Damascus, 1187 AD. Defeated Crusader.

Pictured here is one of the few Christian survivors of the Battle of Hattin in 1187 AD..

Saladin decisively defeated the Crusader army led by Guy, king of Jerusalem and his mortal enemy, Reginald of Chatillon who he personally slew after the battle. On Saladin's orders two hundred Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller were killed, a few fortunate survivors were ransomed and the rest of the captured prisoners sold on the local slave markets.

This young Crusader was fortunate to survive the battle. Although, in time, he will lament the fact that he didn't meet a quick, honourable  death on the battlefield rather than the lingering agony of living as a slave and suffering under the Saracens' whips.

Taken to Damascus, he was stripped naked and sold on the auction-block to the highest bidder. Because of his fine physique and great strength, he was bought by a wealthy land-owner to work on his vast agricultural estate. 

Fitted with his new master's slave collar and cruelly branded on the right cheek of his ass, he now works as a naked beast-of-burden sometimes as a plough-ox and at other times as a draught animal hauling heavy loads of his master's farm produce to market. 

Sadly, this young slave has many years of servitude ahead of him continually driven to better performance under the cruel whips of his handlers.

Extracted from a larger a artwork by Amalaric: Text is mine.

Thank you Karel for your historical comments which add interest to the post. Those times were brutal and no doubt there were atrocities committed by both sides. Sadly, nowadays, in our politically correct West it is "fashionable" to label the Crusaders as the villains and as the invaders of Moslem lands which completely ignores the fact these areas were originally part of the Graeco-Roman-Christian world conquered as part of Islamic expansionism. But that is another story.  

A Terrible Punishment!

Master: "Gaoler, stretch him further! I want this slave's body so taut so that it feels every bite of my whip on his stressed muscles!"

Gaoler: "Yes Master! The slave is now stretched to his utmost and ready for his flogging, Master."

Artwork is by Urbus: Text is mine.

The First Appraisal on the Road to Slavery.

Once the illicit slavers have lifted you from the darkened city streets, you are immediately taken to an isolated warehouse where you are stripped naked and a cursory examination  is made to determine your suitability for slavery. Should you pass - and you invariably do as the slavers are experts at their trade - you will then be taken to a processing centre for more detailed physical and medical examinations after which a decision is made whether you will be sold locally or exported to Africa or the Middle East.

Footnote: This fine young slave passed with flying colours and was exported to West Africa where he now labours under the whip as a field-slave on a coffee and palm-oil plantation.

Artwork by Amalaric: text is mine.

Gladiators, the pin-up boys of the arena!

The Romans' attitude towards gladiators was contradictory!

Outside of the arena, gladiators were seen as the lowest of the low and were classed as "infamii". However, once they stepped into the arena they were viewed quite differently; they became the equivalent of today's major sporting stars, And it is easy to understand why.

It would be hard not to respond to watching two armed, scantily clad men battling with one another - sometimes to the death. However, it is a mistake to think that every battle ended in a gladiator dying. Gladiators were a costly investment who, for the most part, were slaves and captured prisoners of war. They were expensive to buy or replace, to train, to feed and to house and it stands to reason their owners weren't too keen on seeing them killed off too early in their careers thus loosing on their investment.

Not all gladiators were slaves, however. Free man became gladiators because of poverty, debt or simply because they craved fame and fortune. Even patricians, senators and some emperors fought as gladiators. The most famous emperor to fight as a gladiator was Commodus in carefully staged events that always saw him emerge as the victor. And he had a habit of claiming a victor's prize of one million sesterces for his "success" in the arena,

Children played with pottery or wooden dolls of gladiators while today, graffiti tell us of their fighting abilities and of their sexual prowess. It's probable many men lusted over them and its well-known women were affected by them too.

It sounds macabre but some Roman women even dipped their hairpins and other jewellery into the blood of gladiators as a good luck talisman and collected their sweat - said to be an aphrodisiac - to mix in their cosmetics.

The three young gladiators portrayed here would be popular choices with the ladies with their near naked bodies coated in blood and sweat. And no doubt the cut their loincloths wouldn't have  gone unnoticed.

Photo sourced from the internet: text is mine.  

Your comments are welcome!

I welcome the recent comments made on some of my posts by "K" - whoever he might be. 
His comments are knowledgeable, soundly based and add further information to what I have written.

I thank "K" for his contributions and hope he will continue to respond to my posts. 

Indeed, I would welcome all comments from any readers of my posts as long as they are relevant to the subject and show respect for the views of others. So please, if you feel inclined to participate, then do so by clicking on "No Comments" which will open a dialogue box in which you type your contributions.

Chris

The Roman Amphitheatre in Pompeii

Two constants of Roman society were the baths and the games both of which served as popular forms of entertainment and relaxation; much as swimming pools and sports' stadiums serve our modern-day world. 

The amphitheatre at Pompeii, the first to be built in stone was known originally as a "spectacula" - the name,"amphitheatrum" was coined much later - and it is the oldest surviving amphitheatre from Roman times. A feature of the Pompeiian amphitheatre is the external stairs leading to the upper tiers. After its construction, stairways became an internal feature of amphitheatres. 

It was constructed around BC70 - predating the Colosseum in Rome by more than a century - at the time of the Roman colonisation of the former Etruscan-Greek Pompeii and it was privately funded by two leading Roman citizens, Gaius Quinctius Valgus and Marcus Porcius.

The amphitheatre could seat 20,000 spectators and catered not just for the Pompeiians but for residents of the surrounding towns and settlements. The lower five tiers of seats - those nearest the arena were enclosed by a stone parapet and were reserved for use by the elite. Ordinary citizens and slaves used the higher tiers further away from the arena.

Obviously, the Pompeiians took their games seriously, In 59AD, a deadly brawl took place between local spectators and those from the neighbouring town of Nuceria.The cause is unknown although there had been bitterness between the two rival towns for over a century which had to do with the loss of land rights by the original Pompeiians. There were fatalities and the Emperor Nero ordered a Senate inquiry which resulted in the amphitheatre being closed for ten years, the exiling of the man in charge of maintaining order in Pompeii and his exclusion from politics for life. Additionally, the Senate dissolved all Pompeiian colleagia (private clubs and trade guilds).

Apparently, the ban was lifted in 62AD it is said by the intervention of local woman who happened to be the mother of Poppaea, the Emperor Nero's wife.

With the lifting of the ban, the citizens of Pompeii once more enjoyed their gladiatorial games.

Picture sourced from the internet; the text is mine. 

Fool-hardiness can be Your Downfall 

Most young men are blessed with a sense of adventure and cursed by a belief in their own invincibility. How often do we hear them say - "it won't happen to me; it only ever happens to the other guy!'

Sadly for him, this unfortunate, young man found out - far too late  - that it can and it did happen to him.

Throwing caution to the wind and against the prudent advice of family and friends, he went trekking through the remote areas of trans-Saharan Africa.

To cut a long story short, he was captured by a nomadic tribe of locals and enslaved. Now he spends his days working as a naked, shackled beast-of-burden as they move from campsite to campsite and his nights as their pleasure-slave while travelling to a once a year gathering of tribes and salt-merchants in Timbuktu.

There, the tribe will trade him for a year's supply of salt!

Artwork, "Evening Camp" by Theo Blaze: text is mine.

Tales from the Crusades

Part 2

The Pilgrim

This is the second in a series of six short stories entitled ‘Tales from the Crusades’. 

Benoit de Les Baux-de-Provence stands lost and bewildered in the centre of an enclosed courtyard somewhere in Alexandria. Stripped naked save for a skimpy loincloth and the shackles he wears on his wrists and ankles, he watches as his fellow pilgrims are haggled over and sold. 

Soon it will be his turn to mount the auction-b!ock!

What are the circumstances which see him in such dire distress? Bitterly, he curses the perfidious nature of the infidel which has betrayed him so cruelly. Isn’t there a two year truce negotiated by King Baldwin of Jerusalem and Saladin in place promising safe passage to Christian pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land. And it had been this guarantee of safe passage that had encouraged him to make his pilgrimage. 

He’d set out with much religious fervour to walk where the Saviour had lived and died to bring salvation to all true Christians and to win for himself many indulgences from Holy Mother Church 

And there’d also been his young man’s yearning for adventure and the longing to see the world beyond the narrow confines of his life in Les Baux. The many stories of fabled Outremer had served as a powerful magnet to his sense of adventure. Spurred on by the tavern yarns of those who’d actually worn the Cross and lived to tell their tales and by the wandering minstrels’ ballads of the Crusaders’ heroic deeds, he’d sought his father’s reluctant permission to make his own personal pilgrimage to Jerusalem. 

Clothed in the cloak of a true pilgrim, he’d set out by ship travelling in a convoy from Marseille and began the long voyage to Outremer. His days were spent with his fellow pilgrims in penitential prayer and the loud singing of psalms and hymns and his nights in envy watching the more worldly seamen quaffing large quantities of cheap wine and listening to their bawdy, tavern songs 

As they’d neared their destination, a sudden Mediterranean storm blew their vessels off-course and they were forced to seek safety in the Nile tributary port of Damietta. There, the convoy’s captain had thought to ride out the rough weather before continuing up the coast to a port where the pilgrims could disembark and begin their overland journey to Jerusalem. 

However, sanctuary was denied them! Instead the convoy’s captain, his ships’ crews and passengers were taken ashore and imprisoned. Their pleas for an explanation were ignored and they were left to languish in fetid cells while a decision was made about their fates

Benoit’s time in the cells weighed heavily on his young shoulders. Confused by this unexpected turn of events, he fretfully worried what was to become of him. Already, he’d caught glimpses of the fate which possibly awaited him. On his way to his prison, he’d seen groups of near naked, Christian slaves with their shackled limbs and flayed backs toiling under the cruel whips of their Moslem masters. Was this then to be his future? 

With new-found fervour, he prayed to all the saints in heaven to intercede on his behalf and deliver him from his tribulations 

He could only speculate on the reasons why he was a prisoner. Naturally, given everything that he’d been taught about the treacherous Moslems, he blamed them and damned them all to the ever-lasting fires of Hell. 

He was right to suspect treachery as the cause of his detention. But the treachery lay not with the Moslems but with his fellow countryman, Raynald of Châtillon, formerly Prince of Antioch and now Lord of Oultrejourdain who’d broken the truce between King Baldwin and Saladin. From the lofty heights of his stronghold, Al-Karak, Raynald overlooked the trade route from Damascus to Egypt and the pilgrimage route from Damascus to Mecca. Greedy for more riches, Raynald began raiding Moslem caravans and earned the undying enmity of Saladin 

Incensed by this act of betrayal, Saladin demanded compensation from Raynald through King Baldwin. Raynald refused to pay and declared he was no man’s vassal but the master of his own domain 

In retaliation, Saladin ordered the seizing of the convoy sheltering in Damietta and the selling of the pilgrims into slavery. The work hardened sailors and the older pilgrims were put to work in the stone quarries or made to labour on strengthening the city’s fortifications. Benoit and the younger, more comely pilgrims were chosen for a very different fate. Taken to the slave-market of nearby Alexandria they are destined for the debauched lives of pleasure slaves in the all-male seraglios of their new masters. 

Most probably, Benoit will never know of Raynald’s treachery or that he is a victim of the Lord of Oultrejourdain’s over-preening pride and insatiable greed.  Of course, he’ll know he is a slave but never really understand the reason for his enslavement. And from the safety of Al-Karak, Raynald of Châtillon will never give Benoit and his fellow pilgrims a second thought. 

Today, Benoit stands and waits as his fellow pilgrims are quickly sold. Now, it is his turn to be sold and he trembles as the eager buyers cluster around him, gesturing at him and talking animatedly in their incomprehensible tongue. He shouts in protest as the slave-dealer tears his scanty covering from his body exposing his naked loins to the lecherous view of the buyers. He draws back as an older man in rich garments reaches out and takes hold of his manhood. His futile struggles amuse the onlookers and they laugh as the old man strokes him to rampant erection. Then, he is turned around and bent double to expose the hidden and most private part of his body to public scrutiny. He gasps audibly as a finger enters into him and his bitter tears of shame darken the cobblestones at his feet. 

He hears the old man talking with the slave-dealer; they seem to be haggling. Then his arse is slapped – as a sign that he has been sold – and he is left alone with his new Master while the buyers move on to the next offering. 

Once more clothed in his loincloth and leashed, he is lead away by his new Master and tonight, he’ll begin his new duties as a bed-slave. Then, tomorrow, he’ll be taken to a blacksmith’s workshop where he’ll be branded with his Master’s mark and have the shameful collar of slavery fastened around his neck 

As he trails submissively behind his Master, Benoit’s troubled thoughts fly to faraway Les Baux-de-Provence. It is another world and another life both of which are now lost to him forever.  


Artwork by Amalaric: text is mine This series was written in collaboration with Amalaric for another group.

Sex in Ancient Rome
Lex Scantinia

It would be a mistake to compare Roman attitudes towards sex against our own modern standards. For a start, Romans were more "relaxed" in their attitudes to sex and weren't afraid to openly display their interest in it as evidenced by the lewd frescos and wall paintings found in the excavated homes of Pompeii and Herculaneum; many of which we would describe as "pornographic", nowadays.

As far as I am aware  - although I could be wrong in saying this - there weren't any equivalent words in the Roman vocabulary that compare with our usage of heterosexual or homosexual to categorise the sex act. Rather. the Romans saw sex in terms of being dominant/submissive or active/passive in both gay and straight relationships.  

Rome was a patriarchal society and free men could have penetrative intercourse with their slaves, prostitutes or captured prisoners of either sex with impunity providing they were the penetrators and not the penetrated. Roman society placed much importance on the masculinity of her male citizens and the notion of a Roman free man submitting to another was a cause of great shame (infamia) resulting in the possible loss of legal or social status and carried great stigma.

There was a occasionally used law known as "Lex Scantinia" which forbade homosexual sex between Roman free men and the raping of a Roman citizen was a capital offence carrying the death penalty sometimes by burning. However, no shame attached to the victim as he was the unwilling participant.

Conversely, a slave couldn't be raped! Because of their status as objects, slaves were never considered to be "men"  - more commonly they were referred to as "boys" - therefore, their masters had every right to use them sexually as they desired. If ever a slave was used for sex without his master's permission, then the owner had the right to seek compensation for "damage to property".

A slave had no legal standing as a man and possessed no rights. All rights belonged to the master. Therefore, he  had no other option than to submit to his master's sexual demands no matter how debauched or degrading they were.

Artwork entitled "Defeated Carthage" by Theo Blaze: text is mine 

 

Senator  Karelius' Choice.

As the owner of many slaves, Karelius is unfamiliar with most of them. After all, most are just run-of-the-mill livestock who work the fields of his vast latifundium near Capua. Why would he know them individually.  

He does however, have a penchant for blond, Nordic slaves to act as his litter-bearers. He enjoys nothing better than reclining back among the silken cushions of his litter and watching the straining, sweating, near naked bodies of his blond slaves as they struggle to carry their impossibly heavy load. And oh, how he loves to ply his whip to their tired, aching, straining muscles. 

He is a perfectionist and demands the best from his litter-bearers. If one slave falls short then all are punished as a matter of course by his chief overseer of slaves, Balbus.  

On a recent tour of his fields, Karelius noticed this slave toiling in a work-gang. He was unaware that he possessed such a "beauty" and paused his litter so that he could take a closer look at the slave and to assess his potential as a possible addition to his team of litter-bearers.

After running his eager hands over the animal's magnificent body and revelling in the hardness of his torso, Karelius ordered that the slave be taken out of the fields and delivered to Balbus who will first of all, cleanse him of the grime of his labours and then train him to be a litter-bearer.

Karelius looks forward to seeing the slave chained to his litter; watching lasciviously as the slave struggles under the burden of carrying his master on his broad shoulders. In his mind's eye, Karelius imagines the slave's sweat-soaked skin glistening in the bright sunlight, the undulating of his pert ass-cheeks as he walks and the flexing of the overtaxed muscles of his back and powerful limbs. He licks his lips at the prospect of seeing  the slave's rigid erection and scrunched up balls outlined through the sweat sodden fabric of the provocative loin-cloth that he, Karelius, had personally designed for his litter-slaves.

And he reflects that muscular back and curvaceous ass will make perfect targets for his whip.

Naturally, as a bonus, the slave's luscious ass is eminently suited to satisfy his considerable lust!

Karelius now faces the challenge of finding a suitable name for his newest litter-slave. What will it be? After much thought, Karelius decides the slave will, in future, be called "Chrisus".

Artist unknown: the text is mine.

Damascus, 1663

The Donkey.

This muscular, young slave, formerly known as Pietro, was taken captive during a corsair pirate raid on his coastal village in Italy. 

Eventually, Pietro wound up in a slave-market in Damascus where he was stripped naked and placed on view prior to auction. Here, he attracted the attention of Mustapha, a prominent rug-maker who operates a successful rug stall in one of the city's souks.

Mustapha chose the slave for his good-looks but more especially for his strong, muscular body to use as a heavy-duty, work slave in his workshop and also as his pleasure-slave.

Mustapha renamed the slave "Himar" meaning donkey in Arabic as an act of contempt and because he spends most of his time working as a beast-of-burden carrying the heavy rugs on his shoulders delivering them to a client's home.

As a special "thank you" to any purchaser of one of his rugs, Mustapha allows the client - should he wish to do so - free, sexual access to Himar as part of the delivery service. This is an offer to good to miss  and it is seldom refused.  

Himar's undoubted charms are well-known throughout the souk and his sexual skills ensure his Master sells many rugs.

Mustapha's outlay in buying the slave was large - perhaps even excessive - but now, it is paying dividends in the number of rugs he sells to an ever-widening clientele.

Artist unknown: text is mine.

Unseen and not heard.

Roman slavery was conducted on a scale so immense that she couldn't have survived and prospered as she did throughout her long history without the institution of slavery.

Public slaves provided the muscle power for the building of her aqueducts, buildings  and public works while other slaves toiled ceaselessly on the large latifundia (farms) of the patrician class and the noveau-riche.

And privately owned slaves worked in the homes of their wealthy owners ensuring they lived lives of unparalleled ease and luxury.

Obviously, some owners - perhaps for reasons of privacy or did the sight of their slaves offend them - went to elaborate means to "hide" their slaves from their view by having dark passageways built into their homes which allowed the household slaves to move silently and unseen from one part of the house to another. 

Pictured here is such a passageway in a Pompeiian domus.

Picture sourced from the internet: text is mine.

  

The Roman World.

I love the Roman world and have done so since my first Latin lesson as a school boy. The first Latin words I learned were "Roma est magna" (Rome is great) and these words inspired me to know as much as I could about this ancient civilisation that has given us so much and has had a profound influence on our modern world. It could be argued that, today, we are the inheritors of the rich Graeco-Roman-Judeo-Christian traditions, the spread of which was made possible by the expansion of the Roman republic and empire..

I have been fortunate enough to travel throughout the Roman world from Hadrian's Wall in the UK down the Rhine and Danube rivers to the Black sea and on to Ephesus in modern day Turkey. I have seen the wonders of Rome in such places as Arles, Lyon, Glanum in France and also in Spain and Italy. I have visited Rome and marvelled at the Romans' great feats of engineering, temple building, etc. And yet, despite her towering achievements, I have been repulsed by her barbaric cruelty inflicted on those she conquered. Rome was a superpower built on cruel, barbaric slavery where a slave was no more than property to be used and abused as his/her owner saw fit. A slave had no status as a human and was seen simply as a "talking tool".

This is no more apparent than at Pompeii - a place which fascinates me - and I have returned there several times over the years. It is a visible microcosm of the Roman world and how her people lived out their lives. Pompeii was multi-cultural - it had been a Greek city before it was Roman - and here we can glimpse how her residents, patricians, plebeians and slaves lived side by side.

Pictured here is the entrance to a domus (townhouse) in Pompeii. Wealthy Romans obviously lived privately as the only evidence of the existence of this domus is its front entrance. The empty spaces on side of the doorway would, most probably, have been shops, or takeaway food stalls - staffed by slaves - concealing the domus from the public. And yes, the Romans did have fast food outlets as can be seen adjacent to the perimeter of the Pompeiian Forum opposite the baths and public toilets.

The wealthy residents and their household slaves would have lived in relative seclusion free from prying eyes as there were no windows fronting on to the street.

Whenever I wander through the magnificent ruins of Pompeii, I have to confess my thoughts are usually centred on the slaves who lived, served and died there. They were the economic powerhouse that fuelled Rome's ambitions and expansion.

I have found my visits to Pompeii to be poignant! What comes across is how like us the people of Pompeii were. A walk through Pompeii reveals them as real people going about their daily lives much as we do today and  there are so many similarities that connect our two eras.

You can't help but be affected by what happened when Vesuvius erupted on either 24 August AD 79 or 24 October AD 79. There is some debate over which date is accurate. But what can't be denied is the scale of that calamitous event or the terrible loss of life of patricians, plebeians and slaves  - all shared the same horrible fate.

 I walked past a house in which the remains of a badly disabled child - unable to walk and thus to flee - was found lying on a bed covered by the body of an adult man trying to shield him in those final moments. My guide told me it was the boy's father who'd tried to protect him. But I wondered how many slaves also tried to protect their owners in those final minutes before their lives were snuffed out.

In death, both the freemen and slaves of Pompeii were equal!

Picture sourced from the internet: the text is mine.  

The First time

Sultan: "You're new to my harem, slave? And a recent purchase from the slave-market?"

Slave: "Yes, Master!"

Sultan: "My Chief Eunuch tells me you are a virgin and unsullied by any other man. Is that so slave?"

Slave: "Yes, Master!"

Sultan: "And you know why you are here, slave?"

Slave: "Yes, Master! The Chief Eunuch has told me I am to serve you, Master."

Sultan: And my harem eunuchs have prepared you, slave? You are clean, slave?"

Slave: "Yes, Master!"

Sultan: "Then, take your place on my pleasure divan, slave."

Slave: " As you command, Master!"

Picture sourced from the internet; text by me.

A brash, new slave who has much to learn.

"Forget it! There's NO WAY you're going to poke 'that' up my ass!"

This foolish slave will soon learn his ass no longer belongs to him. After a good whipping, he'll be glad to "bend" to his Master's will.

Picture sourced from the internet; the text is mine.

Purchased for the House of Antonius (Baron:2007)

This is one of my all-time favourite images of slavery created by Baron back in 2007. As is his right, Baron called this work "Purchased for the House of Antonius" and, in my view, it does capture the essence of slavery in all its rawness as we see a victorious Roman Centurion leading a newly bought, freshly branded, young, barbarian slave into captivity.

This picture caused me to begin to write a story I called "Glaucus of Korinthos" which dealt with the destruction of the Greek city of Corinth by the Romans and the enslavement of all her citizens shortly before the destruction of Carthage in Africa.

I never did get around to finishing that story but seeing this image once more, I am inspired to do so in the near future.

Artwork by Baron: the text is mine.

Journey's End

Modern day slavery is still with us!

In the backstreets of this undisclosed, Middle-Eastern city, well away from the haunts of the tourists and other Western visitors, is a souk known only to the locals, where white slaves are openly traded.

Young men from the West are stripped naked and offered for sale as hard labour slaves, domestic servants, pleasure-slaves for the bed-chambers of elderly, jaded masters or as whores to work in the male brothels for which the city is well-known.

Here. we see a new shipment of livestock just arrived from the West being unloaded and placed of display. Soon, the eager hands of enthusiastic buyers will be "exploring" their bodies seeking out their hidden charms and attractions. Then the auction will begin.

They should sell well!

Artwork by the incomparable Amalaric; the text is mine.

Roman Justice

Under the Roman justice system, a criminal found guilty of a crime could be sentenced to slavery. Another form of punishment for the guilty criminal was to be sentenced - "damnatio ad gladium"- resulting in the new slave being sent to a ludus to be trained as a gladiator. Again this was as good as a death sentence as life for most gladiators was short-lived.

Photo sourced from the internet: the text is mine.

The Senator's Son

Being the son of a Roman senator has its advantages. Crafty slave-dealers are always eager to curry favour with my father and will allow me to "trial" a slave in the privacy of an inspection room.

Naturally, they hope I will recommend to my father that he buy the slave if i am satisfied!

Artwork by Amalaric: the text is mine

The Quarries

For the most part, slaves in ancient Rome were mainly prisoners-of-war, defeated barbarian tribes or other conquered foreigners.

However, others could be condemned to slavery. Fathers, as the 'paterfamilias', had the right to sell their sons into slavery (extremely rare)  and the bankrupt enslaved to pay his debts are just two examples.

The Roman penal system did allow for criminals to be sentenced to slavery and one form of punishment used was known as  'damnatio ad metalla'. This meant the condemned was sent to the quarries or mines - itself a death sentence.

Artwork by Baron (another artist who captures slavery so realistically): text is mine
N.B. Baron is a digital artist who specialises in historical portrayals of slavery. His attention to detail is extraordinary and marks him out as one of the greats who contribute to the genre of slave art and fiction. There is so much of his work on the internet that isn't credited to him and wherever possible I will try to identify it and feature it as his in this blog. He deserves the recognition!    

Captured Crusaders

Tales from the Crusades
Part 1

The Opportunist

Moussa al-Khaldun is often disdainfully dismissed by his competitors as a shameful camp-follower. And it’s true that he isn’t a warrior and he has never fought in any of the battles against the despised Franj warriors from faraway Europe who periodically invade the lands of Dar-al-Islam. Nevertheless, he professes to vehemently hate these unbelievers with much passion and he considers his profession to be as noble as that of the holy warriors who ride into battle against their Christian enemies.  Perhaps this judgment of him as a camp follower is a bit harsh; a more fitting description of him would be that of a callous opportunist who follows behind the army of true believers as they do battle with the Nasrani infidels. 

From a safe distance, Moussa al-Khaldun, is able to monitor the situation on a nearby battlefield. Should the Franj be victorious, Moussa will mount his camel and beat a hasty retreat back to the nearest fortified town or city and seek sanctuary behind its stout, stone walls. However, if the true believers emerge victorious, Moussa wastes no time in goading his camels forward to visit the victors’ camp and share in the spoils of victory. For Moussa al-Khaldun’s calling is that of a slave trader who opportunistically buys newly captured Christians from the victors to supply the insatiable slave-markets of the Near East and even those further afield in Africa and Asia. 

Over the years, Moussa has supplied white, European slaves to the markets of East Africa, Arabia, India and even a few to those mysterious, mythical kingdoms of Kambuja and Champa. In fact, he is aware that some of his slaves have eventually found their way to far distant China where white eunuchs are the most highly prized of all slaves. It is true that many a bewildered Christian slave has found bitter servitude in lands which he never knew existed. 

Today, Moussa hastens out to the camp of a victorious Emir who, against all predictions, has been victorious over a numerically stronger army of Frankish knights and foot-soldiers. He’d left the sanctuary of the city in the early morning darkness long before the city’s inhabitants began to stir. He did so because he wanted to steal an early march on his competitors who are foolishly still asleep in their beds 

Past experience has taught Moussa that the early bird does, in fact, catch the worm. Clichéd perhaps but nevertheless it’s true. Chances are there are “survivors” among the routed Christians who are now destined to serve as slaves. Cannily, Moussa knows that as the first slaver to arrive, he’ll have the pick of the crop. There’s every chance he’ll have made his selection from among the primest specimens and be on his way long before his competitors arrive to heatedly haggle with one another over the remaining Franj captives. 

As dawn breaks on the eastern horizon, Moussa spurs his camels forward. He is accompanied by his two, trusted African servants, Abou and Walid who will serve as his slave-drivers to urge his new purchases onwards to the slave-market. The early morning silence is broken by the protesting grunts of his camels and the rhythmic rattling of the newly forged coffle-chains they carry in large sacks on their humps. 

The golden glow of the rising sun dispels the night’s gloom and Moussa knows he is close to the battlefield by the faint, sickly-sweet odour wafting over the sandy wastes. Overhead, in the distance, the sky is filled with circling carrion birds waiting their turn to swoop and feast on the bloated corpses of the vanquished Christians. 

The stench of death grows ever stronger and now Moussa covers his mouth and nostrils in a vain attempt to lessen its impact. Having visited many battlefields, Moussa is no stranger to the smell and he has become more or less inured to it. But the number of deaths resulting from this battle exceeds all other battlegrounds he has visited and he does find the noxious stench distressing. Spread out over the desert sands and stretching as far as his eyes can discern are the sun-blackened bodies of the hated foe. 

And dotted among the dead are pyramids of severed, infidel heads over which scavenging, snarling jackals fight one another for the tastiest morsels. 

Such should be the fate which awaits all Franj infidels who dare to invade the lands of Islam! 

Moussa rides past the battlefield and continues on to the victors’ camp. Their colourful tents contrast with the drab-coloured landscape and their banners hang motionless in the still, desert air.

Approaching the camp, Moussa and his servants pass down a long avenue of enemy heads impaled on pikes; their now sightless eyes gazing emptily out over the land they’d come to take as their own. 

Moussa becomes worried! Given the number of dead Christians about him, he wonders was the order given for total annihilation of the enemy with no taking of prisoners. If so his journey has been for nought. Then, as he enters the camp, he sees a group of some one hundred to one hundred and fifty dejected, Christian prisoners huddled together in a guarded enclosure. 

As he rides past, Moussa looks down from his camel and does a quick, visual appraisal of the captives. He takes note of the youngest, strongest and fittest of them and knows he’ll have no difficulty choosing a suitable number of infidel slaves for his coffle. 

Moussa is pleased! His visit to the Emir will prove profitable!  

 Artwork for the story supplied by Amalaric: the text is mine.



   

Some time ago, I wrote a series of short stories about the Crusades for another group. I was honoured to have those stories illustrated by Amalaric who is, to my mind, one of the truly great artists who work in our genre. His ability to capture slavery and to portray it so erotically is second to none.

No doubt, you realise I am a great admirer of Amalaric and his work and I do enjoy promoting it as widely as possible.

Over time, I will publish these Tales from the Crusades - which number six in total - together with the artwork that Amalaric contributed to each story

Tripoli, North Africa, 1647: The Slave-market

The auctioneer studies the paper and periodically looks up from his reading to peer intently at Tobias who wonders about this; of course, he’s not to know this paper tells the auctioneer that he is a captured English seaman and that he is 22 years old. That’s all the auctioneer needs to know and he will use this information as a selling point as he presents Tobias to the buyers. 

The auctioneer raises his hand to still the buzz of conversation that fills Tobias’s head with a sound akin to a thousand, angry wasps and waits in dignified silence until the crowd is hushed. Then and only then does he speak. Tobias knows he is speaking about him and even though he doesn’t understand the words, he instinctively knows he is extolling Tobias’s virtues. If Tobias could understand him, he would be surprised for the auctioneer is fulsome in his praise of him. 

“Behold the unbeliever! Have you ever seen a more worthy slave? Truly he was born to serve in whatever capacity his master decrees. Look at his youthful body; marvel at the strength of his powerful chest and the width of his shoulders. Gaze upon his strong limbs; the reach of his arms and the power of his legs. And behold the slave’s arse! Truly it is that of a work slave. This slave was born for hard labour; to toil at the oar of a galley, to labour in your fields or your quarries. And yet, he has the looks and the demeanour to serve you in your homes or bedrooms. Tell me! Have you ever seen a more promising slave than this young Nasrani? At twenty-two, he is a mere babe with many years of productive labour ahead of him. His papers tell me that the infidel’s name is Tobias and that he is a peasant, country born and raised in that far away den of iniquity, that home of Shaitan and his foul spawn – England. And in his later years he served as a seaman where his body was honed to the physical perfection you now see before you. Fortune smiled upon the true believer the day this young infidel was delivered into our hands. But come; don’t be shy! Come feel the hardness of the slave’s body. Feel the power of his muscles for yourselves. Test the strength of his limbs. Come place your hands on the slave. Inspect him, examine him and you will see that I don’t exaggerate when I say this slave is true perfection. I invite your bids for this magnificent slave!”

Artwork by Amalaric; the text is mine.

The Brothel

If you were a visitor to Pompeii and had followed in the direction of the erect penises carved into the paving stones, you would most likely have ended up at this building or one like it.

A local guide told me this building had served the Pompeiians as a brothel and while the building wasn't open to tourists, I did visit another brothel and I was able to imagine what life was like for the slaves who served as whores in them.

The majority of buildings in Pompeii were two-storied; the lower levels of most served as taverns, bakeries, butchers, eateries, "takeaway" food outlets or similar. The second level served as the living quarters; however, a lot of Romans ate out as kitchens were very rudimentary and also a fire hazard in such cramped conditions.

When we think of Rome and sex, we are influenced by movie scenes of sex orgies; of mad emperors, exotic dancers and naked, writhing bodies. However, after visiting a Pompeiian brothel, you get a new perspective as you walk through the building.

Upstairs, where the "action' took place, conditions within the brothel would have been grim and fetid. There were no luxurious rooms - only small cubicles with stone benches and a mattress. The walls were decorated with erotic frescos and suggestive graffiti while the front of the cubicles were open which gave little or no privacy. Although, it is thought that curtains were used if the client wished to be discreet.

However, my thoughts were for the wretched slaves who served in these brothels and I wondered about their lives. For example, how many clients a day did they service and what happened to them once they lost their "client appeal".     

Life for a whore-slave wouldn't have been easy!


NB. When writing my story, "Nova Baiae", I used this building as the idea for the tavern owned by Soterus and which features in the early chapters of the story.

Photo and text supplied by me.

Vanity can be your downfall.

Sadly, it's a fact of life that many young males are peacock-vain creatures. They love to wander around in public, shirtless, displaying their bodies and flexing their muscles in the hope of attracting admiring glances from the opposite sex or from envious males who aren't as blessed with such muscular torsos.

This young man is certainly a "head-turner" but he has attracted the attention of the wrong people. The illicit slavers employ "spotters" whose role it is to identify potential recruits for the international slave-trade. This young man's future is now assured. He's been marked for export!

At some time in the very near future, he'll be "lifted" and sent overseas where eager buyers will enthusiastically bid for the right to own him.

Judging by the thong he wears around his neck, he'll look good in a slave collar! And he'll certainly look better once he looses those pants and cap and is slave naked.


Photo taken from the internet: text is mine.

The need for chastisement.

Throughout the long history of slavery, masters have found it necessary to punish their slaves.
Slaves, by their nature, are sullen and, if left unchecked, this can have serious consequences in a master/slave relationship.

A sulky slave can become resentful and this, in turn, can make for a rebellious slave - something no slave-owner wants among his slave herd.

Discipline is necessary for a slave and strict punishment should be part of the slave-owner's armoury for maintaining good order among his livestock. The wise master always punishes a slave for his bad behaviour - even for the most trivial offence - and a session under the whip can work wonders for a slave's demeanour. Under the lash, the slave learns to fear and respect his master. And the slave also learns the boundaries within which it must serve.

Remember, it is better to be cruel than to be kind. A slave learns best through pain!


Video from the internet: text is mine.

 

A Private sale.

Sometimes it's possible to pick up a "bargain"!

This farmer has fallen on hard times and needs to sell one of his field-slaves.
Your close inspection is invited and all genuine offers will be considered.

Artwork by Amalaric: text is mine.

Modern day slavery does exist. 

Despite our belief to the contrary, modern day slavery does exist; albeit as an discreet operation by unscrupulous, modern-day slavers who kidnap young men and spirit them away to clandestine slave-markets in the Middle-East, Africa and parts of Asia where there is great demand for young, white, male slaves.

Here we see such an operation in action. Tonight, the slavers have been most successful and they have "lifted" four recruits from local bars and the darkened streets.

Stripped naked and packaged for export, they are being loaded onto the slavers' vehicle at the start of the first leg of their journey to a slave-market in the Middle-East.

From what we can see of the new slaves, it's clear they possess great buyers' appeal and they will return a handsome profit to the slavers for their odious night's work. 

Artwork by Herodotus: the text is mine.

The Defeated!

Background: In AD62, two Roman Legions, the XII Fulminata and the IV Scythica, led by the Roman Legate of Cappadocia, Lucius Caesennius Paetus suffered a devastating and humiliating defeat at Rhandeia at the hands of an Armenian-Parthian army led by Tiridates 1, king of Armenia and his brother Vologases 1, king of Parthia.

The twenty-four year old Roman Centurion Marcus Fabius is a survivor of that battle and this is his story told in his own words. 

Through the capriciousness of the goddess of misfortune, Mala Fortuna and the ineptitude of our commander, the Cappadocia Legate Lucius Caesennius Paetus, I, Marcus Fabius of noble Roman birth and a centurion of the XII Fulminata Legion, now find myself a slave of the Persians. 

Captured by the victorious Parthian army, I, together with the other survivors of our defeat, were subjected to the ultimate shame of "sub iugum" or passing under the Persian yoke.

Stripped naked and with our wrists tied in front of us, we were made to pass between two rows of jeering Persian soldiers who whipped us mercilessly until we came to the yoke where we sullenly bent our backs in subjugation and passed under. No longer were we free Romans; from that moment one we became Persian slaves.

Waiting beyond the yoke were the blacksmiths' anvils and the branding irons. After we were ignominiously branded, we were fitted with the accoutrements of slavery - the heavy iron collars and the chains that restricted our movements - and then sent to a slave-market in the Parthian capital.

Now, I stand naked and shackled on a display podium as I am examined by potential buyers. What is bewildering to me is the difference between the professional Parthian soldiers - the only barbarian army to inflict such a devastating defeat on our invincible Roman legions - and the men who are now looking to buy me. 

Without exception, these men are effeminate with their perfume-reeking bodies, their carefully coiffed wigs of tight, black curls, their kohl blackened eyes, rouged cheeks and red stained lips. These "men" appear more like the painted whores of Rome's Suburra district rather than the manly soldiers who defeated us at Rhandeia.

I fear these Persian men are sodomites who use the arses of their male slaves for their vile and abominable practices.

By the gods! My worst fears are confirmed as i am commanded by an elderly lecher to bend at the waist and part my buttocks as he fingers my anus.

Oh, Bona Fortuna, goddess of good fortune, why have you forsaken me?

Artwork by Amalaric: text is mine.

What is a slave's worst fate? The galleys or the quarries?

Forced to toil on the grindstone until they drop from physical exhaustion. Then the whips are  brought into play!

Artwork by garyRo of Chained Muscle: the text is mine.

No longer a man; now  just an object

The Romans didn't regard their slaves as human. They were seen as property and regarded as such. A slave's legal status was known as "re mortales" meaning a mortal thing. If a slave was hurt, any injuries sustained were regarded as "damage to property".

A further sign of their inferior status is illustrated by the following example of a slave using an ox to plow a field.

The plow was called an  "instrumentum" meaning a tool.

The ox pulling the plow was known as "instrumentum semivocalis".

And the slave driving the ox was "instrumentum vocalis" meaning a talking tool.

Artwork by Amalaric: the text is mine.

Tripoli, North Africa, 1624

The ship's captain and the cabin boy

Taken prisoner, when his cargo ship was captured by a squadron of Barbary pirates, the English sea-captain and his cabin boy - along with the rest of the crew - were enslaved and destined for the slave-market.

However, the Pasha of Tripoli chose them as part of the tribute payable to him by the corsairs and instead, the two new slaves have been taken to his palace where they now await the arrival of their new Ottoman master.


Artwork by Amalaric: the text is mine.

It Pays to Advertise.

The ancient Romans weren't coy about sex. On a visit to Pompeii some years ago, I was interested to read some of the bawdy and lewd graffiti written on the outside walls of houses and shops. One I remember very well as it referred to the bar/brothel owned by Innulus and Papilio. The unknown graffitist wrote -

"Weep, you girls. My penis has given you up. Now it penetrates men's behinds. Goodbye, wondrous femininity!"

Obviously the man had found the delights of male on male sex.

Brothels were important features of Roman communities and the prostitutes/whores - both male and female - were usually slaves. A feature of the Pompeiian streetscape is the erect penises carved into the stone pavements with the heads all pointing in the one direction; to a nearby brothel.

I also saw a similar penis carved into the pavement outside the library of  Ephesus in Turkey which suggests these signs were in common usage throughout the Roman world.

Today, both Pompeii and Ephesus are inland from the sea. However, two thousand years ago, both were busy sea-ports and its highly probable these penis signs were placed there for the convenience of visiting seafarers, merchants, traders and other visitors.

How convenient these signs must have proved for those who couldn't speak Latin. Rather than ask a local  - "where is the nearest brothel?" - all they had to do was follow in the direction the erect penis heads were pointing.

Photo and text supplied by me.

The Shameful Roman Collar of Slavery

Traditionally, a Roman slave wore a collar around his neck identifying him as a slave and who owned him.

I believe this collar was found in the excavations at Pompeii but I haven't been able to verify if this is accurate.

Today, we continue this tradition by placing collars and ownership tags around the necks of our domestic animals.

Photo and text supplied by me.

The Fate of a Captured Barbarian

After passing under the Roman yoke, the barbarian prisoners find themselves in the slave-markets of Rome. Portrayed here are some new slaves being primed and pumped up before being stripped naked and placed on an inspection platform prior to auction.

Artwork by Baron: the text is mi.

Passing under the Yoke (Sub iugum)

A victorious Roman army, having conquered their barbarian enemy, are subjecting their captives to the humiliating ritual of sub iugum or passing under the Roman yoke.

Stripped naked and with their wrists tied behind their backs, the captives are made to pass between two rows of jeering Roman soldiers armed with whips until they come to the wooden yoke of the type used on plough oxen or other beasts-of burden. Here, they are made to bend their backs and pass under the yoke  as a sign of their subjugation to the Roman Republic.

Their next destination? The slave-market in Rome.

Slavery never really went away!

Slavery is a fact of modern life. In remote parts of the Middle-East and Africa, it's still possible to find slave-markets where young, Western men - newly kidnapped from the streets of their home cities - are bought and sold like cattle or other domesticated animals.

Artwork by the incomparable Amalaric: the text is mine. 

The Agony at the Oars.

Can there be a more dreadful fate for a slave than to be condemned to the galleys?

Imagine the dehumanising of the slave as a man, the relegation of him to the level of a beast-of-burden, the backbreaking labour, the torture of oxygen starved lungs, the hunger and thirst, the sweat and always the threat and fear of

"THE WHIP!!"

Video clip from the TV series "Ben Hur": the text is mine.

The Crusader.

Captured in battle, this Frankish Crusader now faces a bleak future as a slave.

Slave-dealer: "Please feel free to inspect the slave. This Nasrani dog was born to be a slave!"

Buyer: "But he is new to slavery, is he not?"

Slave-dealer: "Recently captured and this is the first time he has been offered for sale. Feel his body; run your hands over him and gauge the strength of is muscles which haven't as yet, been torn by hard labour."

Buyer: "The slave is well-put together and very strong. I am always looking for robust, young slaves to work in my fields. But I would see more of him before deciding. Can I see all of the slave in his total nakedness?"

Slave-dealer: "Certainly! Will I have one of my slaves strip him? Or is that a task you want to perform?"

Buyer: Yes! With your permission, I will unwrap the 'goods' and inspect them for myself."

Artwork by Amalaric: the text is mine.