The Hortator
Keeping perfect time with the beat of the drum tests the slaves to the limit of their physical endurance as, bent to their oars, they work in perfect unison with one another. They brace their naked, shackled feet against the footrests below the rowing benches and use very ounce of their strength to move the oars forward. In effect, although individuals, they become a single unit of energy to power the galley which holds them captive.
One can only imagine the horrors of being a galley slave. As shown in this most graphic picture, they are kept naked and shackled to their oars and unable to leave their posts even for the basic calls of nature. In the fetid, vermin-infested confines of the rowing pit, the miserable wretches sweat and strain in impossible heat surrounded by the foul stench of their own unwashed bodies and body wastes. They are assailed by the constant, monotonous, soul-destroying beating of the drum and the never-ending whining and hiss of the overseers' whips biting deep into aching and vulnerable flesh. They hear the laboured breathing of their tortured lungs, the loud groaning of their fellows caused by aching, overstretched muscles and sinews and the constant screams as a whip finds a new target or its ferocity.
Once they were free men but no more. Now they are simply beasts-of-burden condemned to labour perpetually under the cruel whips of their merciless overseers.
To my mind, the above picture captures the true horror of the galleys with its sombre tones and the muted play of light and shade on the naked, sweating bodies of the oar-slaves as they strain at their oars until merciful death releases them from their living "hell on earth".
Picture found on the internet. The text is mine.
I love the image and, especially, its text. I hadn't imagined the sweat, blood, feces and urine running under the benches, nice picture! The stench of those living and dead remains in the heat of the poorly ventilated galley cellar. On the other hand, the hard work and the lack of food should make these miserable muscular athletes. I imagine that when the boat stopped, and the entire crew could rest, oversees could fuck or receive blowjobs from these exhausted and delicious animals.
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Thank you Pote for your kind words and comments. They are much appreciated. The idea of galley slaves is the one closest to my erotic fantasies. My very first imagining of myself was as an oar-slave in an Arab galley and that has been a lifelong dream. I sometimes wonder how I would appear as a naked slave shackled to an oar straining under the bullwhip. Alas, it is only an image in my imagination but a vivid one nevertheless. We can but dream can't we, my dear friend. Sorry for my long absence; however, I have had some personal and health issues combined with a degree of disillusionment. Currently, I am most frustrated with bdsmlr which isn't working for me as I can't access my blogs or post to them. Like Google and then Yahoo, I fear bdsmlr might soon disappear and yet more of my work will have been in vain. And yet, for me, I still have the compulsion to visualise and write a story as it suggests itself to me. It is a hard habit to break. Meantime, your art still entertains me and arouse my masochism. Thank you so much, Pote.
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