The Reluctant Slave

Despite the inevitability of his fate, this new slave refuses to cooperate and take his place on the auction-block.

Naturally, the slave-dealer wants to present his livestock in pristine condition as he is of the opinion that most buyers are "turned off" by a whip marked animal. He is correct in assuming most buyers prefer to buy an unblemished slave rather than one that bears the mark of the lash as this could mean the slave is untamed and rebellious.

However, there are exceptions to this and there are other buyers who derive sadistic pleasure from seeing a wretched slave carrying the stripes of the handler's whip on his torso as he poses his naked body on the auction-block.

Here, we see the heavily shackled slave baulking as he is forced out of the holding-pen and taken the short distance to the auction-block where the auctioneer waits to extoll his "virtues" to the enthusiastic buyers.

The slave's struggles are futile; the slave-dealer uses brawny handlers who are themselves naked, "trustee" slaves capable of wrestling and manhandling difficult slaves who refuse to cooperate.

Struggle as much as he likes, but the slave will soon find he is standing on the block and displaying his strong body to an appreciative audience.

Picture sourced from the internet; the text is mine.  

The Algerian Slave Market

Note: This is another short story I found among my files. I recall writing it however, I can't remember if I ever posted it 

The Algerian Slave-market:

To the young seaman, Tobias, the market in Algiers is a colourful, feverish place of frenetic activity. It is mid-morning and people jam the narrow alleyways between the merchants’ stalls. The crowd gives evidence of the racial diversity of the Ottoman Empire; their skin colour and facial expressions speak of the Sultan’s sway over vast areas and many peoples. There are swarthy skinned Arabs and Jews, lighter skinned Turks and Europeans and black skinned Africans. And everywhere, there are the rich and the poor, the wealthy and the beggars and freemen and slaves.

To Tobias’s uncomplicated mind all this is bewildering. This city truly is a melting-pot for a polyglot humanity who are so different to the simple, rural folk of his happy childhood in faraway England.

An impatient overseer moves ahead the coffle of naked prisoners trying to clear the way through the angry crowd. Other whip-masters scourge the shoulders and backs of the captives to keep them moving forward to the slave-market. Reluctantly, the crowd part to allow the captives through but they don’t miss the opportunity to hurl abuse or to spit upon their hated Christian foes. Some, more daring than others, strike out at the recently captured slaves with their sticks adding their blows to the whips of the overseers.

Several times, a prisoner stumbles under the press of humanity and drags his fellows down into a struggling, seething mass of bodies. No time is wasted and no mercy shown in getting them back onto their feet. As the wretched men scramble to their feet, their naked bodies are viciously scourged by the impatient slave-drivers. And the captives’ distress amuses the onlookers who laugh and jeer at their suffering.

Slowly, the coffle weaves its way through the milling crowd of wildly gesticulating men and ululating women until it reaches a cleared, less crowded area on the far fringe of the market square. This is the area reserved for the sale of livestock and slaves. Viewed as livestock by their captors, the unfortunate wretches have reached their destination; this is the place where they are to be sold. Apprehensively, Tobias look about for the auction block. But where is it? Nothing remotely resembling a selling podium is in sight. How then are they to be sold?

Here the crowds are less pressing than back in the alleyways and they are engrossed in the sober business of buying and selling domesticated animals. And the air is malodorous and the atmosphere somehow ominous. The pungent odour of animal dung and urine permeates the area and the air is full of the bleating, neighing, snorting, cackling and quacking of the many varieties of farm animals and fowl being offered for sale.

There appears to be some order in the chaos; each variety of animal has its own reserved area where there they are displayed, inspected and haggled over. Tobias grew up on a farm and of course most of these are known to him. There is no mystery with the sheep, the goats, the cattle, the horses, mules, donkeys and the poultry. True there is strangeness about them with which he is unfamiliar but this has more to do with the difference in breeds rather than the species. However, there are some creatures which do astound Tobias and fill him with wonder. These are the camels.

These strange creatures defy logic. Never in his wildest imagination could Tobias have conjured up images of such a strange looking beast. Their humped backs and ungainly appearances make them seem ludicrous in the extreme. And their long necks, gangly legs and padded feet add to their ridiculous appearances. What whimsical mind designed such a weird creature and for what purpose were they placed upon the earth?

Eventually, Tobias will become more familiar with the camel and he’ll learn of its great capacity to carry heavy loads over long distances in the most arid environments with a minimum of water. He will learn too that they are highly regarded by his captors and their worth is considerably more than that of a mere slave. This morning, as he gazes in wonder at the camels, Tobias is unaware that each of them is worth considerably more than him or his fellow slaves.

The sounds of the Christians’ arrival arouse the buyers’ interest. The clanking of their shackles and the sharp crack of the whips cause them to look away from the animals and watch as the Nasrani prisoners are driven into the enclosure which will serve as a holding pen until they are taken out and offered for sale. They are the last of the livestock to arrive.

 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Despite his overwhelming fear, Tobias’s curiosity gets the better of him. Like a moth drawn to the candle flame, he moves to the front of the pen where we can peer out into the market. He watches as the animals are inspected; usually these inspections are followed by animated discussions which often degenerate into unseemly arguments between buyer and seller. Then just as quickly, these arguments are settled amicably with smiles, laughter and handshakes as money is exchanged and the newly purchased animal is lead away by its new owner.

It would seem this is the way that business is conducted and Tobias wonders if he is to be sold in a similar manner. Will he be similarly inspected, haggled over and sold with a friendly handshake?

Gradually, those not buying the livestock gather in clusters in front of slaves’ pen and begin to discuss its unhappy inmates in their strange, incomprehensible language. They shout and gesticulate angrily at the terrified Christians who are strangers to their strange tongue and, uncomprehending, they cower fearfully at the back of the pen.

By their hand gestures, it is obvious these men want the slaves to move around the pen where they can see them as individuals rather than a tight scrum of forty-two, indistinguishable bodies. But, like frightened animals awaiting the butcher’s knife, the prisoners seek safety and security in a corner of the pen where pressed up against one another, none of them will break ranks to oblige the prospective buyers.

The buyers’ protests grow louder at the slaves’ unwillingness to co-operate and, finally, with their patience at an end, the gates to the pen are thrown open and three African overseers enter. Angrily, they lay about with their long, single strand whips. As the whips fall upon them, the hapless captives push and shove together in a futile struggle to escape their fiery bite. Those slaves closest into the corner fall to the ground and are in danger of being trampled underfoot by the rest of their terrified fellow prisoners. Panic stricken and desperate to escape the lash, each thinks only of himself.

Tobias is on the outer fringe of the crush and he bears the brunt of the overseers’ fury. Repeatedly the whips cut into his unprotected back and finally through the red haze of his pain, he breaks free and runs to the front of the pen to escape. He’s not the only one to do so; other slaves are of a similar mind and soon they are walking around the pen and giving the buyers a better view of their naked bodies.

The three African overseers remain within the enclosure and their shouted instructions and whips ensure the slaves move slowly around the pen in a clockwise procession. As they do so, they are closely scrutinized and discussed much as Tobias remembers the farmers of his boyhood did when they stood before a pen of captive pigs, calves or sheep on market day.  As Tobias’s thoughts return to those happier times on his father’s farm, his eyes brim with tears and he is overwhelmed with a great sense of loss. Tobias knows he is lost forever to his beloved parents and the realization that he will never see them again breaks his heart. But the sharp cut of the whip stirs him out of his self-pity and forces him move on.

And as he does so, Tobias thinks of freedom!

Even now, he still hopes to regain his freedom. Tobias supposes “hope springs eternal” in the young and despite his sufferings; he retains a small measure of optimism. Tobias knows some slaves are “redeemed” by Christian missionaries who work tirelessly to buy the freedom of Europe’s forgotten, white slaves.  But Christianity is fragmented and consumed by sectarian hatred and it is this hate that differentiates between the slaves purely on the basis of their belief.

Tobias is to learn that it is far better for a slave to be an Italian or a Spaniard rather than an English Protestant. He’s unaware that here in Tripoli there are representatives of those two Catholic countries – the Trinitarians and the Mercedarians - two religious orders founded during the time of the Crusades to redeem captured Christians out of Saracen slavery.

They still operate and throughout Catholic countries they have collection boxes inside the entrances to their churches marked with the words “For the Recovery of the Poor Slaves” and they urge the faithful to be generous in their donations to relieve the suffering of their Catholic brethren in Arab and Turkish bondage.

Yet even these charitable orders are inadequate to the task; at most they redeem just three or four out of every hundred unfortunate Christians taken as slaves each year.

For the remainder there is no hope. They are condemned to the living hell of the stone quarries or the galleys. A few will be slightly more fortunate and spend their days working on the large farms in the city’s hinterland. But the unending physical toil, the poor diet and the brutality of their lives will see them die within a few short years. The yearly deathrate among Nasrani slaves is one in five and the galleys must ply their oars harder and roam further afield in their quests to replace the numbers who die each year from starvation and exhaustion.

But today, as Tobias waits to be sold, he is blissfully ignorant of these things and he can still hope.

Suddenly, the loud clashing of a cymbal, announces to the buyers and spectators that the auction of today’s offering of slaves is about to commence. The crowd falls silent and turn their backs to the captives to listen as the dilaleen recites the rules governing the inspection and bidding for the slaves. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, Tobias hears the auctioneer’s litany of rules but he doesn’t understand what he is saying. Yet, some deep instinct tells Tobias that he is spelling out the terms and conditions for the sale. The realization that they are about to be sold chills Tobias to the marrow and he begins to tremble.

The auctioneer finishes his spiel and an excited murmur ripples through the crowd as an auctioneer’s assistant enters the pen. None of the prisoners wants to be the first to be led out and once more they jostle each other out of the way as they seek security at the far end of their prison. This time the African overseers don’t waste time; they roughly seize a captive and forces him to his knees as the assistant fastens a rope halter around the wretch’s neck. The slave is dragged to his feet and, obviously resigned to his fate, he submits meekly as he is led from the pen and disappears into the crowd of eager buyers waiting to inspect him.

He sets the example the rest are doomed to follow. The captives know from past experience that resistance is futile and that it will be rewarded with the lash. This first slave is showing them the way and all are to follow in his footsteps.

Tobias is of two minds. One part of him is repulsed by what is to happening to the hapless slave and yet another part needs to watch as he is sold. His curiosity gets the better of him and he moves to the front of the pen from where he peers out through the wooden slats into the crowd. If he’d hoped to see what is happening to his fellow slave then Tobias is doomed to disappointment. The press of eager bodies around the slave is too great and he is obscured from Tobias’s view. But he hears the auctioneer’s bantering sale’s pitch as he engages with the buyers.

From his vantage point it seems that the auctioneer is leading the slave in a circuitous route through the crowd. His voice ebbs and flows and at times it is drowned out by loud laughter and jeering. It seems the crowd is a jovial one and is enjoying the spectacle of a despised Nasrani - the hated spawn of Shaitan - being publicly paraded naked and bewildered through their midst.

From time to time, the crowd falls silent and the only voices to be heard are those of the auctioneer and one other. Tobias supposes these are the intervals when the slave’s physical attributes are explored, discussed and argued over.

How long does all this take? Tobias has no idea! But time seems to drag and no doubt this is more so for the unfortunate slave as he waits for someone to buy him. But then the crowd applauds loudly and Tobias watches as the slave is placed in an empty pen next to his own.

Finally, he has been sold!

Momentarily, Tobias looks at him. His eyes reflect his confusion and fear and he is shaking uncontrollably; no doubt from the realization that he has been sold and that he is now an owned slave. But his interest in the slave is cut short as the auctioneer’s assistant re-enters the pen bringing with him the rope halter with which he’ll lead the next slave out to be sold.

 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Tobias doesn’t want to be that victim and he moves quickly to return to the anonymity of his fellow slaves huddled in a far corner. But his curiosity is to be his undoing; he is isolated from them and attracts the attention of the African overseers who pounce on him forcing him to his knees as the halter is slipped over his head and fastened tightly around his neck.

This all happens so swiftly and Tobias is taken by surprise. Before the realization that he is the next slave to be sold has time to crystallise in his mind, a sharp tug of the halter around his throat yanks him to his feet and Tobias now follows docilely three paces behind his handler as he is taken out to be sold.

As he is lead out of the pen and into the waiting throng of buyers and spectators, Tobias’s mind is a blank and fear numbs him. This all seems too surreal and it is as though he is detached from the reality of his situation. Vaguely, he’s aware that the crowd parts to allow him entry into their midst. As he stumbles along behind the auctioneer’s assistant, Tobias is distantly aware that hands are reaching out to touch him. He feel them pinching and prodding at his upper body while other hands grabs hold of his cock and balls or cradle his buttocks. At such moments, his handler stops to allow the eager buyers to scrutinize him more closely.

Then somewhere in the midst of onlookers they stop and Tobias is in the presence of the auctioneer or to give him his local title – the dilaleen. He is a tall, ascetic looking man dressed entirely in black and, given Tobias’s sombre mood, the colour is most appropriate. Black is the traditional colour of mourning in Christian countries and today Tobias’s grief is all too real as he mourns the death of his freedom.

The dilaleen scrutinizes Tobias with such intensity that his eyes seem to bore into his very soul and he carries a short, wooden rod which he uses it to poke at Tobias’s naked body. Fearfully, Tobias lowers his eyes to the ground.

The auctioneer is accompanied by a slave. Tobias recognizes him as a slave because of his cropped hair and beardless face. Already he has discovered his captors do this to further humiliate and shame their Christian slaves. In their society, the Ottomans regard long hair and beards as the hallmarks of a man and slaves, who they consider are no longer men, are forced to wear their heads and beards closely cropped at all times. This slave wears shapeless, loose fitting pantaloons made of unbleached, natural cotton and a matching shirt. And on his cropped head he wears the red, felt cap of slavery.

He is a scrivano and carries a bundle of papers. Hastily, he searches through them before selecting one and passing it to his master.

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 dilaleen needs to know and he will use this information as a selling point as he presents Tobias to the buyers.

The dilaleen 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.”

Of course, Tobias is unaware of the auctioneer’s fulsome praise and he stands lost and bewildered in the midst of these men who now reach out to touch him. He lowers his head and submits to their ministrations. Tobias cringes with shame and horror as their hands roam over his nakedness and flinches each time a muscle is pinched or squeezed or a finger prods at his arse. Uncomprehendingly, he listens as his selling points are discussed.

Several times it is obvious that the auctioneer and a prospective buyer are arguing over him and Tobias now recognizes this as a necessary part of his sale. In his boyhood, he’d witnessed this same haggling between a farmer and a buyer over some farm animal offered for sale. And today, as a prospective buyer squeezes his arm muscles or prods him in the ribs or parts his buttocks to test the soundness of his anus, he identifies with those farm animals on those long ago market days.

But even worse for Tobias is the foulest of indignities; the testing of the cleanness and the health of his genitalia and the state of his teeth.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of attention shown over his teeth. It would appear that a slave’s teeth are a major consideration with the buyers. Later, as he serves on the galley, Tobias will learn a slave needs healthy teeth to chew the hard, black bread and biscuits which are a staple of the galley slave’s diet.

There is a brief exchange between the auctioneer and one buyer and the crowd moves backward to clear a wide circle around Tobias. From somewhere in the folds of his long flowing garments, the auctioneer produces a flexible cane and as he viciously swipes it across his ankles, Tobias leaps into the air from the shock of his unexpected blow. His loud yelps of pain amuse the watching audience and they laugh at Tobias’s distress.

For several minutes, the auctioneer continues to whip his ankles with his cane causing Tobias to leap and twist in the air to show the flexibility of his body. Then he changes tactics; now he whips each leg alternatively aiming his blows at the front and back of Tobias’s legs. Now, the auctioneer is making Tobias dance a ‘jig’ that further demonstrates his fitness. This further amuses the crowd who laugh and jeer mercilessly at the hapless slave.

Then, a tall figure dressed in colourful garb steps forward and speaks to the auctioneer. He is asking permission to inspect Tobias more closely. Gladly, the auctioneer gives his permission and the slave is made to stand docilely as he does so. Tobias doesn’t know it but he is in the presence of his future master.

he man examines Tobias with an expertise gained from many years of assessing the bodily strength of slaves suited to tug at the oars of his galley. He had watched Tobias’s progress through the throng of buyers and he’d watched as the auctioneer put him through his paces. Obviously, he liked what he saw and has decided that Tobias is eminently suited to serve aboard his galley.

He has an easy assurance and a confidence that comes from knowing exactly what he is looking for in a slave. As the man’s hands slide over Tobias’s body gauging his muscular strength and as his fingers probe the density and hardness of those muscles, Tobias feel great shame. And yet, unlike so many others who’d examined him this morning, this man’s interest in Tobias isn’t voyeuristic but rather it is purely professional. Tobias know instinctively that the man is looking to buy a slave to be used for hard labour and for no other reason. And there is a degree of comfort in this for him.

Since his capture, Tobias has had an underlying fear of becoming a garzon or pleasure slave to some perverted Master. As a seaman in the fo’c’stle, he’d listened with morbid interest to the “old hands” tales of the fate of handsome, young men enslaved by the corsairs. Despite his prudishness, he’d had a prurient interest in their tales. It had fed some deep seated erotic fantasy. However that is all it was – an erotic fantasy. Tobias had neither wanted it for himself nor had he ever dreamed that such a thing could happen to him. But that changed the day of his capture. Ever since that day, Tobias has feared that this could eventually become his fate.

And yet at some time in the future, as he toils at his oar, Tobias will revisit this and wonder pensively if life as a garzon isn’t preferable to that of a galley slave.

This man, who is soon to be his master, finishes with Tobias and with a nod of his turbaned head; he indicates his satisfaction to the auctioneer. The auctioneer acknowledges this by calling for bids from other interested parties.

Tobias is bewildered by the frenzied activity that swirls around him. At first it would appear that everyone in the crowd wants to buy and own him. But by a slow process of elimination, the number dwindles to just a handful. One by one these bidders are reduced further until just two remain; the tall man who had just examined me and another repulsive creature with an oversized body, a bloated face and lecherous appearance that Tobias likened to a toad.

Even though, Tobias can’t understand what is being said, he is astute enough to know these two are locked in a battle to buy him. Desperately, he watches as the two bid and counter bid for the right to own him. Tobias finds myself hoping that the tall man wins this tussle of wills. Mindful of the fo’c’stle stories, he thinks anything would be preferable to finding himself as a slave to “toad face”.

Perhaps, if he were to know of the fate that awaits him, Tobias would think differently.

With bad grace, “toad face” finally concedes defeat and bows out of the bidding leaving the auctioneer to declare the tall man as Tobias’s owner.

Tobias’s sale into slavery is greeted with loud applause and acclamation and it is as well that he doesn’t understand the brief conversation between the auctioneer and his new Master.

“Congratulations, Rashid! You have purchased well. The infidel slave is yours. What are your plans for the unbeliever? Will he be put to hard labour as befits all the sons of Shaitan?”

“Thank you, Mustapha! Rest assured that the slave will be sorely pressed. He is to serve as an oarsman on my galley”.

“Ahh, Rashid! That is indeed a fitting role for the slave. He is a lusty fellow with long limbs and his lungs are sound. One has only to look at him to see he was born to toil at the oar and to bend his back beneath the whips of the true believers. May he live long and serve you faithfully. May his labours reward you a thousandfold for the money you have spent in buying him.”

“Have no doubt about it, Mustapha! The slave will reward me many times over for my outlay on him. My overseers and their whips will indeed see that every dinar I have spent on him today is returned to me a hundredfold.”

As the auctioneer and his new Master talk together, a slave assistant approaches Tobias and leads him away to the empty pen where he’s confined with the first slave who stands dejected and alone in a corner. He looks up as Tobias is thrust through the gate to join him. Both slaves greet one another and stand together in their common misery.

Soon they are joined by another slave…. and another. And another…. until all forty-two of their fellow captives have been sold!

As yet, Tobias is blissfully unaware of the fate that lies ahead of him as he is lead away to a blacksmith for branding and collaring.

After that, the full horrors of the galley await him!

Finis!

Thus is one of Amalaric's earlier works and  I acknowledge his talent in producing this beautiful and evocative work. I have long admired it and although I have used it previously, it does seem to fit with the theme of my story.

Chris                                                     

Another golden "oldie"

This is the cover of a novel, "Captive of Rome" published in 1962 and written by the  American writer, Theodora Du Bois born in Brooklyn in 1890. Throughout her writing career, she wrote mainly crime and mystery stories and this historical novel was a departure from those genres.

Although well-researched and historically accurate, this story wasn't well received by some critics who preferred her more familiar crime/mystery stories. I also found the story uninteresting and my main interest in it is the cover art with which I erotically  identified. 

As a youngster, I identified with the shackled, semi-naked slave standing on the platform as he is sold. Oh, how I wished it was me. I fantasied about being in his place and I lost count of the many "pleasures"  it gave me. 

Note the titulus hanging around the neck of the slave in the background as he waits to be sold. Back then, there were even moments when I wondered what the slave-trader would write on my titulus. 

Just another of my youthful recollections.

Chris 

The Slave Raid

This is a short story of slavery meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): August, 2014 

The characters and ideas contained in this story are purely fictitious and don’t relate to any specific persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don’t do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists’ pictures.

Another short story I rediscovered during my "clean-up".

I wrote this short, standalone story for another group. It was prompted by a 1965 movie, “The Naked Prey” which starred Cornel Wilde as the nameless, “naked prey”.  Captured by an African tribe he is stripped naked, turned loose into the wild without weapons and given a head start before several warriors armed with spears and assegais pursue him like a wild animal. At one stage in the movie, the prey watches as slavers raid a native village and enslave its inhabitants. This scene had a lasting effect upon me and has stayed with me through the years. Often, I try to imagine the horror, the disbelief and despair of those natives as they were dragged from the warm security of their huts, stripped naked, chained into a coffle and driven off into slavery.

I recall at the time, that this scene from the movie strengthened my abhorrence of chattel slavery which I consider to be a crime against humanity. We can write stories about historical slavery – as I do – but we can never condone or excuse its practice. Historical slavery is an abstract. However, the more recent African slave trade and its aftermath is something we can all identify with in one form or another. Some might try to rationalise it while others condemn it for what it was – an evil practice.

I have tried to recreate this scene in this short story but I have set it in another place and at another time. This new setting probably reflects my passion for history but regardless of time, place or race, I hope it reflects my abhorrence of chattel slavery as an evil institution that can never be excused. ………… Chris

Somewhere in Germania libera, 3rd century AD

Note: Germania libera translates as “free Germany” and is that area not controlled by Rome unlike the two Roman provinces of Lesser and Superior Germania.

“Get to your feet! Now!”

The young slave refuses to move and if anything he defies me. He rolls his body into a tight ball and seems to hug the earth upon which he lies.

My name is Lucius and as a peddler of prime, human flesh catering to Rome’s elite. I have seen this phenomenon many times before with the newly enslaved. I suppose one can understand the shock and trauma these newly captured slaves undergo. They are, at first, uncomprehending of their changed circumstances and my considerable experience tells me it will take several days of travelling in my coffle before they come to their senses and yield to my overseers’ whips. But submit they will!

In a way, I can’t blame the slave and I do have a degree of sympathy for his plight. I mean, less a than thirty minutes ago, he was fast asleep in the warm darkness of his parents’ hut  probably inebriated from the large quantities of mead he’d consumed last night at his older brother’s wedding feast.

This older brother already wears the heavy wooden, travelling yoke around his neck and waits to be joined by his younger brother. The older slave stands dazed and naked in the predawn chill as he uncomprehendingly looks around in panic for his new wife. But she has been separated, stripped naked and chained by the neck to the other saleable females and the children old and fit enough to travel.

I hope, not unkindly, these newlyweds were able to consummate their marriage before our unannounced arrival in their village. Looking at the young husband, I don’t doubt for one moment that he vigorously fucked his new wife not once but several times since they’d left last night’s festivities and retired to their bridal hut. 

He is really a superb specimen and I’m sure he’ll fetch a high price when he mounts the auction block. One has only to look at his pendulous balls and larger than usual cock to know that his breeding potential will be readily recognized by the most discerning slave owner. His new bride has the nubile body of the young girl whose figure has been unspoiled by the rigours of child bearing. She too is a potential breeder and in my many years’ experience as a slave-raider, I know it’s quite possible that her new husband had already successfully impregnated her before their wedding night. Quite possibly, her future owner could be getting two slaves for the price of one. Stranger things have happened. 

As is my custom, once I have all the fit and able bodied securely shackled, the old, the infirm and the very young will be mercifully put to the sword. I say mercifully because I offer them a quick death rather than a slow lingering one of starvation and neglect. Without the young men to grow the crops and to hunt for game and without the younger women to cook and care for them they are doomed to die slowly and painfully.

Pandemonium reigns all around me. The predawn gloom is nightmarishly illuminated by the flickering light of burning huts and the early morning silence is broken by the heartrending shrieks of family members being torn from one another and placed in shackles. 

My men search the huts and surrounding vegetation for those who try to hide from us. However, they are too well versed in the taking of slaves and they know what cunning bolt holes to search for and under which bushes to look for those who vainly try to escape their new destiny.

I watch as these latest captives are hauled from their hiding places and dragged kicking and screaming into the center of the village, I supervise as the sexes are separated and the  men and youths are taken to one side and stripped naked before they are paired off ready to have the wooden yokes of slavery placed around their necks. I hear their futile cursing and their cries of outrage and finally despair as it dawns on them that they are now merely slaves.

The flames from the burning huts add a surreal element to the scenes being played out all around me. The new slaves’ pale, naked bodies are bathed in the angry, orange glow of the many fires burning around them and the flickering flames burnish their long, braided, blond, hair.

But our work here is nearly done and I am anxious to move my new slaves away from the village before I give the order to slaughter those unable to make the long trek to the Danube river fort at Castra Regina.

I’m not a philosophical man but I am struck by the vagaries of fate and their effects on the lives of these simple, rural folk. They’d have suspected nothing was amiss as they retired to their huts in the early hours of the morning after the night’s wedding festivities. And slave-raiding wouldn’t have concerned them at all. To their knowledge the slave-raiders operated far to the south in the Roman provinces of Lesser and Superior Germania and as they fell drunkenly into their beds they’d have felt safe in the knowledge that no previous slave-raid has ever taken place this far north. How wrong they were for there is always a first time for everything.

For many years the southern areas have been over-harvested and the quality of the livestock from there is now, at best, categorized as “low grade”. Certainly, the agents at the slave-stations on the Danube and Rhine rivers think so and are demanding higher quality slaves to meet the insatiable demands of the discerning Roman buyers. And of course, a slave needs to be robust enough to endure the rigors of travelling from the harvesting-field to the auction-block. Even among the fittest and strongest of slaves the deathrates within the coffle remain high. The bleached bones of those dead slaves serve as signposts marking out the long miles along the slave routes traversing the hostile countryside of Germania. Hopefully none of my new slaves will add their bones to those already there.

This is my first trip to this region which is outside Rome’s control. While I’ve never harvested slaves this far north before, necessity has now driven me here. I’ve always gathered up my new slaves in the more settled south with its close proximity to my home at Castra Regina on the German side of the river Danube. Certainly, slave-gathering can be financially rewarding and this attracts many inexperienced novices eager for quick profits with minimum effort and their unprofessionalism really cruels it for the genuine slaver like me. Put quite simply, my old hunting-grounds have been ‘over farmed’ by them and so I need to look further afield. As far as I know, I am the first slaver to travel this far north into Germania libera in search of suitable slaves.

But inevitably, when my latest coffle of slaves stands naked in Rome’s Graecostadium slave-market, their handsome features and superb peasants’ physiques will attract the attention of my fellow slavers who’ll then flock north to the new hunting grounds that I’ve successfully opened up.

The young slave still hasn’t obeyed my order to stand and so I uncoil my whip and begin to lash him continuously. As a new slave he must learn to obey instantly and I will brook no resistance from him. And he must learn that lesson quickly. As my whip cuts through the thin fabric of the tunic he wears, he screams in outraged pain and tries to roll away from me. Nevertheless, my whip is a long one and there’s no escaping its painful reach. I continue to rain blows down upon him all the time commanding him to.

 “Get to your feet, slave!”

Deliberately, I call him slave! It’s important that he know from the outset that this is now his true status and that he is my slave until such time as he arrives at Rome’s busy slave-market.

It is a contest of wills between us; but it is a contest that I will win.  Inevitably, he tires and finally it occurs to him that I hold the whip hand – literally - and that he has to capitulate. Unsteadily, he climbs to his feet and glares sullenly at me. I will allow him this serious breach of etiquette just this once; there’ll be time over the coming days, as he travels in my coffle, to correct his bad behaviour and turn it into servile acceptance of his new condition.

I nod to two of my helpers and as one pinions the boy’s arms, the other uses his knife to quickly cut away the new slave’s tunic. Immediately, I am struck by his manly, semi-naked beauty; he still wears a loincloth but this is quickly torn from his hips and he stands before me in all his naked glory. He shouts in shocked outrage and struggles violently to break free. However, he is no match for my overseers who are well practised in restraining a struggling, new slave. Vainly, he continues to struggle but a resounding cuff to the ear from one of my overseers convinces him to remain still as I visually appraise his naked body.

I estimate his age at about eighteen and he has the blond hair and piercing blue eyes common to all Northern barbarians. As a peasant, he has obviously worked hard from an early age and his musculature is as developed as any I have seen on a newly enslaved, adult male. Indeed it is most impressive and I’m sure it will excite the most jaded of Rome’s buyers.

His well-developed chest is covered by a light dusting of hair that matches his long, blond braids while a most delightful treasure trail of darker hair bisects his firm, flat stomach emphasizing the ridged abdominal muscles and the deep indent of his belly button.  His limbs are long and strongly-muscled; his forearms and legs are covered with a fine, golden down with the texture of fine, silken thread.

His more than generous cock is both thick and long and nestles in the thick bush of his golden pubes. His heavy, pendulous balls hang low - one slightly more so than its twin - between his strong thighs. He is uncircumcised - a thing not uncommon among the barbarians - and I suppose his new owner will have the offending skin promptly removed once he is bought.

The slave has the most handsome features with a clean, open face, eyes the colour of the sparkling Mediterranean on a summer’s day, an aquiline nose and full red lips which, when parted, show his even, white teeth to perfection. His dimpled chin is covered by the thick, golden stubble of his beard which further attests to his obvious masculinity. 

I motion to his handlers to turn him so that his back faces me. And I’m not disappointed!

The slave’s back is as flawless as his front. Broad of shoulder, it tapers down to a trim, narrow waist which then flares out into the firm, muscular globes of his delightfully curvaceous buttocks. His arse is a sheer delight to behold and promises much; it is divided by a deep, mysterious crevasse which holds the prospect of much pleasure to be enjoyed by some lucky purchaser.

As a long time slaver, I know the boy’s good looks will be his major selling point. A slave of such rare beauty is always eagerly sought after by the rich and lecherous men of Rome.

My scrutiny of him is now finished and I watch as the slave is yoked by the neck to his older brother. They are now ready to begin their long march to Rome’s ever-hungry slave-market in the Graecostadium.

And as I slowly walk down the long coffle visually appraising my other naked, male captives, I see that the boy is not alone with his magnificent body and handsome features. His brothers in misfortune are as equally impressive and all are worthy of sale in the saepta, that exclusive area of Rome’s slave-market where only the choicest and primest of specimens are sold to Rome’s wealthiest and most discerning citizens.

As I gaze upon my new slaves, I know instinctively that I will be rewarded most generously for my daring raid into this new territory of unsuspecting, Germanic tribes.

However, it is a journey I must soon repeat while the goddess, Fortuna still smiles upon me and before my greedy rivals quickly follow in my footsteps. There is still much gold to be made before they too discover this new, lucrative harvest-ground of slaves.

End.

Artwork found on the internet; source unknown.

Andy

“OBADIAH”S NEW SEDAN CHAIR”

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe, July, 2010

Note:

Currently, as we enter a new decade, I am re-organising my files and I came across this long forgotten short story which was a "follow-up" to my very first two stories - "An Object Of Desire" and "The Aftermath" -  that I wrote back in 2009.

I recall at the time, receiving messages from readers as to what happened to Andy and Toby and I wrote this epilogue a result of those enquiries.

 “Obadiah’s New Sedan Chair”

Obadiah Clements is beside himself with excitement.

His new sedan chair is everything he expects of it and he is fulsome in his praise of it to the carriage maker responsible for its construction. In fact, it surpasses his most fanciful wishes and it truly is a thing of beauty. Mind you that didn’t just happen. No indeed not -for he’d put much thought into its design and construction.                                      

                                                              >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Advancing years is something most people dread and Obadiah is no exception. Physically, the years haven’t been kind to him although, if he is perfectly truthful with himself he’d have to admit his debauched lifestyle has contributed substantially his present deplorable condition.

He is grossly overweight to such an extent that his mobility is severely limited and the mere act of walking challenges his resolve and endurance. Life for Obadiah is now so sedentary that he relies on his young, body slaves to assist him in all aspects of his daily life. Each morning, they are required to wrestle him out of his oversized bed – especially constructed to accommodate his huge bulk – and struggle to get him into the shower where they shave and bathe him before dressing him for the day.

Some time back, having reached the stage where he could no longer bear to catch a glimpse of his own image, he’d had all the mirrors removed from his home. Last time he’d stood before a mirror he’d been repulsed by his own grotesqueness.  Staring back at him from below a shiny, bald dome were two narrow, hooded eyes buried deep in a suet-pudding face and he was ashamed. Were those two sagging breasts resting on top of that enormous belly – whose overhang obscured his shrivelled, genitalia - really his? 

Even within the shower it was necessary for his body slaves to raise his arms above his head – the effort being too great for his wheezing constitution and the hanging folds of underarm fat had disgusted him. And the rear view was no less flattering – the sagging arse cheeks reminded him of an ageing elephant he’d once seen at a circus performance.

As he looked upon his reflection, he was overcome with sadness. Was this really him? Where is the handsome, young Adonis of his youth; has his former beauty really deteriorated into the heaving mound of blubber staring back at him from out of the mirror?

Obadiah had lived the good life. Born to riches, he’d always indulged his passions for the arts, an insatiable appetite for fine dining and young, male slaves. His considerable wealth had allowed him to over-indulge all three passions.

A self-professed patron of the arts and a connoisseur of fine foods and good wines, his knowledge of the theatre, music, the fine arts and good dining is prodigious and he is recognised as the city’s leading arbiter of “good taste”. His views are in constant demand and none of the city’s elite would ever consider making a decision on any of these matters until they have sought his opinions.

Why only recently, hadn’t young Andrew Trevorrow sought his opinion on a bronze work of two nude wrestlers by Anthony Varro. Andrew had sought his advice – which he’d readily given – and made the purchase for some exorbitant figure. Foolishly, Andrew had allowed himself to be beguiled by the naked wrestlers – and Obadiah has to admit they are superb- but in his expert opinion they were greatly overpriced and he’d said as much. But it seemed Andrew was determined to own them and had found it necessary to sell four of his best slaves, including his farm steward Toby to finance its purchase.

Andrew Trevorrow’s decision proved fortuitous for Obadiah for he’d purchased Toby who now serves as one of his body slaves.  Toby is a sheer delight. His superb body enraptures Obadiah and he daily orders Toby into his bed. In fact, Toby sleeps on the floor alongside his bed and his first duty of the day is to clamber up onto the bed and crouch between Obadiah’s monstrous thighs and use his mouth to service his master’s cock.

Obadiah is well aware of Toby’s repugnance at being used in this way and really half of the enjoyment for him is in this knowledge. Toby of course is a slave and hasn’t any option but to submit to Obadiah’s will and the sight of Toby’s head bobbing between his outstretched legs is one that he savours every morning.  This is enhanced by the pattern of cane strokes that Toby wears perpetually on his back and arse. Really is there a more satisfying sight for a master than to see his slave carry the marks of his chastisement so prominently and Toby carries them beautifully? Of course, Toby isn’t alone in this; all his slaves carry similar markings on their bodies. Obadiah never spares the cane on his slaves. Otherwise how would he maintain order among his slaves and peace and harmony within his household?

To date, Obadiah’s favoured means of transport is the elaborate litter that he uses on all his outings. Long ago; he’s eschewed his pony trap for it. The litter is unique in that no other resident of the city uses one. He knows some people consider his use of it as eccentric while others see it as flamboyant or even worse as shameless ostentation. But he doesn’t care; as he reclines back among the silken cushions and is shaded by the matching canopy, he delights in watching the eight, naked, litter bearers straining under their impossibly heavy load. It is empowering to watch these slaves – four on either side of the litter – struggle to maintain their equilibrium for fear of incurring his wrath. And how erotic it is to see the stress both the litter and his bulk place on their powerful back and arm muscles.  And then there is the heady, masculine scent of their copious sweating. How fascinating to watch as it beads on their shoulders and chests before trickling down through their arse cracks or to drip from the ends of their cocks. Yes there is much to be said for using a litter as a means of conveyance.

Once or twice, Obadiah had used Toby as one of his litter bearers and had even used him to help carry him out to Andrew Trevorrow’s unveiling of the two wrestlers and as they entered the grounds of the slave’s former home he’d noticed the tears flowing down his cheeks. As Andrew Trevorrow hurried forward to welcome him, he ignored his former slave and Obadiah wondered what Toby’s thoughts were.

The evening was a glittering, gala affair to which only the city’s elite had been invited and it seemed that the proud owner of Varro’s latest work had spared no expense in introducing it to public. Even by Obadiah’s standards, the evening affair was “overdone” but he hadn’t the heart to say so to his host. Andrew had tried so hard to hide his farmer’s gaucheness and to appear a sophisticated connoisseur of the arts.

He’d been invited by Andrew to unveil the statue and to speak to the gathering.  And Obadiah had fulfilled that role admirably. He’d been at his most pompous best and as always he’d played to his appreciative audience with a combination of his self professed knowledge of the arts and some humour. Really, he hadn’t minded obliging Andrew. To get that close to Varro’s wrestlers was a privilege and he’d been quite envious of his host and this had piqued him. Really such am objet d’art was too good to be left in the hands of a dilettante art collector. It rightfully belonged with a collector of his stature.

Recently, Obadiah had felt like a change – but a change from or to what he didn’t know. He only knew that he was bored and needed a project to lift his jaded spirits. And for some unknown reason he knew Toby should be part of this change. 

He thought long and hard about this until, almost at the point of admitting defeat, he chanced upon a picture of a sedan chair of the type used by the wealthy in the seventeenth century.  As he looked at the picture, he had a delightful vision of him being ferried throughout the city in such a novel conveyance. The fact that it would be borne by two, powerfully built, naked slaves added to his pleasurable thoughts and for the first time in ages he felt a spontaneous stirring in his loins. This both surprised and delighted him.  It had been so long since this had happened and increasingly, he’d become more and more dependent on Toby to keep his “spirits up”.

 He knew immediately that he’d found his new project. He would have a sedan chair constructed for his use and Toby would be one its bearers.

Excitedly, Obadiah had hurried off to the city’s leading carriage-maker and told him of his plans for the sedan chair. This hadn’t surprised the carriage builder; after all he’d made the litter that Obadiah now uses. The builder listened patiently as Obadiah outlined his preferences.

The chair Obadiah requires is to be made of the finest materials and richly upholstered but it must have transparent panels that give Obadiah unrestricted views of the chair’s bearers; for him part of the enjoyment of travelling in the chair would be to observe them in action. The panels are to be both weatherproof and tinted to protect him from the harsh sun.  Can the carriage maker build him such a chair? The answer is – nothing is impossible and yes the chair can be made.

Succinctly, the builder suggests that the frame for the chair needs to be made from strong, lightweight materials. He is a compassionate man and feels for the two unfortunate slaves who’ll bear the intolerable burden of their master’s weight.  As he looks at the eight, kneeling litter-bearers who’d carried their master here, he is glad that he’d used this same technique in the litter’s construction.

The unhappy slaves are greatly stressed; their powerful chests heave and their bellies bellow as their oxygen starved lungs gulp for air. Their mighty limbs quiver like jelly and they are sweating profusely from the heat of the day. As he looks upon their striped backs it’s obvious that Obadiah abuses his slaves and he is overcome with pity for their distress. Diplomatically, he asks Obadiah if he’d like one of his slaves to water the litter-bearers as they discuss their plans for the new chair.

Obadiah – never one to consider his slaves’ comfort - dismissively agrees to allow his slaves to be watered.

The carriage-maker, like the rest of the city is well aware of Obadiah’s voyeurism and suggests that the internal seating could be made interchangeable in that Obadiah can travel facing either forward or backward. This way Obadiah will be able to observe the back of the slave in front or the front of the slave in back – depending on his mood of the moment. This hadn’t occurred to Obadiah but he enthusiastically agrees and compliments the carriage-maker for his suggestion.

Time moved slowly for Obadiah as he waited for his new chair and it was hard for him to contain his impatience for it to be completed. But today he has taken delivery of it and he is enthralled with it. As he and its maker inspect the finished chair his enthusiasm for it is boundless. The carriage-maker has excelled and the chair is truly a thing of beauty. The decorative, mahogany frame compliments the sparkling, transparent wrap around panels and the plush interior is richly lined with midnight blue velvet and gold trimming. The carrying bars at both front and rear are exquisitely carved with mythological creatures – hinting at Obadiah’s artistic tastes - and there are gold coloured chains for the slaves’ wrists.

Obadiah is absolutely delighted with his new chair and can’t compliment its maker enough. True the final cost of the chair was greater than he’d first thought but as he stands looking at it any concerns about his extravagance melt away. After all he is rich and why shouldn’t he indulge himself.

Finally, Obadiah has his new sedan chair. All that remains now is to find the fortunate slaves who’ll become his bearers. He already has one bearer – Toby. It only remains to find a slave to pair with him.                                                        

                                                                   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Obadiah has received word from the slave-dealer, Dave Matheson that he has a slave who will meet his requirements as a chair mate for Toby. A new slave has just been delivered into his hands for processing into slavery and for sale at next Saturday’s auction and from what Dave Matheson has told him the slave meets all his requirements.

The slaver has arranged a “private” viewing for Obadiah and he is on his way there now. He looks out from his litter as Toby struggles to keep pace with the more experienced litter-bearers. He has brought Toby with him so that he can compare the new slave along side of him.  But he doesn’t doubt they’ll be a perfect match for he knows this new slave quite well for he is no other than Andrew Trevorrow.

Things had gone badly with Andrew.  Foolishly he’d borrowed heavily against this year’s harvest which had failed dramatically because of the current drought. He’d borrowed to indulge his delusions of artistic grandeur and his obsessive desire to possess the two bronze wrestlers. Even more foolishly, he’d sold his farm manager, Toby to help pay for its cost. . It’s doubtful if Toby could have saved his master from the calamity that has now befallen him but perhaps – just perhaps - he could have limited its impact and bought valuable time for Andrew to re-organise his affairs. As it was, without Toby’s expertise and sagacity, Andrew Trevorrow was doomed.

Without an income from his crops and unable to repay the enormous sums of money he’d borrowed at exorbitant rates of interest, his creditors moved quickly to have Andrew declared a bankrupt. His farm, his possessions and his slaves were all seized and sold off to help repay some of his debts.

As is usual in these s cases, Andrew Trevorrow appeared before the courts and as a bankrupt was sentenced to servitude for the term of his natural life. Stripped of his freedom and with all his worldly possessions gone, Andrew Trevorrow is now known by the abbreviated “Andy” - a name more in keeping with his new status as a slave.

Shocked at his reversal of fortune he stands naked and shackled to an inspection podium awaiting the arrival of a potential buyer. He has no idea who that buyer might be and Dave Matheson hasn’t told him. As a slave he hasn’t that right. So he is left to tremble fearfully and to sob noisily as he contemplates his future.

Obadiah supposes they’ll be great interest shown in the slave Andy. After all, as Andrew Trevorrow, he had tried hard to impress himself upon the city’s “glitterati’ and to break into circles that were way beyond his social pretensions. No doubt there are many people who will want to own him for that fact alone. But Obadiah is determined to buy Andy as a slave to pair with Toby and his wealth will allow him to do so.

Momentarily, he feels a tinge of sympathy for Andrew Trevorrow; but not for long. Foolish boy! Through his own stupidity, he deserves what is happening to him. If only he’d stuck with farming and allowed Toby to continue to manage his affairs then all would be well for him. He’d still be free instead of a slave.

 Still, it’s fortuitous for Obadiah that the slave Andy has come on the market at this time. He’ll make a great companion for Toby as they struggle to carry his new chair around town while he sits back in cushioned comfort and watches them in their labours. Lasciviously he licks his lips at the thought of their magnificent, sweat streaked, naked bodies straining under the weight of his chair. And there is a certain irony in all this that perhaps won’t be lost on Andy; the fact that he is now a slave of equal status with a slave he’d once owned. This thought titillates him.  From somewhere deep within, a loud chuckle rumbles causing his ample girth to tremble.

But before that, he has another task for them to perform. He will use the two slaves to mount the Anthony Varro bronze of the two wrestlers on a plinth in the middle of his courtyard. By the greatest stroke of luck he’d managed to buy it the liquidation sale of Andrew Trevorrow’s possessions for a faction of its real value.

 Now there is real irony in that. Well at least for the slave Andy.

The End.

 Origin of the photo used is unknown and found on the internet.

Nova Baiae Chapter 11

"Bend and spread!"

The new slave, Chrysos, formerly known as Rhodri Fraser, is being examined by the odious Senator Maximus who commands him to 

"Slave, bend and spread! I need to check out the tightness of your ass. Spread those ass-cheek further so I can see what's hidden between them."

What follows is humiliating for Chrysos; his body is aflame with the red-hot shame of being digitally examined by the lecherous Maximus.

"Slave, your ass is very tight and you'll struggle to accommodate me. You need stretching and opening up. Not to worry, I have the perfect tool for that. My slave, Niger is hung like a stallion."

Artwork by Amalaric. This is an imagined scene from my story, Nova Baiae and the text is mine

Nova Baiae, Chapter 11

The slave-pens of Volpiscus

Ready for Inspection:

The three, new slaves, Chrysos, Telemachus and Cleon are made ready for their presale inspections prior to going to auction.

Artwork by Amalaric. The text is mine.

Cadiz, Spain, mid sixteenth century.

Found guilty of heresy by the Spanish Inquisition, and sentenced to life servitude as galley slaves, these young men are being taken to the blacksmith's forge where they will be stripped naked, branded with the Spanish king's royal coat of arms, fitted with the heavy collar and shackles of slavery and then chained to an oar. Within days, they will be sweating and straining over a heavy oar, struggling to keep pace with the incessant boom-boom of the hortator's drum and groaning under the overseers' cruel whips.

Note:

This beautiful artwork from Amalaric reminds me of my as yet unfinished story "The Galley Captain". 

One of the characters in that story is a young, Protestant Hollander, Andries Vandermey from the Spanish Lowlands accused of heresy. He appears before the Spanish Inquisition and because of his youth and muscular physique he is spared the usual fate reserved for heretics - burning at the stake.

Instead, he is sentenced to one of King Felipe's royal galleys to serve as a galley slave for the term of his natural life.

Chained to an oar, he befriends his Muslim oar mate, Huseyin as they labour under the Spanish lash.

Eventually, they are rescued by North African corsairs and Andries adopts Islam to become the renegade pirate, Nureddin Reis, the scourge of Christian shipping in the Mediterranean.

This story was influenced by several factors. Historically, there were renegade Christians, who rather than spend their lives bent over a Muslim oar converted to Islam and became corsairs.

Also, this story was influenced, in part, by Rafael Sabatini's novel,

"The Sea Hawk".

Artwork by the incomparable Amalaric. The text is mine. 

The text is mine.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The new slave's first time 

"Slave, shuck down and get your straight boi, virgin ass up onto the bed!"

"Yes, Master! How does Master want to take me? Doggy fashion or flat on my back with my legs over my shoulders and my ass raised, Master?"

"On your back I think slave. As this is your first time, I want to look into your face as I use your ass."

Picture sourced from the internet and the text is mine.

The Sea Hawk

(1915)

I love collecting and reading novels written in the past. And I especially enjoy looking at the cover illustrations which hint at what lies between the covers and are themselves "works of art".

This one is special to me as it was the very first novel I read in my "formative" years that dealt with slavery.

It's true to say this novel impacted my life enormously. It unleashed my slave's nature which has defined me a a person. 

Briefly, it is a swashbuckling tale set in Elizabethan times when a young English nobleman is betrayed by his brother, kidnapped and is on his way to the New World to be sold as a slave. The English ship transporting him is attacked by the Spaniards and he ends up as a galley slave. For three years, he tugs at a Spanish oar alongside a Muslim galley slave who he befriends.

Fate intervenes and the Spanish galley is attacked and captured by Muslim Corsairs who release him. He converts to Islam and becomes the Corsair known as "The Sea Hawk".

This story, published in 1915 has influenced so much of my own writing and it was the inspiration for my yarn, "The Galley Slave" which surprised me by being very popular with my readers.

The author of this fabulous work was Rafael Sabatini, an English writer; his father was Italian, his mother English and both were opera singers.

Rafael Sabatini wrote many historical novels - some of which have a Christian vs Islam theme - and his description of galley slaves in this and other novels was descriptive enough to give me many "jerk off" moments. The language he used could be seen as old-fashioned but this novel was written over a century ago and his style of writing does appeals to me.

The Sea Hawk spawned two movies. A silent one in 1924 which is a masterpiece of cinema and runs true to Sabatini's novel. The better known 1940's movie starring Errol Flynn included segments of the 1924 movie but it has no relevance to Sabatini's work. To my mind, the later version was a war propaganda film and an insult to Sabatini's writing.

For those who are interested both the novel and movies are still available. I suggest Amazon as a starting point.

  

Chris