; I have barely escaped; but I am a good sailor. Leave me at the first port you make; I shall be sure to find employment.”

“Do you know the Mediterranean?”

“I have sailed over it since my childhood.”

“You know the best harbors?”

“There are few ports that I could not enter or leave with a bandage over my eyes.”

“I say, Captain,” said the sailor who had cried “Courage!” to Dantes, “if what he says is true, what hinders his staying with us?”

“If he says true,” said the captain doubtingly. “But in his present condition he will promise anything, and take his chance of keeping it afterwards.”

“I will do more than I promise,” said Dantes.

“We shall see,” returned the other, smiling.

“Where are you going?” asked Dantes.

“To Leghorn.”

“Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail nearer the wind?”

“Because we should run straight on to the Island of Rion.”

“You shall pass it by twenty fathoms.”

“Take the helm, and let us see what you know.” The young man took the helm, felt to see if the vessel answered the rudder promptly and seeing that, without being a first-rate sailor, she yet was tolerably obedient, —

“To the sheets,” said he. The four seamen, who composed the crew, obeyed, while the pilot looked on. “Haul taut.” — They obeyed.

“Belay.” This order was also executed; and the vessel passed, as Dantes had predicted, twenty fathoms to windward.

“Bravo!” said the captain.

“Bravo!” repeated the sailors. And they all looked with astonishment at this man whose eye now disclosed an intelligence and his body a vigor they had not thought him capable of showing.

“You see,” said Dantes, quitting the helm, “I shall be of some use to you, at least during the voyage. If you do not want me at Leghorn, you can leave me there, and I will pay you out of the first wages I get, for my food and the clothes you lend me.”

“Ah,” said the captain, “we can agree very well, if you are reasonable.”

“Give me what you give the others, and it will be all right,” returned Dantes.

“That’s not fair,” said the seaman who had saved Dantes; “for you know more than we do.”

“What is that to you, Jacopo?” returned the Captain. “Everyone is free to ask what he pleases.”

“That’s true,” replied Jacopo; “I only make a remark.”

“Well, you would do much better to find him a jacket and a pair of trousers, if you have them.”

“No,” said Jacopo; “but I have a shirt and a pair of trousers.”

“That is all I want,” interrupted Dantes. Jacopo dived into the hold and soon returned with what Edmond wanted.

“Now, then, do you wish for anything else?” said the patron.

“A piece of bread and another glass of the capital rum I tasted, for I have not eaten or drunk for a long time.” He had not tasted food for forty hours. A piece of bread was brought, and Jacopo offered him the gourd.

“Larboard your helm,” cried the captain to the steersman. Dantes glanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth; then paused with hand in mid-air.

“Hollo! What’s the matter at the Chateau d’If?” said the captain.

A small white cloud, which had attracted Dantes’ attention, crowned the summit of the bastion of the Chateau d’If. At the same moment the faint report of a gun was heard. The sailors looked at one another.

“What is this?” asked the captain.

“A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d’If, and they are firing the alarm gun,” replied Dantes. The captain glanced at him, but he had lifted the rum to his lips and was drinking it with so much composure, that suspicions, if the captain had any, died away.

“At any rate,” murmured he, “if it be, so much the better, for I have made a rare acquisition.” Under pretence of being fatigued, Dantes asked to take the helm; the steersman, glad to be relieved, looked at the captain, and the latter by a sign indicated that he might abandon it to his new comrade. Dantes could thus keep his eyes on Marseilles.

“What is the day of the month?” asked he of Jacopo, who sat down beside him.

“The 28th of February.”

“In what year?”

“In what year — you ask me in what year?”

“Yes,” replied the young man, “I ask you in what year!”

“You have forgotten then?”

“I got such a fright last night,” replied Dantes, smiling, “that I have almost lost my memory. I ask you what year is it?”

“The year 1829,” returned Jacopo. It was fourteen years day for day since Dantes’ arrest. He was nineteen when he entered the Chateau d’If; he was thirty-three when he escaped. A sorrowful smile passed over his face; he asked himself what had become of Mercedes, who must believe him dead. Then his eyes lighted up with hatred as he thought of the three men who had caused him so long and wretched a captivity. He renewed against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort the oath of implacable vengeance he had made in his dungeon. This oath was no longer a vain menace; for the fastest sailor in the Mediterranean would have been unable to overtake the little tartan, that with every stitch of canvas set was flying before the wind to Leghorn.

Dantes released the helm and moved off to curl up in the corner at the front of the small skiff, with a borrowed jacket, worn but faded at the elbows from sea splash. As always, in quiet moments such as these, Dantes thought of Mercedes. He’s imagining his bride in many ways since he became a guest of the Chateau d’If but this one fantasy, the most depraved of all his mind could muster, he had saved until he was free to enjoy the memory it might create. The cool fresh air bolstered Dantes’ sense of freedom and in that moment he imagined Mercedes in his most erotic fantasy.

When Dantes had travelled East, experimenting with spices and tobacco, he had a fortunate encounter with
les putains
. Dantes did not avail himself of their services but he witnessed such an event as he had never seen before. At first he thought it was the drink simmering his blood to a boil for his debauched thoughts but the reality of the situation became evident rather quickly. This particular fetish was sold as a specialty in that region of the world and Dantes did not need to pay for it when a saucy young wench offered to let him watch for free. She must have taken a fancy to him,
les putains
never did any task for free.

Man and woman engaged in the act of lovemaking like animals. The man mounted his conquest from behind and both the parties were so engrossed in the act they did not see his shock and surprise, nor did they notice his presence. He watched them rut for longer than he should have in good conscience and the image of that position was forever scorched into his mind.

Mercedes was a lady, unlike any he ever had the pleasure of meeting, but she would do this for him if asked and he would prepare her so well she would forget her sensibilities and succumb to the pleasure he might spark in her.

He would remove every stitch of clothing and spread her thighs wide before him. She would remain open and waiting as he lapped at her wet flesh until she climaxed, her knees pressing against his ears. Most of all he wanted to hear those tiny whimpers she squeaked out as she attempted in vain to remain proper and still feel the full measure of the sensation.

Dantes’ manhood pressed against his borrowed trousers, he arranged the coat to give himself a modicum of privacy should anyone pass him on deck. He closed his eyes and resumed his musings, his thoughts wandering to how simple it would be to turn her so her breasts pressed into the sheets and her hips created a tantalizing angle with her waist.

Once he held her soft fleshy hips in his palms, Dantes would take her, gently, so she would not feel the need to shy away from his touch. Inserting his turgid member into the waiting sheath she provided would feel like heaven on Earth. Just the image in his mind of having Mercedes in that way, her black hair falling around them in a curtain, awakened something primal and forbidden he didn’t know he possessed. He might even play with a few tendrils while he thrust into her, adding to the sensation he sought to build.

His imaginings were interrupted by Jacapo.

“Is it a woman you dream of?

Dantes had not even heard him approach, it was testament to how engrossing his fantasy had become.

“Yes, my betrothed.”

Jacapo smiled an odd lopsided thing, a knowing smile.

“Then she waits for you at port?”

“It is my most fervent hope.”

“Mine too, then” Jacapo said, evenly.

Jacapo nodded to Dantes, inserted his hands into his pants pocket, and wandered back the way he had evidently came. Dantes watched him depart and only felt comfortable resuming his trail of thoughts once the man was gone permanently. The task of hiding his erect member was an embarrassment; he did not relish the thought of fighting off a robbery while sporting it.

Dantes ensured the coat covered the noticeable bulge at the front of his breeches before closing his eyes. In an instant he was transported back to his Mercedes. His mind opened like a flower bud at the same place he was interrupted. The sensation of driving his manhood into his bride, even imagined, was overwhelming. He had not let his mind wander in this way sometimes. The sweet pressure of Mercedes, warm and wet around him, almost had him spilling his seed, right there, with no stimulation at all.

By the end of their assignation, Dantes was all but certain Mercedes would be grinding back against him, endeavoring to reach her own completion alongside his. He might run a hand down her flat belly and stimulate her even further as her excitement grew.

In his mind they climaxed, reached that high peak, at the exact same moment, sharing in the wave of pleasure that would crush both of them. They rode the wave, each holding themselves against the other as the small ripples of pleasure passed through them unseen. When it was over Dantes could feel the imprint of her body as they aligned back to front, nude, and warm.

Dantes opened his eyes and stared up at the sky the clouds fluffy and white. What is Mercedes decided not to wait? What if she did these depraved things with her husband and it was no longer his place to imagine her as his own?

All the doubts he previously held before leaving the Chateau d’If flooded his mind. She could be deceased or possibly worse still, married to someone else. Dantes could honestly profess he had no thoughts on which would actually be worse. He stopped his mind from wandering too far into dark corners else he might not have the strength to return to the light.