Gift from the Sea

What Doctor Coleiro had brought to Sebastian more than temporary relief of lack of full sexual satisfaction was a definition of his condition—and the assurance that he shouldn’t worry about it at his stage of life. Sebastian had always been concerned that he was evil itself because of what he wanted from men and what he caused them to do. That’s what had launched him onto the sea in the first place—a married man in Newport, Rode Island, where Sebastian’s love for sailing vessels had sent him to the Naval Academy Preparatory School in seeking admission to the Naval Academy itself. Here he had met, been pursued by, and fucked by the naval captain who was the academy’s executive officer and who was married to the daughter of a prominent retired admiral.

Although the captain had pursued, trapped, and initiated Sebastian, he had framed it all as Sebastian’s fault—Sebastian had been provocative and had egged him on, so he said. Sebastian had fled from that, withdrawn from the school, and gone to sea on his own, serving on any sailing yacht he could sign up with and that caught his fancy no matter where it was going. And he had punished himself by giving himself to any man who wanted him. But now the doctor on Malta had framed his condition, identifying what had made it so easy for the academy captain to spike him, and as not something that was anyone’s fault—certainly not Sebastian’s.

“It is a gift,” Coleiro had said, “and you are a gift—a gift from the sea. It’s not your fault that men want to fuck you and that you enjoy them doing so.”

Buoyed by this affirmation, Sebastian returned to Gainsworth’s villa and was able to apply himself fully to the man’s coming party—the premier periodic gay bash held in Valletta.

The concierge at the near-tenement apartment house of the fiction writer, Jonathan Tremble, gave Sebastian a suspicious look when she opened the door to him, but she stepped back and he took one step into the landing hall.

“Mr. Tremble?” Sebastian said. “I have an envelope to deliver to him.” He would have been happy to just hand it to the gnarled gnome of a woman for her to deliver and she reached her hand out for it, but from the top of the stair hall, Jonathan leaned over the banister and bid Sebastian to come on up to his attic loft.

“I saw you coming up the hill, Sebastian. Come on up and help me with something.”

“It’s an invitation to tonight’s party at the villa,” Sebastian said as he made it as far as the half landing below where Jonathan, in athletic shorts and flip-flops, was waiting for him. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, Sebastian had waited to the last moment to deliver this invitation. Tremble confused him. He wasn’t either handsome or outgoing, nor was he in the best of shape. Thus, he shouldn’t scope with Sebastian at all, who had all of the hunky men after him who he could desire. But still, there was something about the writer that confused and attracted Sebastian.

“You know how formal Clifford is with these things,” Sebastian said, responding to Tremble’s summons to come on up to his garret flat. “What do you need help with?”

“This bottle of scotch,” Jonathan answered, lifting the bottle for Sebastian to see. “I’ve been fighting with myself to open it. But if I do and am alone, I know I’ll drink the whole thing, pass out, and miss the party. With you to help me, though, I know I’ll survive. Come on up and see my palatial digs. It’s as hot as hell in here, though, so make yourself as comfortable as you can be—like, as you can see, I’ve had to do.”

The first thing that struck Sebastian when he entered the room was how bright—and hot—it was. The flat was essentially one long room with a partition in the corner marking off a sink and toilet area. The space only had one window, but that was a gigantic French window with a fantail window over it that dominated the outer wall and opened onto a balcony. Beyond, Sebastian could see over the roofs of this section of the city and down to the water of the Mediterranean. The second thing he noticed was that the walls were plastered with posters of sailing yachts and there were wooden models of them strewn around the room.

“You have an interest in sailboats?” Sebastian said, a note of awe in his voice.

“Yes, they fascinate me. That’s what all of my writing is about—roving on the sea in a sailboat.”

“I never knew. That’s my interest too.”

“I know you are interested in sailboats—like that yacht you were watching in the cove yesterday. You never asked what my interests were—or read anything I wrote, I’ll wager.”

Sebastian looked at Jonathan, seeing him in a new light. Jonathan gave him a long, lingering look in return. When he realized that he was revealing too much of his yearning for Sebastian, he broke his trance, smiled shyly, and, raising the scotch bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, said, “Shall we celebrate our mutual interest? And don’t be shy. I know it’s blazing hot up here. Strip down to your comfort level.”

They both wound up on the bed, reclining across the width of it on their elbows, drinking scotch to the point of each hanging a buzz on and becoming talkative. They were looking through a book of vintage sailing yachts, discussing what they liked and what they liked better. Sebastian eventually was down to his briefs in the heat. They couldn’t avoid touching now and then as they turned the pages of the book. Increasingly, they lingered longer in the touch before pulling away. Jonathan’s gym shorts couldn’t hide that he was mammothly hung—or that he was in erection.

“And you say you write of sailing the seas too?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes. I write of adventures of young men on sailing yachts—of dropping everything in their lives and sailing off for adventure. I write of young men taking the plunge of discovery and risk taking and forming life-long friendships . . . and relationships . . . while roving on the seas.”

“Of relationships? What kind of relationships?”

“Of relationships between men,” Jonathan answered. “I write on two levels. I have adventure stories of the sea that men like to read, and then, under another name I have adventure stories of the sea of men loving men that another kind of man likes to read. The latter books are more profitable than the former. Does that surprise you?”

“Well . . . I hadn’t thought about it,” Sebastian answered.

“I think of nothing else,” Jonathan said, his voice going low and fuzzy. “Whenever I’m at Clifford’s villa. Do you think I would spend time there if I wasn’t gay and interested in men? Clifford’s art colony—we’re all gay; that’s at the base of our art.”

“Umm. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Do you think I’d spend as much time there as I do if I wasn’t interested in you?”

Jonathan grimaced and looked away—looking away so that Sebastian couldn’t see his expression. It was painful to hear that Sebastian hadn’t been thinking of him, when he had given Sebastian so much thought—when he was hard for Sebastian now as they lay so close together. But he’d known there was little hope there. Sebastian was too beautiful—too perfect—for someone like him. And Sebastian was basically a prostitute. He did it for money. Jonathan was practically destitute. There was little money to give.

Apparently oblivious to all of this—although it would have been strange for Sebastian not to be aware that Tremble was both super hung and in erection, and, of course, he wasn’t unaware of this; he was processing the knowledge—Sebastian continued speaking. “I would like to read some of your work. That’s just how I feel—just to break away from time to time and go to sea on an unplanned adventure—and if there’s a man in all that who attracted me and who wanted me, just to let him have what he wanted.”

“I’d love you to read some of my work. That’s what you were thinking yesterday as you were watching the sailboat in the cove through the binoculars?—that you wanted to get away, to go back to sea?”

Now that Sebastian thought about it, he wasn’t just thinking of the two hunks he’d seen on the yacht. He was thinking about sailing on the yacht himself. “Yes, but I couldn’t leave Clifford at this time. The doctor tells me it won’t be long yet.”

“Is that what you really were thinking of?” Jonathan pressed. “Weren’t you thinking of the two built men lying on the roof of the sailboat’s cabin and masturbating? Or did you not think I saw them?”

“Yes, I guess I was thinking of that,” Sebastian admitted, with a blush. “But I was thinking about the call of the sea too.”

“I understand the call of the sea,” Jonathan said, more than a bit frustrated that, try as he might, he couldn’t pin Sebastian down to talk about sex—and the possibilities of sex in the here and now. “God knows I do understand the attraction of the sea. And I understand the loyalty to Clifford as well. None of us can really say he doesn’t have much time—not even the doctor. You must weigh the various calls on your life. Life is fickle. Clifford could outlive you.” He paused. Then he said just Sebastian’s name in a hoarse voice.

Sebastian looked up from the pages of the book to see that Jonathan was standing beside the bed. He was holding his hand out. He was offering a small wad of euros. His erection inside the gym shorts couldn’t be denied.

“What?” Sebastian asked, confused.

“I think you’ll be leaving soon. It will break my heart and I’ll always regret that I didn’t have the chance to be with you before you left. You’ve been driving me crazy. I know you wouldn’t go with me freely because you were not attracted. But I also know you have gone with men for money. Please don’t crush me and refuse my money.”

“Jonathan,” Sebastian murmured, not knowing what else to say, being taken completely by surprise. Although he did know Jonathan must be gay to be part of Clifford’s entourage at the villa—Jonathan hadn’t needed to make that plain—Sebastian had never thought of the writer in a sexual way. Or perhaps he had, since the man confused him, but he hadn’t permitted himself to consciously think about that.

That, of course, was before he saw how hung Jonathan was and that they had similar yearnings about the sea and sailing vessels. Sebastian was continually looking for the next biggest cock to try to sheath. He didn’t really require a hunk to go with it.

Before he could react in any other way, though, Jonathan was on his knees between Sebastian’s thighs, his head in Sebastian’s lap. He was pulling the waistband of Sebastian’s briefs down and hooking it under the young American’s balls. Sebastian sighed and lay back against the wall, as Jonathan sucked in his cock. His hands went to the back of Jonathan’s head to help guide him. He didn’t fight the attention. He indeed had been here many times before and with men a lot less desirable than Jonathan was, especially now that Sebastian had an idea what the man was packing.

Jonathan took his mouth off the cock to look up into Sebastian’s face and, giving him a needy puppy dog look, pleaded, “Please.”

“All of it?”

“Yes,” Sebastian answered.

“I know you bottom for men, but if you want—”

“No, it’s fine,” Sebastian answered with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll lie under you. You can fuck me.” He was thinking of that gigantic cock and he was thinking of what Doctor Coleiro had said—that it was OK that he couldn’t get enough of it.

Jonathan went back to sucking Sebastian off, and the young man marked his willingness at the connection by holding Jonathan’s head between his hands and whispering to him what he liked and what he liked better.

“If you do any more, I’ll come,” Sebastian murmured eventually. “If that’s what you want, fine, but if you want it later . . . and if you want me to do you first—”

With a sigh, the writer pulled his mouth off Sebastian, struggled up into a standing position, and pushed his athletic shorts down off his hips. It was Sebastian’s turn to gasp and suck in his breath. As he’d thought, the man—of course, in full erection—was thick and impossibly long. Sebastian gulped and almost was lost in hiccups at the thought of taking it all inside him. But the first challenge was his throat.

* * * *

Sebastian grunted, groaned, and moaned, his mouth went slack, his white-knuckled fists clawed at the bedspread on either side of him. He arched his back and looked wildly out of the French windows and down the hillside of red-tiled roofs to the blue of the sea, as Jonathan entered, entered, entered him. It wasn’t just the length of the writer; Sebastian was panting hard to take the relentlessly invading girth of him. His ankles were on the writer’s shoulders, and Jonathan was caressing Sebastian’s thighs, belly, and chest with his hands, as he slowly drove deeper inside the ginger twink and started to pump him.

“Take it, take it. Open to me,” Jonathan murmured, all forceful control now that he had gotten inside the young American. “Good, good. Take it all.”

Sebastian cried out “Fuck yes. Fuck yes. Oh FUCK! Oh, shit, Jonathan!” and flailed about as the intensity of the fuck built. Who would have known that this man was so good, so inventive and sensual in his positioning, so divinely hung?

Jonathan took him in long slides, diving deep, and varying the cadence just as Sebastian was beginning to get control of the pattern. It was, to the young man’s recollection, the longest cock he’d ever taken. He felt as if it was reaching for his stomach and was taking long, deep slides that made Sebastian’s channel walls shimmer and undulate in waves of pleasure tempered by the sensation of total possession.

When Sebastian had shot his load, Jonathan continued for several minutes before he ejaculated. Then he paused, both of them panting hard, as they savored Jonathan going flaccid but then, almost immediately, engorging inside Sebastian again, turning Sebastian on the cock until he was on his knees on the bed and Jonathan was crouched over him from behind. The writer fucked him again like a dog, with wild abandon and such vigor and stamina that Sebastian was left exhausted, totally conquered, and purring like a kitten.

When he was able to control his trembling, Sebastian pulled out from underneath Jonathan and wandered around the room, awkwardly, collecting and pulling on his clothes. Jonathan remained on the bed, propped up on his elbows, his shoulder blades kissing the wall at the side of the bed, his thighs spread, and his gigantic cock hanging down almost to his knees.

“Sebastian,” he whispered.

Sebastian didn’t answer, he just kept dressing himself, stumbling at it, still unable to fully control his body after the total taking. He moved toward the door.

“Sebastian,” Jonathan tried again, his voice stronger now. “Don’t forget to take the money. I’m sorry if I—”

“I don’t want the money.”

“Please. I couldn’t help it. I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you at Clifford’s. I’m sorry. I know I’m not—”

Sebastian, at the door, fully dressed, turned and looked at Jonathan. “I don’t want to take the money, because I’m the one who should be paying you. That ranked up there with the best fucks of my life.” And then he was gone.

* * * *

The group that swirled around Clifford Gainsworth at his Valletta villa provided the core of his periodic parties. Who else was invited was determined by their sexual proclivities. Gainsworth, even when wheelchair bound and not in the best of health, was always at the center of the festivities, holding court and orchestrating the conviviality. The painter, Mateo, was, of course, also in attendance. Li not only attended the party, but he also brought a half dozen of his rent-boys to provide the entertainment and servicing. The writer, Jonathan Tremble, normally stayed away, being too nervous and shy around crowds. Sebastian, of course, was expected to attend and to help make sure the guests were well fed and “watered.” Beyond that Gainsworth invited men who could be useful to him and who, some in secret, were interested in a night of debauching young men as Gainsworth’s guests—at his expense for a change rather than paying Li directly at his brothel.

At Gainsworth’s parties, anyone who revealed anything about the attendance of anyone else wasn’t invited again, which meant no one blabbed about Gainsworth’s parties. But somehow every gay man of any talent on the island knew about them and coveted an invitation. Possibly the biggest reasons for this were that Li supplied the parties with rent-boys and Gainsworth paid for the services of the rent-boys. As long as a guest could remain sober enough to keep it up he could run through as many rent-boys as he was able in the time allotted for the party and all on Gainsworth’s euro.

Doctor Coleiro—and his pills—had been invited to that night’s party. To Sebastian’s greater surprise and pleasure, though, so had the visitors with the sailing yacht in the cove below, the Swede, Jurgen, and the German, Max, had been invited. Sebastian was at the door when they arrived and nearly went speechless at seeing them.

“Ah, the young man who ogled us from the hillside the other day,” Jurgen said, as he took Sebastian’s hand and didn’t quickly give it back.

“Did we pass muster?” Max asked, a glorious smile upon his lips.

Still Sebastian couldn’t talk. Jurgen released his hand, but his hand then went to Sebastian’s buttocks. Max, standing on the other side of Sebastian, already had possession of his other butt cheek.

Looking from one Nordic hunk to the other, and in a reference to the hands on his buttocks, that all three knew he was addressing, Sebastian said, “Do you two do everything together?”

“Yes,” Max said.

To which Jurgen added, “And everyone. Do you mind?”

“Perhaps we shall see,” Sebastian answered, for which he was rewarded by a squeeze of both butt cheeks.

“I was admiring the yacht,” Sebastian stammered out. “A Little Harbor 75, if I’m not mistaken. I’m interested in sailing yachts.”

“We understand you also take cock,” Jurgen said, going straight to the point that he and his colleague were currently interested in.

“Yes,” Sebastian admitted, knowing he only wanted to be so coy with these two, knowing he wanted them to fuck him. He lowered his head with a blush. The movement was an act of submission among active gays and no doubt was understood as such by all three—as was Sebastian’s failure to move away from the hands on his ass.

“I think it isn’t just our sailboat . . . that you’re interested in,” Jurgen said, with a knowing smile. “I think you like us. You would take our cocks even if we didn’t have a sailboat, wouldn’t you?”

Sebastian was contemplating how to answer that—taking long enough to do so that his answer was obvious—that Max spoke up.

“You must come sailing with us and see what the vessel can do,” Max said.

“I’d enjoy that,” Sebastian said.

“And perhaps we could see what you will do?” Jurgen said. “We were told that the young men were available tonight as party favors by the host. We understand that you are such a young man, right?”

Again Sebastian blushed and lowered his head rather than giving a verbal answer—which was an answer it itself. This was in spite of him, in fact, not being one of the rent-boys available to the party guests. But for these two . . .

“I am not normally as available as the other young men here, no,” he said. But he’d put stress on the word “normally,” which invited the two to understand that, yes, for them, he was available.

Jurgen looked around the room. They were still standing at the door. The two Nordic hunks were still palming Sebastian’s butt. “Plenty of young men here tonight. I think some of them are from the House of Li. Is that where these young men on offer are from? I think we had that one over there, together.”

“Yes, they are from Li,” Sebastian answered. He was close to hyperventilating. He had dreamed of these two hunks fucking him. And here they were, invited to Clifford’s party. Surely Clifford didn’t have any idea that Sebastian had been ogling them on their sailboat and was aching for them.

“And you?” Max asked, turned his face and a smile at Sebastian. “Are you here from the House of Li too? And does it disturb you that we had one of his boys together? You understand what I mean about having him together, don’t you?”

They’d been to the House of Li and knew what was available from young men there, Sebastian was aware. They were moving into a sort of negotiation here. He had to think about how to answer this question. “No, I work here. I’m Mr. Gainsworth’s nurse.” He paused. “But I came here from the House of Li. I worked there. And, yes, I know what you mean about having a man together. And, no, that doesn’t disturb me.”

“More than that it doesn’t disturb you—” Max zoned in.

“The answer is yes,” Sebastian said.

“And did you enjoy your work there, including entertaining more than one man?” Jurgen asked, giving Sebastian a pointed look.

“Sometimes. It depended on what—and with who—the specific job was,” Sebastian answered.

“And the two of us?” Max asked. “Would we have made your work enjoyable? Jurgen and I shared a young man when we were at Li’s. When you were there, would you have climbed the stairs with us both? Would you have been happy doing so?”

It was time to close the deal. “Very much, yes,” Sebastian answered.

“You will perhaps work for us—together—tonight?” Max asked. “Yes?”

“Yes, perhaps,” Sebastian answered. “Perhaps if you promise to take me out in your boat.”

“We will be happy to take you in our boat,” Jurgen answered. None of the three misunderstood what he was really saying. “We will work you hard, though,” he added. “Max and I are very good at working together.”

The guests were flirting with each other and with young men from the House of Li throughout the room. Some had moved into the phase of embracing and kissing. A few brave ones were already openly fucking. There was no question what sort of party this was or that Sebastian was here in a serving capacity.

“We were impressed with this house as we approached it,” Max said, cooling down the subject—but not before, of course, the three understood each other—working now on the where and when of this tryst. “It’s a fine old Mediterranean villa. Do you live here?”

“Yes, I live in,” Sebastian answered.

“You have a bedroom upstairs? Or would you like to go to a hotel with us?” It was Max who asked this.

“Yes, I have a bedroom upstairs. Would you like a tour of the upstairs?” Sebastian asked.

“We’d love one. If Max and I both could have the tour, of course. We especially wish to see your bedroom. Max and I like to . . . tour . . . together. Of course not everyone can handle tours for two at a time, which is what we are especially interested in. You understand me?”

Enough of this circular talk, Sebastian thought. Hadn’t they asked and he’d said yes in some form more than once?

“I would love to take you both together,” Sebastian answered. Not only was a deal sealed but so was the willingness to do a threesome, with two dominant men. “I will be happy to take you both now. You can fuck me together, both of you inside me together, if that’s how you enjoy doing it. Shall we go upstairs now?”

The two men grinned and sucked in their breath. As the three moved toward the stairs, Jonathan Tremble appeared at the door. He was attending one of Clifford’s all-men parties for the first time. He looked around the room, obviously trying to find someone. His eyes picked out Sebastian as the young man was escorting the two Nordic hunks to the stairs. Sebastian didn’t see him, though, and the three mounted the stairs together. Max had the palm of a hand cupping one of Sebastian’s butt cheeks. A look of disappointment floated across Jonathan’s face, and he turned and left the villa.

Upstairs, no time was wasted before the Nordic hunks had double mounted Sebastian, Jurgen lying on his back on Sebastian’s bed, with Sebastian saddled on his pelvis, facing him and skewered on his cock. Max was crouched behind Sebastian, his cock running into the ginger twink’s channel on top of Jurgen’s. Both men were thrusting inside Sebastian, causing him to flail around, sandwiched between them, his mouth slack and burbling the challenge of taking two horse-hung cocks inside him at once. He was being tested to his limits, but this was what he had been dreaming about, and he luxuriated in the pain-pleasure of riding two Nordic hunks.

“Shit, you open right up for both of them, don’t you,” Max muttered.

Since he did, there was no reason for Sebastian to answer that.

“Sweet,” Jurgen exclaimed in a breathy voice.

* * * *

Later the next morning, Sebastian was sitting at an outdoor café at the waterfront down at the base of the hill. Cleaners had come in to tidy up after the party in the villa. Sebastian wasn’t part of a cleanup crew and was happy to clear out as they did their work. He was sore but happy from the half hour he’d spent sandwiched between the two robust, blond sailors the night before.

They were on their sailing yacht now, and Sebastian was watching them dance around the deck. They worked in choreographed rhythm in more than just double-penetration fucking. Stripped to Speedos, they were working on their boat out in the cove, cleaning it and refolding the sails. He couldn’t help but watch them work in dance-like movements, and dream about what had been and what possibly might be again.

When he heard Jonathan Tremble’s voice, he looked up. “Yes, please. Do join me,” he said to the writer. “My first coffee is on order. You can order one when that is brought.” He turned his attention back to the sailing boat at anchor a couple of hundred feet off the shoreline. Jonathan took note of what Sebastian was watching. He said little, deciding not to break into Sebastian’s vigil until or unless Sebastian broke it off. Jonathan understood exactly where Sebastian’s interest lay this morning—and why. He didn’t like it but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

The coffees came. Jonathan made some small talk. Sebastian gave terse answers, although the answers indicated he hadn’t fully absorbed the questions. He wasn’t being purposely rude. He probably didn’t even realize that he couldn’t pull his attention and mind away from Jurgen and Max and the Little Harbor 75. The attraction was the yacht as much as it was the two hunks—or so Jonathan hoped.

Max saw them from the boat and waved. Sebastian sat up in his chair, grinned, and waved back. Max got Jurgen’s attention and Jurgen too waved. Sebastian returned the wave. Max cupped a hand over his mouth and called out, “Interested this morning in that sail that we promised?”

“Sometime,” Sebastian called out. Max shrugged and returned to his work.

Sebastian turned his attention more to the table, feeling around for his coffee cup. The coffee was cold now, but he didn’t seem to mind and took a swig. He looked at Jonathan as if he only now realized that the writer had joined him.

“You want to sail with them, don’t you?” Jonathan asked.

“It’s a beautiful boat—the Little Harbor 75.”

“Yes, it is. You want to take a sail on it, I know. We both know that. We both know what else you want from them too. Go ahead. It’s not far. You can swim out to it. They’ll like that you did that—that you’d swim out there to take what they have for you.” It broke Jonathan’s heart to say that, but it was clear what Sebastian wanted to do.

“You think I should . . . that I can?”

“It’s close. No problem,” Jonathan said, a knot forming in his throat.

“You wouldn’t . . . you don’t?”

“You’re a free spirit. I have no claim on you,” Jonathan answered in a resigned voice.

No one knows how life might have turned at that point for Sebastian and those around him if Jonathan had said otherwise. Jonathan didn’t have a clue on how much of a hold he’d put on Sebastian’s life based on that one afternoon in his garret and how much regard Sebastian had for what the writer could do with him—as much as Doctor Coleiro could, but without the drugs.

Sebastian stood up from the table as if some force out of his control was pulling him up. He took two steps toward the shoreline, called out, “Yes. Wait. I’ll come out there,” and waved his hands. Max waved back.

Jonathan walked three paces behind Sebastian, as the young man was drawn to the water’s edge. Sebastian pulled off his T-shirt and handed it back to Jonathan, who stood there and watched as Sebastian sank into the water and began to swim toward the sailboat.

Jonathan heard Jurgen call out, “Hey, look, Max, we have a gift from the sea coming to us,” and he felt his heart do a flip-flop.

“What’s he doing?”

Jonathan turned to see that Doctor Coleiro had been walking along the beach and approached him.

“He’s swimming out to that sailboat—the Little Harbor 75,” Jonathan answered. “He’s going for a sail with those sea rovers.”

“But he’ll be back, won’t he?” Coleiro asked.

“Who knows?” Jonathan answered in a small voice. “I somehow doubt it,” he said in an even smaller voice.

A mile out to sea, with Malta being no more than a blue smudge on the horizon, Max and Jurgen dropped the anchor, took Sebastian to a cabin below, wedged him between them, double penetrated him, and fucked the hell out of him. Sebastian was in ninth heaven.

Leaving him there to moan how completely he’d been taken, the two went back topside, hauled in the anchor, turned the bow of the ship toward the eastern Mediterranean, and kept on sailing.