Introduction

 

White slavery didn't end with the Roman Empire.

In fact, over the next 13 centuries more than a million Europeans were taken mostly by Moorish and Turkish pirates. Many of these people were sold in the free ports of North Africa before being moved east over the Slave Road. This journey was known as the "Baptismum Dolor," the baptism of pain. It was where submission finally replaced hope for thousands.

Venice, Genoa, Catalonia, and many other powers tried to protect their coastal settlements and their commercial shipping by building large navies, but they were never quite powerful enough or agile enough to be effective against the pirates who relied on the speed and stealth of their elusive corsairs.

As the Mediterranean slave trade grew and matured, its focus changed from plunder to profit. High-value booty, such as blond, light-skinned women, became increasingly more important and finding and protecting this kind of cargo more of a priority for pirate leaders.

This priority eventually produced seagoing criminal organizations of unmatched capability and unimaginable cruelty. This change also gave the pirate navies the potential to occupy and hold the coastal lands they terrorized, presenting European civilization with its greatest threat since the Huns stood at the gates of Rome.

Only the development of standing armies and a warrior class to lead them prevented the Moors and Turks from occupying the lands they savaged. These "savior knights," many of whom fought in the Crusades, were no angels, but they truly did see themselves as protectors, sometimes of the Catholic Church, but always of those too weak to protect themselves.

 

From the writings of Caliph Muhammad bin Arsian...

 

Our raids along the coast of Vitalia in the region of Puglia resulted in the capture of much gold, many precious artifacts, and more than 2,000 healthy slaves. Before returning to the Adriatic, I ordered all the females we had taken paraded before me. Of these, I selected the 100 most appealing which I had loaded onto my ship and delivered to the port of Seleucia for overland transport to His Royal Highness, the Sultan of Roum.

During the sea voyage, I tested the will and deportment of these rare beauties, preparing them for their new lives. Any who were too aggressive or too numb, I had suspended naked from the ship's rigging and flogged with flat leathers (to avoid scarring) until their temperament was to my liking. Any who continued to displease me in their speech or deportment were tied face up over the ship's rail until they were properly blinded and cooked by the sun. I then had them cast overboard into the sea.

Later, via his emissaries, I received the Sultan's thanks for this gift as well as his generous offer to sell me 83 fast ships, corsairs, one ship for each of the female slave he had been given. These ships have allowed me to capture ten times the number of luscious females in subsequent raids on Vitalia, Catalonia and France.

Thus do good manners lead to kindness, and kindness to slaves. Thanks be to Allah!

 

...As told to his historian Abdul al Harish

 

Chapter 1 - The Pillory

 

The day was hot and humid, but every once in a while a chilling breeze swept down from the mountains. Those with business in the castle moved quickly through the courtyard with their heads down purposely avoiding the pillory in the center. This was unusual as the town's people typically enjoyed tormenting the criminals being held in the stocks; public humiliation and shaming were the linchpins of 11th Century justice.

...But not today. This punishment was different. Today, they were punishing the duke's own consort and it was unclear what actions were appropriate.

The Duchess Janika had been watching the stocks for hours from the dark recesses of her bedchamber, savoring the steady increase in the girl's pain. The darkness allowed her to stare out through the balcony rail unseen. It wouldn't do, she reasoned, for people to notice her enjoying the slave's agony. She was a lady, the first lady in fact of the dukedom, daughter of King Vilmos of Croatia, wife of Duke Titus of Crikvenica, grand niece of King Sirius of Hungary. Royal ladies like her didn't thirst for pain or blood ... at least in the public's view.

Although in this case the town folk would probably forgive her feelings. Everyone knew that Giulia was her husband's consort, his slave-mistress. Everyone knew that he preferred Giulia's company to hers. And not just in bed, not just for the purpose of fucking her.

That she could have understood; the girl was incredibly beautiful. No, what she could never understand or forgive was that they walked together, rode together ... laughed together. They enjoyed a kind of intimacy that she had never known with the duke.

Suddenly, she heard the insulting ditty in her head, "Fine life ... to have a Sunday wife," and her face turned red. "Sunday wife," that's what everyone called her in secret. She had heard it many times as he hid in the castle's dark hallways. It was public knowledge that the Duke only came to her bed on Sunday, the Lord's Day; that he spent the rest of the week with his slave shore, his beloved Giulia.

Perhaps he will come to me more frequently after this, she thought meanly. The girl's body will be horribly scarred from the whipping. She had ordered her to receive 100 strokes with a horsewhip on her bare flesh. It was the standard penalty for a man who stole ... but not for a woman. A woman was usually enslaved for a period, made to serve their victim. Only in rare instances was she whipped and then it was more for the symbolic effect rather than to inflict real pain. Whipping a woman so severely that she was no longer desired by a man was generally unpopular with the people.

The only reason her sentence had been upheld was that Giulia was already a slave and because she had stolen from the Church. Punishing her with enslavement was too light a sentence. The man's penalty for thievery was the only logical course of action. That's what she had argued in the Justice Chamber and no one had argued against her position.

Of course they had stayed silent, she thought. Everyone knew that this was an affair of the heart -- a private matter between the Duchess and the Duke -- no one wanted to get in the middle of it. They were also unsure as the Duke was off fighting the Turks with her grand uncle, King Sirius, and because officially she reigned in his absence. She reigned ... not really -- the duke's officers and ministers actually did most of the governing.

Except in this matter, she thought. They had all conveniently deferred to her judgment rather than support the sentence ... the cowards. Everyone was afraid of the duke. He had a violent temper and the nasty habit of disemboweling first and asking questions second.

She shook off her black thoughts and stared out between the balcony posts at the satisfying sight of Giulia in pain. There was no doubt that the girl was beautiful -- tall and fine boned, shapely, with silver-blond hair and long beautiful legs. With her wrists and neck locked in the wooden stock, she was forcing to bend at the waist, exposing her luscious body to everyone, making her look even more alluring, more vulnerable.

"That was a mistake," she whispered to herself. "A huge mistake..." Ordering the bitch to be stripped naked from sunrise until the time of her whipping at noon was incredibly stupid. The people of Crikvenica had a natural affection for beauty, even beauty as sensual and sexual as hers was admired. When that was combined with their mixed feelings about the harmlessness of royal affairs, the result was wave after wave of sympathy for the wench that she could feel from here.

I should have had her body covered in a horse cloth until the whipping, she thought.

Too late now, it's done and there's no undoing it. Anyway, the nudity might just work in her favor. The more people who understood the magical power of the witch's body on a man, the more they who will believe that the Duke has been truly bewitched. The more who would agree that it was her responsibility, her duty, the duty of a faithful and legal wife, to counter the witch's evil influence.

She stared down at the crowd, stared into the faces of those who dared to glance up at the girl. There was pity on their faces; the only anger she saw was from those who dared to glance up towards her balcony. The fools! They understood the Duke's sin, but instead of being critical of him, they were commiserating with him; even the women were shaking their heads in subdued anger.

Commiserating with him...! Her mind screamed. What about commiserating with her, Janika, the legal wife, the victim of the bitch's sorcery? What about her feelings, her shame? She was young and just as beautiful. Why wasn't there any understanding for her?

It wasn't fair.

No one had told her that her arranged marriage to the duke would be a farce -- one designed to produce children, one intended to reward the duke, the popular hero of Grazna, for his service to the King. It just wasn't fair -- he fucked the blond bitch, allowed her free run of the castle, did nothing to quiet the insulting rumors -- yet it was her who these people despised and ridiculed. The Duke remained as charismatic and as popular as ever.

Well too fucking bad; she ruled here now; the punishment was her decision. Whatever she had done was justified ... and necessary. She just needed to act the part, to maintain her composure, to look regal and judicial. Any hesitation would be detected by the people and provide them with more grist for hating her. Yes, that was the one thing she could not afford, to look unsure.

The theft of a silver candlestick from the chapel had been a serious crime; any theft was a serious crime in Crikvenica. She could have had the bitch's hands cut off. Having her whipped was ... magnanimous. Perhaps she had overstepped a little with the face-branding, but people should know when there is a thief in their midst. The punishment would leave her disfigured but alive, well-suited to empty the shit and piss from the castle's chamber pots.

Janika smiled at the thought of the beautiful Giulia, the duke's cocksucker, emptying chamber pots.

Let's see how much the Duke wants to fuck his lover after that, she thought. Let's see how badly he wants to press his lips against hers, how much he wants to ram his cock into her tight cunt when her body smells of shit and piss. Let's see...

A sudden wave of raw fear and nausea spread up from her stomach. The duke had a violent and sudden temper. How would he react to all of this? Would he just accept what had happened -- that his mistress had stolen from the Church and been punished for it? Would he accept that she, Janika, had passed the sentence on the girl? Disfigured her...?

That might have been a mistake as well, she thought. I could have appointed someone else to pass the sentence and ... influenced them quietly. But the desire to stare into the bitch's amazing face was too great. She wanted her to know as she was being sentenced that it was her, Janika, who had ordered her whipped and branded. She had anticipated that sweet moment all through the trial

Only, when the time came, the girl had just stared back without any emotion as if ... as if she knew ... knew that she, Janika, had planted the candlestick under her bed then intimidated one of the chambermaids to give a false confession. Another wave of fear passed up from her gut ... if the Duke ever discovers the truth than...

Of course the girl suspected her. She knew that she was not guilty of the charge; she knew that someone else had framed her for the crime. She knew... And yet, rather than declare her innocence, she had just smiled when the sentence was pronounced. SMILED! As if her sentence was justified not matter her guilt or innocence; smiled, as if forgiving her.

Forgiving HER...! How dare a cocksucking slave forgive her! She was the one who had been wronged. She was the one who should be forgiving the treacherous bitch. She was...

Slowly she calmed, her mind knowing the danger of becoming overwrought.

The reality was that Janika was more of a slave at Drivenik Castle than Giulia had ever been. It wasn't that the Duke was kind to the girl -- he whipped her frequently; or that he was publicly disrespectful of his wife -- just the opposite in fact, he treated her like a precious glass statue. He simply loved Giulia; that was obvious to everyone in the way they spoke, the way they looked at each other, the way they touched. Everyone in the dukedom perhaps even the kingdom knew that Duke Titus of Crikvenica preferred his cocksucking slave to his wife.

It was outrageous ... unbearable; Titus had forced her to do what she had done. This was his fault ... he had driven her to this!

She turned back to the balcony.

The girl was writhing in pain, her knees bending and straightening as she tried to stretch her aching body, to ease her burning muscles. There was no sound, no groaning or pleading, just the terrible twisting. Janika imagined how her back must be feeling after six hours in the stocks. She must want die, she thought happily.

The scales are being balanced, finally. Suffer, you bitch ... suffer.

She was so focused on the girl's agony that she didn't notice the sergeant-of-the-guard until he stood at the base of the pillory. He had a black whip coiled over his shoulder which he carelessly placed on the platform between the girl's bare feet. Two soldiers followed behind him carrying a red-hot brazier between two wooden poles; a branding iron was being heated in the coals.

Slowly a silent crowd gathered. The punishment would begin at noon. Despite their disagreement with the sentence and the rumors of false accusation, all punishments needed to be witnessed. It was the law.

Witnessing Giulia's punishment was especially important to many in the crowd. Not for the satisfaction of seeing a criminal punished, but for support. She was popular in the castle. Her role as Duke Titus's preferred consort and her unusual beauty gave her special standing as a slave.

But there was more, much more; for many of those in the crowd, she had relieved much of their pain. The town had a medic, the apothecary, but it was Giulia that everyone went to for rehabilitation. She had a way with wounds and broken bones that the medic and all of his medicines couldn't match. She had the gentle, cleansing touch of a healer.

Several more angry faces in the crowd turned up towards the balcony and Janika felt her body tremble. "Fuck you all," she whispered. "I am the monarch here; I will decide who suffers and why ... ME, JANIKA, the daughter of a king!"

Her rage was beginning to overwhelm her once again when there was a loud knock on the door. She nearly jumped out of her skin then ran to the door and opened it a crack.

"Pardon, your highness, it is almost time."

It was the captain-of-the-guard, a man named Sandor.

"Time...?" she repeated numbly. "I ... I was resting."

"It's almost time for the punishment, your highness," he said evenly.

She stared at him with a blank uncomprehending expression.

So get on with it, her eyes said.

"The prisoner ... in the courtyard .... You must confirm her sentence, majesty. Ask again if she wants to confess ... order the whipping to begin. It's procedure..."

Janika stared at him wide-eyed and in panic. She didn't know or had conveniently forgotten this part of the sovereign's role. She had thought she could just watch from a dark corner of her room.

"I ... I can repeat your words if you like for the crowd," he said slowly, sensing her unease but mistaking it for compassion.

She hesitated for a long time then nodded slightly. He stepped inside and held out his arm; she laid her hand on it and followed him to the balcony.

The sergeant and another man were holding the girl's bare ankles in the foot holes as a third man fastened another piece of wood to hold them in place. Holding the victim's legs firmly in place with an ankle lock was essential during a severe whipping. Without this bracing, the person being whipped could easily flail around so hard that they broke a bone and passed out, sometimes for hours. That wouldn't do for a public punishment, not at all. The person must be conscious for each stroke.

From the balcony Janika could now see Giulia's pink anus and her swollen Venus mound. The entire crowd facing her bare ass could see everything between her legs. The pillory was built on a platform that was perhaps two feet off the ground. Its height allowed everyone in the crowd an unimpeded view of the victim's body and her suffering. It also allowed the whip-master to reach all parts of the body and to spread the pain evenly. The sergeant turned and nodded to the captain standing by Janika.

"They are ready, your majesty," he said quietly, clearly trying to calm the young girl.

Janika looked down at Giulia then at the upturned faces of the crowd. Her fist clenched in fear and her nails dug into the captain's forearm. The crowd's anger was like a pulsating nest of bees. She stared at Sandor.

"Do you confess and recant your crime?" he whispered to her, providing her the script she was to recite.

But Janika was too frightened to raise her voice above a whisper.

"Say ... Say it," she ordered."

"Do you confess and recant your crime?" Sandor shouted down into the courtyard.

Giulia turned her head in the direction of the balcony, but said nothing. She just stared at Janika. This was her moment, her opportunity, Janika realized, to defend herself in front of this angry crowd of townspeople. They were ready to believe her. She could even accuse the duchess of false accusation. What did she have to lose?

Janika felt a gut-wrenching fear in her stomach again and suddenly she knew the truth. They would believe her! If Giulia accused her now, she would be believed and the people would turn on her, on their sovereign, the wife of their duke. They might even subject her to the same punishment she had decreed for Giulia.

"Should we begin, you highness?" the captain asked, confused.

Janika stared at him, petrified then she looked down into the courtyard. The sergeant was standing at the ready, his whip unfurled, Giulia's ass and legs would be his first targets.

"...Flogger," Janika whispered inaudibly, "and no branding."