16th Century Slave Market Pt. 03

1573 — "At the small Bezestan are sold Christian slaves of both sexes and from all parts of the world. Those who are to be sold may not be covered with any clothes; their faces must be free of all paint or powder. Prospective purchasers are permitted to examine them as closely as they wish including their "secret parts."

— Philippe du Fresne-Canaye, in his account of his voyage to a slave market in Constantinople.

Background of the slave raid from Parts 1 and 2:

Island of Menorca, Mediterranean Sea, 1558

The attack, swift and merciless, followed a week-long siege and seemed to come from all points of the compass. Fewer than 50 defenders quickly fell to hundreds of Barbary Pirates, who herded the inhabitants into the central square and began the day-long process of separating the desirable females and healthy males from the unfortunate remainder. They made a special effort to identify skilled craftsmen. By the second day without food or water, the dazed, subjugated captives watched helplessly as the very heart of their town, the young and the strong, marched toward the slave ships.

No one seemed to sense the danger until it was too late. On the fourth day of the siege, a panic set in as men met in small groups to make desperate plans to send for help, or to offer a ransom, and finally, as the city fell, to hide in hidden corners and passages. A few people managed to escape by hiding in family mausoleums, some even crawling into empty coffins. The pirates had a superstitious anxiety around crypts and graveyards, thereby overlooking a small number of lucky sons and daughters.

Abducting 3,000 people at one time posed a distribution problem; many ships headed for the larger, distant markets of Libya or Turkey while a few sailed south to Algiers.

Part 3

Four sunsets and five sunrises spent on the deck in ever-increasing misery and fear prompted hushed conversations among the women. Ysabel Quintana, 19, whispered to her older friend, Luisa Vilaro. "We are heading east. Where might we be going?"

"Tripoli, I think, bon amic. There are slave markets there. Maybe Constantinople. You must be strong and keep your faith. You are donzella, a maiden. They take great stock in that and will not mistreat you."

"Luisa! Can there be worse mistreatment than being stolen from your home by devils?" Just then a crewman walked by, his scowl imparting a clear message — Silence!

The women looked away and went back to their depressing daily routine, consisting of alternately standing, sitting, or lying on the filthy deck, and using what passed for toilets, a row of open wooden buckets. For these cultured, sheltered women, performing their intimate ablucions on the open deck was mortifying. Modesty, purity, and civility infused the values of Menorcan society. The other women would form a circle and turn their backs to provide a modicum of privacy for the young ones, but the sounds and smells only reinforced the horrors of their situation.

The captive men remained below decks for the trip. Faint bumping noises and occasional cries of pain reminded the women of their mates and friends beneath their feet. Luisa had not seen her husband, Ferran, since their forced separation on the island but she thought he was aboard. Twice during the trip, the crew dragged a man's lifeless body from below and tossed it over the gunwales.

The morning of the seventh day brought a new vista. The ship's furled sails no longer cast moving shadows over the deck. The women watched with fascination and trepidation as a large boat was lowered into the water. Sailors threw a large rope down to the 12-man rowing crew which began a slow towing process. The longboat pulled the ship into a narrow cove where three other vessels already bobbed in the water.

A few women overheard talk from the crew and passed the word that they were in Malta. In a short time, whispers and nods confirmed the specific island as Goza, where the pirates had carried off all 5,000 inhabitants into slavery just seven years before.

By noon the overhead Sun, unblocked by the sails, reduced the 90 fully-dressed captives to a cabal of sweat and misery. They began to realize that their journey was far from over as many barrels of water and baskets of bread were transferred aboard. The efficient load-in impressed the prisoners in a depressing way; the crew had apparently done this many times.

That evening, a well-dressed man of apparent authority strode across the deck, trailed by two weary crewmen. He turned and gave a slight nod. The men pulled a beautiful young woman Ysabel knew as Estel out of the crowd. She screamed as they picked her up by the arms, only stopping when one of the men slapped her across the face. They came to a hatch and disappeared below.

Everyone seemed to know at once; the Captain had chosen his virgin bride, his Núvia verge. No one saw Estel for the remainder of the voyage.

The four ships raised anchor on the third morning and continued heading due East. Most of the sails came down again on the fourth evening, as a storm approached from the west. The women, completely exposed, clung to each other and any object in reach as the ship pitched at steep angles. The downpour did provide what passed as a bath for the filthy group.

As the sun began to dry the women's clothing the next day, they tried to prettify each other's hair with their fingers, to little avail. Luisa whispered to Ysabel, "Ens sembla ratolins." Ysabel looked around her and agreed. Drowned rats.

A few endless days later, they noticed the Sun rising to the starboard side; they were heading north. The ship began maneuvering past many islands before breaking out again into open sea. Bread and water rations, never ample, shrank as the ship entered a narrow passage. Speculation passed among the nervous women that they were traversing the Dardanelles.

From their studies of the classics, all the women knew Aeschylus' tale of the tragic destruction of Xerxes' bridges. They also knew what lay at the end of the strait: Constantinople.

Ysabel watched ships and boats of every size and shape entering and leaving the channel. She knew the basics of sailing and admired the skill of the crew navigating among dozens of schooners, skiffs, and sloops without incident. Another day and night found them in open sea again. The captives knew these were their last days at sea. Some women whispered prayers for the wind to cease, or for the sea to swallow them.

Their entreaties went unanswered as a stiff breeze pushed the ship within sight of the dreaded city in two days. The anchor dropped some distance from a dock as they waited their turn to discharge 160 wretched humans.

A man with a red cap stepped up on a box and whistled to get everyone's attention. He shouted, "Quita tus vestidos! Quita tus vestidos!"

Espanol was similar enough to Catalan for most of the women to realize that "vestidos" meant "clothing." A murmur of dread passed through the crowd. No one moved. The man stepped down and nodded to two crewmen, who pulled the nearest lady up onto the box. One pulled out a knife and began cutting her dress down the back. The woman opened her mouth to scream, but seemed to choke up in fear. More layers dropped. In moments, she was down to her last covering, a white shift.

He shouted and pointed to her. "Quita tus vestidos! Quita tus vestidos! Rapido!" The other two gestured with their knives. Slowly, timidly, the women began tearfully helping each other out of their garments, desperately hoping they could also keep their underclothing. Crewmen began piling dresses, petticoats, and shoes in a corner.

In thirty minutes, the women huddled in similar white shifts. The man seemed satisfied, walking away to a chorus of muffled sighs.

The ship started moving alongside a dock, where crewmen secured it with heavy ropes. A plank ramp appeared and the man they knew as Captain strolled onto the deck. A woman, covered from head to toe with a hijab, followed closely behind him. Estel! The Captain greeted some men as they guided him into a small building to negotiate the sale. Estel dutifully stood outside the door, head down.

Luisa and Ysabel whispered, "Is she now his wife? She is cowering there. What did he do to her?"

"Bon amic, maybe she is the lucky one. We will all have to be just as dòcil. We are at their mercy."

The crew kept the women on deck until the men were herded up from the hold and down to the dock. Many of the women gasped in shock at the line of 75 naked men, hands tied at the back, waste stains smearing their thighs, a few of them sporting full, bobbing erections.

This sight, a further embarrassment for the younger women, became a great source of amusement among the rabble on the dock. One man had a short leather strap and began whipping one man's pole into retreat, causing a roar of laughter. Another man grabbed a captive from behind and began rapidly pumping his swollen member. Despite his vocal protests, he spurted an arc across the planks. His tormentor shouted, "Akhir wahid lah! Akhir wahid lah!" prompting another round of merriment from the onlookers.

The foreign captives did not grasp his gruesome meaning. He had shouted: "His last one! His last one!"

In a matter of days, these unfortunate men would need no translation.

The long line moved forward around a corner and disappeared from view. A man motioned the women to come forward to the ramp. Even their culture betrayed them at this terrifying point. Respectable Menorcan women were demure, polite, and passive. They obediently lined up along the rail and started down the ramp.

Luisa whispered encouragement to Ysabel as the line moved. At the head of the dock, the same man in the red cap held his hand up to each woman and shouted, "Virgen? Virgen?" The word was close enough to the Catalan word Verge to cause the younger women to blush and nod. He pointed them to the right and ushered the older women to the left. One tearful glance — and two friends parted forever.

Luisa Vilaro

The building's floors, though rough, felt better on bare feet than the slimy deck. The overseers directed the matronas into circles of 15 women with two men inside each ring. One at a time, they loosened the straps and let the shifts fall, cut off any additional clothing and turned each naked captive to face outward, sitting down. Men on the outside of the tearful circle knelt down and began tying adjoining knees together with short ropes.

They accomplished this procedure with practiced ease. The men bid the distraught women to lie back. Their evil intent became clear as the men pushed and pulled the circle outward. Luisa found that if she tried to close her thighs, the woman next to her had to spread hers. All around the circle, the women struggled on their backs. They noticed, too late, that men were moving in.

Over the next hour, the crew claimed their reward for a successful raid. They paid no attention to the women's screams, feeling that these foreigners were less than human. Three rutting men left Luisa in a puddle of sweat and tears. The fourth inflicted the final indignity as he knelt between her legs, lifted, and plunged into her bottom hole. She howled in pain as he grunted out his victory.

For another hour, the captives lay trapped in the obscene rape wheels as stragglers wandered in to sample their charms. Finally, the sated pirates removed the bonds and led the exhausted groups back to the dock's edge where they were directed to wash themselves in the water.

Ysabel Quintana

She tried to look back at Luisa, but the men herded their platoon of virgins into a separate building. A menacing look from a guard at the door insured that only women entered. Inside, she noticed a number of women and beardless men who appeared to be slaves. As these men, who carried small whips, formed the maidens into four lines, Ysabel realized that they must be eunuchs.

A bench sat at the head of each line, each attended by a woman and two men. They motioned the first four maidens forward. Ysabel's mind went blank as she watched the embarrassing procedure. She stumbled forth in a stupor when her turn came.

One man raised her shift to the waist while the other cut off her bloomers. Ysabel had no time to cry out at this sacrilege before they arched her onto her back and spread her legs. The woman swiftly ran a finger along her slit. She nodded and picked up a thin cord from a basket. The men pulled Ysabel up as the line went around her waist. A silver medallion hung low across her crotch, certifying her virginity for all to see.

Dismissed, she pulled her shift back down and moved aside. As she approached the others, she noticed their metal shields glinting through the thin fabric. They all watched as the remaining women bared their treasures. One of the last, a young woman named Marta, lay exposed when her examiner withdrew her finger and shook her head.

The man handed her the small whip and she began striking Marta on the crotch and thighs. She screamed as the men stood her up and started escorting her to the door. As she walked, bent over and holding herself, some of the women began shouting, "És verge! No! És verge!" They knew her as untouched, even if the fragile evidence was missing.

The men glanced over, not understanding a word. Even if they had, the absence of that flap of skin stood as unimpeachable. One of them gave her a vicious swat across her bottom and shoved her out the door screaming. Ysabel shouted, "No Senyor, prego, prego! No!" Unmoved, the trio calmly returned to their task as the women hugged and sobbed for their friend and the utter hopelessness of their condition.

Over the next hour, baskets of bread and buckets of water appeared. The usual slop pails stood at the back of the room. Under the eye of several guards, the group gradually moved into sitting and leaning positions, and fitful sleep.

Luisa

The salty sea water tormented their bruised and raw backs. Luisa realized that she was bleeding from that last brutal assault. The women, all in shock and pain, tried their best to clean the vile fluids from inside their bodies in an irrational attempt to avoid pregnancy.

The bright sun served as their only means of drying off as they marched back to the scene of the mass assault. They were out of words and out of hope. Baskets of bread and buckets of water sat in the center of their four circles, allowing a brief respite from shame and dread. For many, even sitting down proved too painful. Others tried sitting with legs to the side.

Luisa put her own misery aside to think about her friend. Surely these beasts hadn't attacked Ysabel in this way! She would be too valuable. Thoughts and images of life in sweet Ciutadella flashed across her imagination. The weekly dance in the square. Couples strolling down the streets after dark in a slow promenade. Her wedding, only two years before. Ysabel, her beautiful Maid of Honor.

At that moment, a man pushed a crying woman through the door. Marta! Luisa called her name and drew her into the circle. Through heaves and sobs, she proclaimed her innocence. "Sóc verge! Prometo a Déu! Sóc verge!"

After a few seconds of hesitation, the women put aside all thoughts of the harsh judgement that women often put on each other. Three women drew her into a tight hug and cried in sympathy.

Luisa whispered that they should all resume eating before the guards investigated the commotion. No one had entered the building to explain Marta's appearance. In the hope that she could avoid being raped, at least on the first day, Luisa offered her a crust of bread. Out of obedience and a tiny sense of security, the women clung to their little circles for the remainder of the evening.

In a motherly gesture, Luisa pulled Marta's head against her chest as they attempted to sleep. The single night chaperone saw nothing unusual about watching 46 half-naked women sprawled across the floor.

Ysabel

"Atención! Atención! Despertarse!" The loud voice boomed across the space, rousing the maidens. They had fallen asleep leaning back-to-back or with heads across laps. This picture of sweet innocence turned to one of fear as the man directed them back into the four lines. He pointed: "Línea! Aquí, aquí!"

This time the guards only had to gesture to get the first four girls to raise their shifts and spread out on the bench. In a moment, a murmur swept through the group; these naive, pure women were to be shaved.

Ysabel and her companions had always thought of their thick black fur as a shield of modesty; few had even glanced at themselves in the bath. The openings behind the dark pelt were thought of as the "Necessaris," where one did her business quickly and quietly.

The slave women practiced their art briskly and efficiently. The men would place the girl's hands behind her knees and apply a stinging swat, ensuring a steady, wide angle. Mats of black hair layered the floor as Ysabel shuffled forward. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and took her vulgar position on the bench. The woman flipped her medallion up and proceeded to bare her mound and lips. Another woman smoothed her underarms and legs.

The bread baskets arrived just as the last girl scampered back to her group. Ysabel and the others didn't dare touch, nor did they speak of it, but the cool air produced a strange new feeling as they ate. A few women sat cross-legged and managed a quick glance at bare bits.

They spent the rest of the day trying not to speak about what had occurred, but they could think of nothing else. Their future lives now centered on the odd-feeling bare patch on their zona privada. Not long after the light faded, curious fingers began exploring the unnatural terrain. For some, overcoming temptation gave way to a pleasant tickle. A few gasps and groans gave way to little squeals.

A guard clapped his hands, shouting, "Cesar! Cesar! Es prohibido!" Their furious blushes unseen, the women quickly withdrew their hands.

In the morning, a rare treat: Each one received a half pear along with the bread. After a visit to the slop buckets, a guard formed them into a circle. He looked angry as he drew a "volunteer" into the center. He took her hand and placed it right on her crotch under the shift. The other guards, with gestures and shouts, directed each of the women to do the same. They stood in the awkward pose for long minutes.

The guard grabbed the center girl's hand and whipped it with his switch. "Es prohibido! No! Es prohibido!" He swung his whip three more times, making her cry out. The other guards proceeded around the circle, lashing each hand, barking their imitation of his Spanish: "Ace poeheebeedo!"

In addition to the painful red mark on her left inner thigh, Ysabel now had a throbbing right hand. The message was clear; no curiositat, no exploració. The meaning also became clear: They wanted no accidental damage to their precious property. It wasn't enough to be a verge; you had to be able to prove it at any time.

Luisa

The following day, Marta escaped notice, but five older women were taken out, undoubtedly to join a work detail of some kind. That afternoon, they saw the harsh nature of the task while marching to another saltwater bath — the matrons were on a platform cleaning the slop buckets.

A dozen or so buckets awaited the attention of these new slaves. Their clothing was stained and wet. Luisa watched as a woman she knew dumped a pail into a deep pit and began scraping it with a stick. Another woman stood close by with a switch to enforce a proper work ethic.