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If a common citizen decided to penetrate an unwilling soldier, the punishment was public castration.
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A general could make a move on a lieutenant or a common citizen, and soldiers could go after common citizens.Ĭlimbing up the social ladder was forbidden. For example, the emperor would get it on with anyone he wanted. In ancient Rome, the higher your status, the more people you were allowed to bone without consequence. Handfuls of barley were stuffed into her, and she was sewn back up-only to be given to wild hogs.
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After the young woman was no longer a virgin, she was publicly stripped, and her belly was sliced open, spilling her innards out. Saint Gregory described a heinous torture that was performed on young women by the people of Heliopolis while under Roman rule:Īny virgin who was to undergo this torture was first given to the gladiators. Death, while welcomed, came slowly for the victim of this torture. Maggots would crawl all over the accused, and vultures would peck at the animal’s decaying flesh. It would begin to decompose-with the living victim inside being cooked by the heat. The belly was stitched closed, leaving only the accused’s head outside, preventing suffocation but prolonging suffering. The accused was then stripped of clothing and stuffed into the animal’s belly. Take, for instance, a torture that was described by both Apuleius ( The Golden Ass) and Lucian ( Lucius, or the Ass):Ī donkey would be killed, its belly sliced open, and the entrails removed. If you’re looking for cruel and unusual forms of torture, you don’t have to look any further than ancient Rome. There were always loopholes in the laws of ancient Rome, and the elite rulers exploited each and every one of them.
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That didn’t stop Rome’s elite from torturing the free men and women of their country, though. In fact, it was highly recommended that any free man accused of a crime would have his slaves tortured in his place, often to the death, so that a verdict could be reached. Way back in the last century, before the Interweb swallowed everything, my friend and accomplice in literary crime Steve Zeeland and I were visiting, as you do, Camp Pendleton, the giant US Marine Corps base in Southern California with some jarhead friends.In ancient Rome, the general rule was that slaves could be freely tortured. We spent the afternoon watching the Marine Rodeo – scores of grinning fit Texan boys in tight Wranglers and high-and-tights bouncing up and down on broncos and slapping each other’s butts. Perhaps you’ll understand why, after having seen this, the Details fashion shoot that was Brokeback Mountain left me cold. We then headed to the enlisted men’s club for a much-needed and, I’d like to think, well-earned drink. While we were there, some Marines came in from a week’s exercise in the field, still in their combats, camouflage paint still on their young sunburned faces.
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They were in high spirits, enjoying their first beer of the week, and when the DJ played the opening fanfare of The Village People’s ‘YMCA’, like Pavlov’s dogs they instantly and instinctively understood what was required of them. They flocked onto the dance-floor, scrambling to outdo one another in their 1970s disco dance moves, and joyously spelling out the letters of the camp classic extolling the pleasures of getting clean and hanging out with all the bo-oys. ‘Hey buddy,’ one jarhead shouted to me, slapping me on the shoulder and grinning in my face, ‘you having a good time?’Īt this point Steve produced his mid 1990s, large, cumbersome and very, very obvious camcorder and started filming the jarhead hi-jinks.