Gladiator

We live our lives in the gladiatorial barracks, we fight against men with whom we share a drink.

The procuratores who supervise the imperial ludi are among the first to know when the emperor is planning a spectacular. Queries will have come down from the officials on the nearby Palatine Hill, asking how many gladiators are available and what condition they are in. It does not take long for news of this development to percolate through the entire complex, and suddenly training, always done with considerable intensity, acquires extra urgency. The imperial ludi cover a large area, but even this suddenly becomes claustrophobic as potential rivals assess each other, and each gladiator becomes aware that the person sitting next to him at table might soon be trying to carve him up as enthusiastically as he is now attacking his steak.

During practice sessions, trainers and senior gladiators stand together muttering and watching beady-eyed as tiros and lower-grade gladiators go through their paces. Long before the first handbills are written up, the lanista and the doctores will have lists of possible pairings. An entertaining fight will be as much about matching personalities as skill sets. Celer and Flamma loathe each other? Well and good, let the pair take their animosity out on to the sand and one way or another rid the familia of their brawling and squabbling. And the cool-headed Marcus Glauco will make an interesting counterpoint to the more skilful Proximo, who fights well – until his temper gets the better of him.

There is always rivalry among the different parts of the imperial ludi, but in the lead-up to a show this becomes potentially explosive. Before a fight is a good time to try to intimidate an opponent, and the more aggressive type of gladiator might well try to stage an ‘accidental’ confrontation with a potential rival to make sure that his psychological dominance is established before the two meet in the arena. Well before a fight, a wise administrator will keep a close eye on the interaction between the different parts of the gladiator complex.

The Ludus Matutinus Situated next to the Colosseum, the ‘morning school’ is partly outside the general rivalry, because, as the name suggests, its performers take part in the morning shows. They are the beast-hunters, and while there might be internal stresses and a severe disagreement about who gets to face a newly arrived batch of panthers, the fighters will at least all be on the same side come the big day. Also, they can’t be happy that their craft is somehow considered inferior to that of ‘real’ gladiators, and are united in their resentment.

The Ludus Dacius is where the Thracian-style gladiators train. The school gets its name from the Dacians, a doughty nation of warriors from the mountains beyond the Danube, but it deals with most of the eastern styles of fighters. It is situated on the Oppian Hill, conveniently close to the baths of Trajan, and next to the large barrack block which houses the sailors from Misenum who operate the Amphitheatre’s sunshades.

The Ludus Gallicus specializes in the murmillo style of gladiators, who evolved from the Gallic gladiators of the Republic. This ludus is the smallest of the schools, and there is no love lost between its members and those of the Ludus Dacius, against whom the school’s members are often paired.

The Ludus Magnus is right next to the Ludus Matutinus, so close to the Amphitheatre that it is linked to it by an underground tunnel. This ludus, like the others, consists of a closed quadrangle of buildings for storage, administration and residence. There is a central training area with a limited amount of seating from which trainers and favoured guests can watch the gladiators at practice. The mock arena of the Ludus Magnus is larger than the others, and is used for training by those with specialized equipment such as the essedari (chariot fighters) and the cavalry-style equites. In fact the mini-amphitheatre here can seat 3,000, and is capable of hosting a small munus all by itself. Because some of the fighters in the Ludus Magnus will be killing each other on show day, tensions here run particularly high.

There are a number of specialized buildings nearby in the gladiator complex, including the Summum Choragium where scenery and machinery are stored. There’s the armoury, since the authorities very sensibly keep gladiators and swords well apart except on officially sanctioned occasions. Every gladiator will at some point end up in the Saniarum, since this hospital treats not only fight-day wounds, but also everyday illnesses as well as bumps and breaks incurred during training. However, only one visit – at most – is required to the Spoliarum, where a dead gladiator is stripped of his armour and prepared for burial.

Once a gladiator knows who his actual opponent will be, there are several steps he should take.

Cassius concentrated entirely on the war, as a gladiator focuses on his opponent.

The public handbills give the basic details of a gladiator – his name, type of weaponry, and the number of victories. As his opponent, you need to know much, much more. So talking to those who have sparred against him is essential. If he is in a different school, then you can assume that your doctor is on your side. He may even have seen your future antagonist fight, and will have a number of tips.

Temperament Does this fighter play a long game, going for victory through debilitating cuts and flesh wounds, while giving his opponent minimal opportunity to retaliate, or does he go for a quick, high-risk closure that means one of you will end up stabbed through the heart within a minute?

Tricks Are there any techniques that this gladiator favours, such as a sword beat-down (whacking the top edge of an opponent’s sword so hard that the weapon temporarily points to the ground), followed by a body-charge and trip? Learn all your opponent’s best moves by heart and spend a lot of time practising the counters, and make sure that you do your practising as privately as life in a busy ludus allows.

Turns If a murmillo loses sight of someone who has slipped behind him, or a retiarius turns to avoid an onrushing secutor, will he turn to his right or his left? Usually a left-handed person looking behind or turning his body will turn anti-clockwise, and a right-handed person will turn clockwise. However, a gladiator might have trained himself to respond differently, depending on which leg is forward or whether he wants to bring his shield or sword into play as he turns.

Tells Every fighter has these ‘give aways’. It might be a slight tilt of the head or a scrape of the foot before a rush or a dip of the shoulder that happens before a real stab, but not with a feint. Obvious tells, such as pulling back the arm before a stab, are eliminated early in training (or the people with such tells are eliminated early in combat), but this still leaves small involuntary gestures which are very hard to avoid making. This is because constant practice allows a gladiator to act and respond at an instinctive level using pure muscle memory – so the tell is built into a series of movements that have become a conditioned reflex. And it’s not easy to stop a reflex.

To the gladiator on the sand, a facial expression, a twist of the hand, or a particular posture of the body warns of an adversary’s intentions.

The battle for mental dominance begins for some gladiators the moment they step into the ludus for the first time. Some people just have to be top dog, and this is how every good gladiator sees himself. So there’s a lot of snarling, bullying and dominance displays even during everyday life. A gladiator who is accustomed to deferring to another in the ludus has that much more to do if he is going to defeat that same man in the arena.

Expect aggression from your opponent before the coming contest. He will take every opportunity to violently denigrate your skills and pass messages explaining in colourful detail exactly what he intends to do when he gets you out on the sand. Of course, it’s a game that two can play, and the winner is the one who has a fearful, demoralized opponent who comes out expecting to lose. Play hard.

The authorities frown on gambling on the outcome of a fight, not least because this can lead to a certain degree of fixing of that outcome. This is commoner in smaller arenas where the loser is likely to survive. The Roman crowd will have no mercy on anyone they suspect of throwing a fight and if they feel strongly the emperor will probably defer to their wishes. It’s harder to get someone to lose deliberately if they won’t survive losing, but those who lose their bets love to cry ‘foul’.

Despite official disapproval of gambling, human nature ensures there’s always a lively ‘book’ going on the odds for a particular fight. No one knows you or your opponent better than you do, so if you like the odds being offered on your fight, get an agent to place a substantial bet on your behalf. Bet on yourself to win. If you lose, a gambling debt will be the least of your worries.

The games evolved from a quasi-religious ceremony, and one result of this is that all the performers being ‘sacrificed’ are certain of one last good meal the night before. Though there is some local variance, this meal is supposed to be open to all whose lives may be lost in the morning. So gladiators take their places on the dining couches together with beast-fighters and condemned criminals. There’s even the occasional Christian, who may well take the opportunity to enquire of everyone’s plans for the afterlife.

Members of the public are allowed to come and view the spectacle at the cena libera, and they will take careful note of the conduct of the gladiators they will be watching tomorrow. As we have seen, money may change hands in consequence.

It’s not a good idea to merrily shovel down food even for those so inclined. Bear in mind that the food is being presented by the person who is putting on the games. He wants to show that he can be lavishly generous. The ludus, on the other hand, puts nutritional value and quantity before quality of cuisine. So expect the food at the cena libera to be considerably richer than your metabolism usually copes with, and partake modestly. Going to fight for your life in front of tens of thousands of bloodthirsty, baying spectators is already a bowel-loosening experience. It doesn’t need help from last night’s dinner.

Confer with your trainer. The best food to select is wheat-based foodstuffs, since these burn off their energy slowly, and will still have some benefit to your system the following afternoon. Meat is good, but only in moderation. Some gladiators might prefer to eat foods that will, if their metabolism is cooperative, move briskly through their system overnight leaving their bowels empty by fight time, with less chance of becoming infected if those bowels have to be put back in afterwards.

Others don’t over-think it. ‘It’s free food, and good food, and perhaps the last I’ll ever get. Time to pig out.’ Such simple souls will probably finish the evening by flirting with anything female they can find, and probably get in a bit of mindless sex before sleeping soundly overnight. Envious gladiators who would like to murder these brutes for their insensitivity can console themselves that they will shortly get the opportunity.

There is more than a dinner going on here. For the condemned it’s a last chance to say farewell to friends and family, and even gladiators take the chance to make a few arrangements with their loved ones, even if only to pass on instructions about what bets to place on whom.

Even among the gladiators there are some who are not beasts. Like Greeks, they prefer to pass over gratifying their appetites with the lavish food in front of them, and instead take their pleasure in commending their wives to the care of their friends and setting free their slaves before they enter the arena.

Games at Pompeii. The top of this bas-relief shows the pompa, with musicians leading the parade. In the middle gladiators are in action – on the right, one gladiator has just scored a killing thrust under the ribs. In the beasts v. humans contests below, a bear finishes off a participant (right), and a bull is killed (left). (Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples)

The march of the gladiators (pompa)

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The pompa comes first…the long line of [religious idols] the chairs and chariots which carry them, the portable thrones and garlands…so many sacred rites to observe, at the start, during, and at the end of the procession. Priests and magistrates are called to march in the parade, each known to the peoples of the city.

TERTULLIAN ON THE SPECTACLES 7.2–3

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The day of the games starts with the pompa. This is a procession into and around the arena: formal and magnificent enough to give the word ‘pomp’ to later generations. For those putting on the show, it’s a nightmare to organize. For the gladiator it’s a magnificent chance for self-advertisement, but also a chance to read the mood of the crowd and check out arrangements within the amphitheatre. For the spectators, the parade is an opportunity to see what is on offer over the coming days, and for the emperor, it’s a chance to milk the applause of the public for the lavish spectacle he has laid on.

There’s a certain order to these things. If the emperor is present – and if it’s going to be a good show he probably will be – then the pompa should be led by his lictores. These men are the official escorts of any senior Roman official, and from time immemorial they have carried the fasces, that bundle of rods with an axe in the middle, which symbolizes the power of the state to chastise or execute. Traditionally within Rome the fasces are without their axe, but this does not mean that the emperor has no power to execute. There are several examples from history of emperors forcing stroppy spectators to get much more involved in the games than they would like.

Lictores accompanying a magistrate outside Rome. We can tell this is outside the city, because each of the traditional bundles of rods contains an axe. Within city limits, magistrates have the power to flog wrong-doers, but the right to execute them is severely circumscribed. (From Victor Duruy, History of Rome and the Roman People, vols I–V, London, 1884)

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[Caligula] once ordered that some of the crowd standing near the benches should be seized and thrown to the beasts; and to prevent the possibility of their publicly condemning his actions, he first had their tongues cut out.

CASSIUS DIO HISTORY 59.10

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Undoubtedly the organizers wish they could inflict a similar fate on some of those in the parade. It’s easier when the pompa only has the gladiators on show, but that’s not the case today. The gathering area near the Capitoline Hill is packed with tense participants already sweating gently in the morning heat. On this occasion there are elephants that have been trained to march in tandem. But the emperor is late, and no one is going to start the show without him. So the elephants are getting restless, and are shifting about and trumpeting, which is upsetting the tigers in their cages, and their snarls have upset the ostriches which are to be slain in an archery demonstration. Ostriches have a powerful kick, and the surgeons are already treating one victim.

Among the gladiators, Cassius is refusing to parade without his face-covering helmet, even though he protests to anyone who will listen that he is not an escaped slave. So the organizers have moved him into the second rank, which enrages him because he’s the most hotly tipped newcomer of the year. Meanwhile Furius has discovered that the ornate but uncomfortable gilded armour he will be wearing in the pompa is the same armour he will have to wear while fighting, and he is, well, Furius.

There are acrobats fiddling with their costumes, a skimpily dressed dancer chasing a dwarf who has just given her an unwontedly intimate prod with his wooden sword, and an overall air of tension, stress and barely controlled adrenalin. Adrenalin levels jolt upwards once more as the lictores arrive. They brusquely shoulder their way through the dancers and acrobats on their way to the front (though they are noticeably more restrained about pushing through the crowd of edgy and armed gladiators). A roar from the amphitheatre announces that the emperor is now on his way to the pulvinar (the imperial box which naturally has the best view available of the arena, and gives the best possible view of the imperial person to his loving subjects). With the preliminary sacrifices and rituals and a blast of trumpets, the pompa gets underway.

The procession makes its way down through the forum, under the Arch of Titus and towards the Colosseum. The route is packed with those members of the public unable to get a seat in the amphitheatre. The gladiators come well back in the parade, preceded by the musicians, the images of the gods of Rome and their priests, and the animals, but all this just adds to the expectation of the crowd, and their cheers peak to a roar as you walk by. The gladiators preen, strut, show off outrageously and blow kisses to the maidens (or at least make bodily movements signifying extreme attraction). They won’t get the chance to do this at the amphitheatre, since women are confined to the topmost, most distant tier (apart from the Vestal Virgins who sit in the front row, and who would certainly not take such gestures kindly).

There’s an air of gaiety about the whole parade, reminding not a few of a festive Roman triumph for a returning army. Noisy as the crowd is along the way, as it cheers exotic animals or famed or notorious gladiators, nothing prepares the tiro for the sheer blast of sound that hits him as he enters the arena. About 50,000 close-packed spectators, most white-clad and waving their togas, bellow with enthusiasm. You know there is a water organ playing, because you can see the musician at work, but he is drowned by the general roar. Slaves appointed for the task use mini-catapults to lob little balls of wood into the crowd. There is a stir, and not a few punch-ups, wherever these small tokens land, for these sportulae are tokens for gifts from the presenter of the games, and possession of one is worth exchanging a few buffets to secure. The holder may find himself the proud owner of anything from a seaside mansion to a broken and empty eggshell. In manibus Fortunae, as they say.

A water organ and horn player from a mosaic in Germania. Musicians massage the mood of the crowd, and entertain them while the arena is prepared for the next event. The levers that operate the organ’s pumps are just visible here. (Staatliche Landesbildstelle, Saarland)

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Little wooden balls with inscriptions for an item of food, or clothing, or vases or silver or gold, horses, pack animals or slaves. Those who seized the balls carried them to imperial officials who distributed the bounty.

CASSIUS DIO HISTORY 66.25

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Along with the rest of the parade, the gladiators stop to salute the imperial box, and the images of the gods that stand nearby. (Claudius used to have the images covered if things got too bloody.) Don’t expect the ritual greeting favoured by the excited imagination of later generations. Only once have fighters said Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant (‘Hail Caesar, those about to die salute you’) and they were not proper gladiators and not in Rome.

As the procession circles the arena, take a look at the slaves carrying the tray on which the victory palms and prizes of silver are displayed, and also consider the Porta Libertinensis (the Gate of the Dead). Most of the gladiators in the procession will enjoy either the prize or a ride through the gate before the games are through. The parade wends its way back through the Porta Sanavivaria (the Gate of Life) and into the gloom of the tunnel where it breaks up in some confusion. The gladiators peel off and head back to their ludi, to relax, do a bit of light sparring and exercise, and maybe later enjoy a light lunch. They have a busy afternoon ahead.

Animal hunts once happened elsewhere in Rome. Events such as the one shown here at the Circus Maximus have given later generations the word ‘circus’ for displays involving acrobats, animals and clowns. (Museo Nazionale delle Terme, Rome)

The beast-hunt (venatio)

Beyond the huge metropolis of Rome lies the Italian countryside, where mothers worry lest their children gathering fruit or berries in the woods might disturb a bear, or encounter a stag in rut. And what traveller on a lonely country road has not tried with panicky hands to soothe a horse startled by wolf howls floating eerily through the gathering twilight? Yet terrifying as these beasts can be, the peoples of Italy know that compared to the lions of Africa, or the panthers and serpents of Asia Minor, their own wildlife is relatively benign. In part this explains the beast-hunt.

For the contemporary peoples of the Mediterranean, nature is not under threat, but ever-present and threatening. The beast-hunts of the games provide the reassuring spectacle of man asserting violent mastery over nature. Tell a Roman that the demand for panthers in the arena has almost wiped the species out in Asia Minor, and he will assume that you are complimenting the games, just as if you had noted that the games have caused a substantial reduction in the number of violent muggers in Rome. (And this is precisely why violent muggers get more or less the same treatment as the panthers.)

In fact the Romans use one menace to dispose of the other. Criminals are thrown to the beasts to kill or be killed. Sometimes, though, the morality is less defensible, for example when the organizer of the games takes the opportunity to dispose of any of his slaves who has displeased him.

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There’s Glyco’s steward, who was caught having it off with his mistress [Glyco’s wife]. Well, in any crowd there are jealous husbands feuding with lover-boys. But Glyco having his steward thrown to the beasts, that’s petty, as well as telling the whole world what’s happened. He should have sent his old douche-bag in to be tossed by the bull – it’s hardly the slave’s fault when he has to obey orders. But then, if you can’t beat the donkey, you’ll hit the saddle.

PETRONIUS SATYRICON 45

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There are few rules about the form the ‘beast-hunt’ should take, apart from the general expectation that it should take place in the morning. That’s partly because (to the bitter resentment of the beast-fighters) they would be an anti-climax if they followed the gladiators. It’s also because animals kept in cages extremely close to creatures that they would flee from or fight in the wild tend very quickly to become exhausted by stress, so it’s best to show them while they are at their most spirited.

The Roman crowd (which can include a large number of those devoted to their pets) cheer as happily when a bear is being ripped apart by a hunter as when a bear rips a condemned criminal to pieces. When it comes to bloodshed, the spectators are neither sensitive nor inclined to discriminate between species.

Animals can appear in a number of different roles:

Executioners

The Romans believe that justice should not merely be seen to be done, but done with such imaginative sadism as to make an indelible impression upon the imagination of potential wrong-doers. In a society without a police force, many Romans feel at the mercy of criminals. So when the sandal is on the other foot, little mercy is offered to criminals.

Criminals sentenced AD bestias in a North African mosaic. The audience considers that the bandits, rapists and murderers sentenced to this fate are themselves little better than wild beasts. (Archaeological Museum, Tripoli)

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I saw Silurus [a bandit from southern Italy] torn to pieces by wild animals…he was put on a scaffold, above cages made deliberately fragile for this purpose. The scaffold was made to break and collapse, dropping him on to the cages.

STRABO GEOGRAPHY 6.2

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Defenders of such barbarity argue that criminals must be removed from society, and if they are to be killed why not make a spectacle of it? Being killed by a lion is not in itself much worse than being hanged, and after death a corpse does not much care what happens to it. This may be a valid viewpoint, but it is harder to refute the later Christian argument that those degraded by the spectacle are not the messily deceased, but the spectators.

A woman tied to a bull is killed by a jungle cat in this terracotta relief. Many female victims are ‘poisoners’ – a dubious charge, since Roman medical forensics cannot always establish cause of death. (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

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Their greatest pleasure is making men die, or worse and more cruel, to have them torn to bits. The bellies of wild beasts are engorged with human flesh, which so delights the spectators that the victims are as much devoured by the eyes of the audience as by the teeth of the animals.

SALVIAN THE GOVERNMENT OF GOD 6.2.10

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An Asiatic tiger fights a German wild boar. To the Romans this is not animal cruelty, but two dangers to human life and limb being forced to cancel each other out. (Staatliche Landesbildstelle, Saarland)

Beast-to-beast combats

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…I saw sea calves, with bears pitted against them.

CALPURNIUS SICULUS ECLOGUES 7.24

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…the rhinoceros blazing forth with terrible fury and lowered head. Such was the power of his double horn that the bear was tossed as a bull tosses dummies towards the stars!

MARTIAL ON THE SPECTACLES 26

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Again, apologists would argue that such spectacles show one killer pitted against another – a rhinoceros killing a bear in the arena means that both are not back in their native habitat killing humans. Still, it is hard not to feel a certain satisfaction on reading Pliny’s report of animals massed for one such spectacle. These almost erupted through the barriers separating them from the audience. As Pliny remarks in deadpan Roman style, non sine vexatione populi – ‘not without somewhat distressing the crowd’.

An elephant rider guides his mount to victory over a bull in this Roman mosaic from the Aventine Hill. Editores constantly seek new and entertaining contests for audiences bored by ordinary pain and bloodshed. (Museo della Civiltà Romana, Rome)

Against humans

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But one elephant did wonders, for when his feet were pierced with darts, he crawled upon his knees among his attackers, wrenched their shields from them and flung them aloft, and these turned and fell so neatly that it might have been contrived by an artist and not by a beast in its violent anger.

PLINY THE ELDER NATURAL HISTORY 8.7

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Even urban Romans see hunting as a way of gathering food, as the hares which appear in the weekly markets testify. So if there is such a thing as a typical arena beast-hunt, it is of exotic and savage creatures contending against humans – often volunteers armed and trained for the occasion – but it’s a hunt nevertheless. And as with any hunt, the animals killed are promptly recycled into meat.

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He exhibited panthers, which were hunted down by horsemen.

SUETONIUS LIFE OF CLAUDIUS 21

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Butcher’s shops happily sell off giraffe or hippopotamus fillets in the days following the games. In fact, after the first elephants were exhibited in Rome in 251 BC, the beasts were killed and eaten – probably because the Romans simply did not know what else to do with them. Very few animals are wholly discarded. Wealthy Romans have highly adventurous palates and are prepared to eat almost anything once, and the Roman poor are largely vegetarian simply because meat is an expensive luxury. When Caesar is providing free food, the plebs are more than happy to wolf down steaks, even if they are wolf steaks.

Still, as with any hunt, things do not always go to plan. In 55 BC Pompey arranged for elephants to be killed in the arena to boost his popularity with the crowd. However, he apparently selected domesticated animals, and the confusion and distress of these elephants when they were attacked so moved the spectators that the event ended with the spectators standing, waving their fists and shouting curses at Pompey.

Pornographic displays

The Golden Ass of Apuleius is a novel fated to be read for millennia hence. Its hero, Lucius, has been magically transformed into a donkey, and his owner has designs upon his body:

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He obtained a degraded creature whom the governor had condemned to the beasts. She was to prostitute herself with me in front of the crowd – as he believed that this was certain to get him a full house…a soldier came to fetch the woman who, as I said, had for her crimes been condemned to the beasts and was to partner me on our ‘honeymoon’.

Already our marital bed was being lovingly made up, an affair of polished Indian tortoiseshell, piled high with brightly-covered cushions stuffed with goose feathers. Apart from the shame of having to do this act in public, and apart from degrading myself with this loathsome and detestable woman, I was in great fear for my life.

As I saw it, there we should be, locked together in a loving embrace, and whatever animal was let loose to devour the woman was hardly likely to be so discriminating, well-trained and firmly in control of its instincts that it would tear the woman to pieces and spare the innocent party – me!

APULEIUS THE GOLDEN ASS

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Such appalling occasions are not fiction, as is confirmed by the comment of Martial:

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Believe that Pasiphae made love to a Cretan bull – we have seen it. The old story has been confirmed. Let not venerable antiquity boast of itself, Caesar. Whatever fame celebrates, the arena reproduces for you.

MARTIAL ON THE SPECTACLES 5

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However, these ‘performances’ are relatively uncommon. So rare in fact, that souvenir shops may produce little oil lamps commemorating the sight in detail for those who don’t want to get it out of their minds as fast as possible.

Other displays

Not all animals that enter the arena are dragged out on a butcher’s hook. Even the Roman crowd gets tired of unrelenting bloodshed. So while new victims are being readied, non-lethal displays are presented to the crowd, such as bull-wrestlers, dancing elephants, or acrobats on horseback. Some really exotic animals can wow a crowd by their appearance alone.

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Furthermore, if any rare beast was worth seeing and it was brought to the city when no games were taking place, he made it his habit to exhibit them elsewhere. So a rhinoceros was displayed in the voting area on the Campus Martius, a tiger on the stage, and a snake 75 feet in length in front of the senate house.

SUETONIUS LIFE OF AUGUSTUS 43

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He built a kind of hunting-theatre of wood, which was called an amphitheatre from the fact that it had seats all around without any stage. In honour of this and of his daughter he exhibited combats of wild beasts and gladiators…and here the so-called camelopard [giraffe] was introduced into Rome by Caesar and exhibited to all.

CASSIUS DIO HISTORY 43.22 FF

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Lunch break

Apart from gladiators, who are notorious for late nights and being somewhat sluggish in the early morning, Romans get up before cock-crow. It’s not uncommon for an important Roman to have exercised, breakfasted, written a letter or two and seen his clients all before sunrise. These early mornings have to be paid for at some point, and that’s usually midday, when the arena is a brightly lit circle of dazzling white sand spotlit by the sun, which makes coloured shadows dance and ripple among the seats of the amphitheatre as it is filtered by the filmy, gaudily coloured cloth of the awnings.

Because they have tickets, the spectators are happy to flock home, knowing that no one is going to nick their seats. ‘Lunch’ Roman-style is a lengthy business. If done properly it includes a light nap and (for those men who find the dances between the spectacles suffciently suggestive) a cuddle with a slave girl.

As the seats empty, the pace of events in the arena slackens, though entertainment continues for the benefit of those die-hards who are not going anywhere. About the time that the tiro gladiator is contemplating whether he is up to a light salad, athletic displays or knock-about farces by clowns or performances by singers are taking place on the newly swept sand of the arena.

Sometimes a spectator dropping in for a bit of such light fare might find that the organizers have taken the opportunity of the lunch break to clear the books of unwanted criminals scheduled for disposal.

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The other day at midday, I happened to stop by at the games. I was expecting sport and something witty to rest the eye from the sight of human blood. It was the other way around. The morning combats were nothing. No one was messing about here – this was butchery plain and simple.

The men had no protection. They were completely open to every stab, and every stab was effective. The mob prefer this to balanced fights between selected pairs. And why not? The blade is not parried by helmet or shield, and defensive skill just delays death for a minute.

In the morning men are thrown to bears or lions, at midday they are thrown to the spectators. The crowd bays for killers to be matched against those who will kill them, and the winner is killed by someone else. There’s no release or escape but death for these combatants, so they need fire and steel to drive them to fight. And the fights are always to the death…

Yes, he was a bandit, a murderer, and deserves what he gets – but what have you done, that you have to watch it? ‘Kill him! [They shout] Whip him! Burn him alive! Why won’t the coward rush on to the blade? Why does he try to avoid death?’

SENECA LETTERS 7

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This is another reason why the animal shows are staged in the morning. By the time the gladiators step on to the sand, the amphitheatre smells like what its critics claim it really is – an abattoir with pretensions. Even over the scent of the garlands decorating the arches, the tangy smell of take-away food from the vendors outside, and the overall aroma of sweaty Roman, the coppery, slightly cloying smell of blood hangs heavy enough in the air for human noses to smell. And if humans can detect it, imagine how it must affect the animals.

The opening bouts

The spectators start filtering back, refreshed by the break. The designers of the amphitheatre have planned well for the ebb and flow of this human tide. The wide stairwells and corridors that give easy access to exits are called vomitoria, which colourfully describes how quickly they can disgorge (or soak in) a crowd on the streets.

Right now, no one’s leaving. There’s a buzz in the air as those taking their seats contemplate the libellus munerarius, the programme for the afternoon. Not a few spirited arguments develop in the growing crowd about the merits of one gladiator or the other. Even the emperor in his imperial box may abandon his dignity to chaff with spectators about the prospects in a forthcoming fight. Famously, the emperor Domitian once got personally involved in such a discussion.

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He ordered that a man who remarked that a Thracian-style gladiator was ‘a match for the murmillo, but not for the giver of the games’ should be dragged from his seat and thrown to the dogs in the arena while displaying the placard ‘An impertinent Thracian fan’.

SUETONIUS LIFE OF DOMITIAN 10

(THE THRACIAN FAN WAS IMPLYING THAT THE EMPEROR HAD WEIGHTED THE ODDS AGAINST HIS MAN, PERHAPS OUT OF DOMITIAN’S DISLIKE FOR HIS BROTHER TITUS, WHO HAD FAVOURED THE THRACIANS)

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Sometimes partisanship can get completely out of hand, as happened at Pompeii a few generations ago. There the actual gladiators got to sit back and watch while members of the crowd ripped into each other with everything from fists to swords. The problem was with a large contingent of spectators at the games from the nearby rival town of Nuceria, with whom the Pompeians had irreconcilable differences. The Pompeians killed a large number of Nucerians and were punished by a decree forbidding them to hold any more gladiator shows for ten years. (After which the town was buried under volcanic ash, perhaps because Jupiter also disapproved.)

Today at the amphitheatre there’s nothing stronger than light banter mingling with the oompah-pah of a tuba as a clown stages a carefully contrived pratfall. Such mock-fights among clowns are a way of whetting the returning crowd’s appetite for the real thing. At this point there may also be exhibition matches by retired fighters. These old favourites use wooden swords, and demonstrate their skill and technique to the aficionados who are there to see true expertise with weapons just as the lunchtime spectators were there to see unmitigated bloodshed. There may also be a ‘comic’ display by andabatae – condemned criminals with gladiator training who fight either blindfolded under their helmets or with specially designed headgear. Unable to see their opponents, they are manoeuvred together by the attendants and slash blindly at their opponents. The bloodshed is real, and helps to get the spectators further worked up for the first of the proper gladiatorial combats.

Death of a gladiator

Put yourself in the sandals of Verus, a tiro murmillo gladiator facing his first bout in the imperial amphitheatre. This afternoon, his opponent will be a Thracian called Priscus. Priscus is a veteran, slave-born and sentenced to the arena for his savage temperament. He’s feeling particularly savage today, because he sees being matched against a beginner as an insult. Yet the combat is not the mismatch it seems, for Priscus is coming back from a severe injury and, though he won his last fight (and the three before that), the muscles in his shoulder are newly healed. His trainers want to start him with an easy fight, and have decided you will be it.

So the mid-afternoon sees you in the ludus, sparring lightly with the doctor, who wears Thracian gear, and carefully takes you once again through some of Priscus’s favourite routines. The amphitheatre next door has fallen quiet, and you know that the arena officials have entered.

The serious business begins. In the first bout of the afternoon a retiarius squares off against a secutor as the summa rudis steps back. (Staatliche Landesbildstelle, Saarland)

The summa rudis is the chief referee. Clad in a white tunic with two wide stripes down from the shoulder, he carries the stick which he separates the combatants if there’s a break in the fighting. The secunda rudis, his second in command, is usually a pretty burly figure, because when their blood is up, not all gladiators stop fighting to order.

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He [Caligula] gave the signal for death to five retiarii who had put up a dismal showing against the secutores against whom they had been matched. At that, one of them seized a trident and killed each of his opponents in turn.

SUETONIUS LIFE OF CALIGULA 30

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Harenarii (sometimes called libertinarii), arena slaves, assist the two umpires and are also charged with cleaning up the arena after each bout. Nearby is the charcoal-filled brazier with the hot irons, which they have recently used to drive the condemned to fight each other. No true gladiator needs such incentive, but the irons will test for a flinch to see if a gladiator is dead or semi-conscious once taken down.

Hermes Psychopompus, the god who guides souls to the underworld (or at least an official dressed as such), stands by the Porta Libertinensis, ready to carry the deceased through the Gate of the Dead once they have fallen.

Charun, the demon, stands by with his mighty double-headed hammer to remove all doubt that those Hermes takes away are truly dead. Charun is of Etruscan origin, and even spectators sometimes confuse him with Charon, the ferryman of the Styx.

The first task of these officials is the presentation of the weapons, the probatio armorum. Here, the swords that the gladiators will use are shown to the munerarius, the giver of the games, so that he can personally ensure that the weapons are as sharp (or as blunt) as he has specified. One emperor used this occasion to shame a would-be conspirator.

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While Calpurnius Crassus…and some others who plotted against him [Nerva] were still ignorant of the fact that their plot had been revealed, the emperor invited them to sit beside him at a spectacle. When, as is generally the custom, he was presented with the swords to see if they were sharp he passed them to his guests, allegedly for them to check, but really to show that he did not care if he died then and there.

CASSIUS DIO HISTORY 68.3

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For the tiro gladiator, warmed up and ready to fight, the delay before his bout cannot be easy. In fact, for those inexperienced in the ways of the amphitheatre it is all rather confusing. You are handed over to an official who, after a brief inspection, passes you to an attendant who evidently has several other matters on his mind.

Remember that the members of staff have processed hundreds of gladiators in their time. Trust them to know when you are supposed to enter, and how. It is probably at this point (procedures for these things are not fixed) that you get to handle the edged weapon you will be fighting with. Gladiators not in combat are usually kept away from anything sharp, on the same general principle that a naked flame is kept well away from oil. However, even arena officials have to accept that, to ensure a good fight, the protagonists have to be acquainted with the balance and heft of their weapon.

Everyone steps well clear as you execute a few practice moves and feints. The weapon feels very familiar – unsurprising since the person who prepared the blunted practice weapon based it on the real thing – but it is reassuring nevertheless.

Outside, in the amphitheatre, the excited shouts of the crowd give a measure of how the opening bout is going. The building’s superb design means that despite the massive size of the crowd, the combat on the floor of the arena is strikingly intimate and immediate for every spectator, and even newcomers are pulled right in. One such, a young man called Alyptus, thought he was immune …

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… being utterly averse to and detesting such spectacles. One day by chance he met some acquaintances and fellow-students coming from dinner, and they hauled him, kicking and screaming, into the Amphitheatre during one of these cruel, deadly shows…the man he saw fall had taken a wound through the body, yet he himself was struck even more savagely in the soul…as soon as he saw that blood, he became drunk with the brutality of it all. He could not turn away, but remained staring, drinking in the frenzy, mindlessly delighted with that guilty fight, and intoxicated with the whole bloody pastime.

AUGUSTINE CONFESSIONS 6.8

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The spectators cry habet! (‘he’s taken one!’), and you know that one of the fighters is wounded. How badly becomes apparent from the brief silence, which indicates that the umpires have stopped the fight. Then the yelling begins again, ever louder, as the audience try to influence the emperor’s decision as to whether the defeated gladiator should live or die. Shouts of mitte (‘let him go’) are slowly drowned by a chorus of iugula! iugula! (‘kill! kill!’). Then there’s silence as the emperor ‘turns his thumb’ (pollice verso).

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In the battles of gladiators…we are accustomed to dislike those who are timid and suppliant, and who beg for their lives, and we wish to save those who are brave and courageous, and who offer themselves cheerfully to death. We feel more pity for those who do not ask for it than we feel for those who plead for it.

CICERO PRO MILONE 34

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What’s important here is not whether the thumb goes up or down, but what the gesture signifies. Thumbs down plus a vigorous stabbing motion may indicate that the thumb represents a sword stabbing the hapless loser. But thumbs up can mean the same if it is part of the same gesture that the emperor would use if he were personally stabbing down through the neck of the defeated gladiator. Ever a showman, the emperor milks the anticipation of the crowd, and then slowly reveals his decision to the defeated gladiator who stands before him, stoically ignoring the blood which pulses slowly from a deep wound under his ribs.

There’s a different texture to the shout when the emperor’s decision is revealed. This one has a hungry, anticipatory edge to it. You don’t even have to glance at the emperor to know he has chosen death. You also know this is not pure sadism. Blood is welling out of the gladiator’s wound in dark, thick gouts. The expert eye of the emperor has noted that the liver has been deeply penetrated, and possibly a kidney as well. Even with expert attention, the gladiator will probably perish, so the emperor might as well ‘generously’ sacrifice him to the crowd’s bloodlust.

This frieze comes from a Pompeii necropolis. In the centre, a gladiator steadies himself against his executioner’s thigh as he kneels to await the killing stroke. At times like this a gladiator is glad that helmets hide the faces of all concerned. (From Fausto e Felice Niccolini, Le case ed i monumenti di Pompeii disegnati e descritti, 1854)

There’s a ritual to what happens next. For the defeated gladiator, this is his last chance at redemption. He’s going to die, but he can choose whether to be butchered like an animal, or, by voluntarily embracing his death, die like a free man.

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Consider gladiators…who are trained to receive a blow if it would be shameful to avoid it…which of them, even if run-of the-mill average, lets out a groan when struck, or even changes his expression? Forget about disgracing themselves on their feet – they do not even shame themselves when they fall. Who, when defeated, tries to pull his neck away from the killing stroke?

CICERO TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 2.17

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There’s a breathless silence as the wounded gladiator kneels. He sways slightly, and his opponent-turned-executioner lends a steadying hand. His victim firmly grasps the thigh of the man in front of him, and slowly bends his neck forwards. The executioner lifts his sword high, and because this is after all a spectacle, holds it there for the crowd to see. Then, to another roar from the spectators, he stabs down hard, sending the sharpened blade ripping through muscle, lungs and heart. It’s a clean, practised kill.

You come to the entry gate as the corpse is loaded on to a stretcher to be carried off. Professionally, you note the bloodied sand being raked away and the fresh white sand sprinkled in its place. (Fresh sand over wet blood can get slippery if it is not deep enough.)

The victorious gladiator stands, taking in the applause of the crowd. His face is still hidden by his helmet, but small turns of the neck indicate that he is following the progress of attendants as they move through the crowd. The attendants hold silver collection trays, and collect tips from those who particularly enjoyed his performance. Since gladiators are notoriously vainglorious, he will treasure his palm of victory, and ensure it impresses and intimidates his barrack mates back in the ludus. But the real payoff is the cash prize, augmented by the tips now being collected.

There’s a deliberate symbolism to the display. The victor reaps the spoils, standing in the light of the afternoon sun, sword raised high as the spectators clap and cheer. The loser, dead and disregarded, is almost forgotten by the crowd before his body has been swallowed up in the shadows of the Gate of the Dead.

An attendant taps you almost apologetically on the arm, and adrenalin surges through your body.

You’re on.

A murmillo takes a breather as he contemplates his coming bout. He rests his shield against the padding on his left leg to take the strain off his shield arm. He has to hold his sword because, unlike a soldier, a gladiator has no sword belt or sheath. The only time a gladiator holds a sword is when he is about to use it in action. (British Museum, London)

Out on the sand

Here’s a tip. A gladiator’s helmet hides his face completely, so forget that this is Priscus. Priscus is an ill-tempered boor, and you mildly dislike him, but that’s not enough. You must hate, truly hate the man behind that helmet. So imagine he’s the teacher who whipped you through your studies, gloating at your helplessness. He’s the bully who victimized all the boys in your apartment block, the sneering aristocrat who filched your girlfriend, the debt-collector who terrorized your family and put you in the arena. He’s all of these, rolled into one. You don’t just want to kill him, you want to rip him into bloody giblets and jump on the bits. Still, if life in gladiator barracks has taught you anything, it’s how to channel your anger. So you feel not uncontrolled (and therefore dangerous) fury, but a deep, burning hatred that’s almost refreshing in its purity.

• • •

With what energy he rushed out into the arena, enraged against his opponent!

QUINTILIAN DECLAMATIONS 9

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The veterans say that the first time you face naked steel in earnest is an event you remember for the rest of your life. (Though the veterans also point out that this might not be much of a feat of memory.) Certainly, if your presentation to the crowd was something of a blur, and even your salute to the emperor somewhat vague in your mind, now the fight has started in earnest, everything has an almost unnatural clarity. A small part of you is aware of the crowd, but all your attention is on Priscus.

He advances quickly, confidently. He’s evidently eager to finish things quickly. Perhaps that shield arm is still not ready for a prolonged bout? Advance to meet him, but move slightly towards his shield side, your own shield held slightly forward, and the sword hidden behind it. Now rush, clashing shield on shield, forcing him to strain that shoulder. Twist further behind your shield to avoid his stab, and spin out of contact, circling. An over-extended stab and you catch his forearm hard with the side of your shield. The arm is padded, but the impact throws him off-balance. Step in, stab hard underarm, and he leaps back, so you follow up with another shoulder-bruising shield charge.

He backs off, circling, and you turn to meet him, realizing too late he’s turning you to get the sun in your eyes. Momentarily blinded, you rush forward, remember that Priscus likes to trip, and risk exposing your throat by bringing your shield down hard. There’s a satisfactory jolt of shield edge on shin, and you both separate again, breathing hard. Priscus is limping a bit, but you are startled to feel blood trickling down your ribs. You don’t even remember getting the cut.

He charges, and you smoothly counter and disengage, almost as if the pair of you were on the training floor. He tries to kick the bottom of your shield to hook down the top. It’s an unexpectedly risky move for mortal combat, but you’ve been warned and are ready for it. Let the move happen and follow up by smashing your shield at his face, stepping forward and stabbing at the same time. Now it’s he who disengages, but you’ve managed another good thump on his shield to strain his shoulder muscles.

Mosaic of gladiators in action from a villa in Rome. Note the Greek symbol ‘theta’ underneath the name of Astivus. This stands for Thanatos – Death. (Galleria Borghese, Rome)

The fight goes on, and it’s clear to everyone that you are not outmatched. Stepping past his charge, you get in a backhand that scores a deep cut across his back, and both of you are dripping blood on to the sand as you square off again. Now he comes at you and it’s a furious few moments of blocking, backing and counter-stabbing. So much is done by instinct that at times you are countering moves before you are consciously aware he’s made them. At the end of it, your head is ringing from a blow to the helmet that came from nowhere, but you’d almost wrenched his shield away from his body, and he has to back off fast to avoid your killing strike.

In the centre of this mosaic a murmillo turns to raise his finger in appeal to the summa rudis, who holds back the hoplomachus with his stick. (Archaeological Museum, Tripoli)

You are vaguely aware of your teeth pulled right back across your gums and a kind of mounting berserker fury mounting within you. Is it possible you are enjoying this?

You follow up, and this time it’s his turn to retreat. Every stab gets a block or evasion, every charge is countered; there seems no way through his guard. Yet he’s moving backward, and you press him hard when he suddenly moves to attack, and there’s a weakness in your sword shoulder, and your sword arm hardly works. You hammer desperately against his shield once more, and you hear a cry of pain as something gives, and he drops his shield. Yet you have to do the same, and smoothly do a practised switch to fight holding your sword left-handed, using your almost useless padded sword arm as a shield.

You’re hard-hit and losing blood, but Priscus is in bad shape too. His chest is heaving, and he’s in obvious pain. You’re both in unusual territory here, because gladiators don’t usually fight sword-to-sword, let alone right-hand against left. His attack is clumsy with fatigue, and you get in a slash at his throat that he blocks by dropping his head so that the sword bounces from his helmet. He drops, stunned. You step forward to re-engage, and your knees go. Falling to the sand, you realize you are blacking out from blood loss. There’s no choice but to extend a finger, and call on the umpires to stop the fight. Priscus floats into your blurring vision, and you note incredulously that his finger too has been raised in surrender. Then everything goes dark.

• • •

Even as Priscus fought on, so too certainly did Verus
And for that long time the battle was close-fought
The crowd repeatedly called for both to stand down
But Caesar obeyed his own law
and that law was to keep going with the shield
until a finger was raised
What he could do, he did, allocating dishes and prizes for each
But equal they stayed until the end
Equal in the fight, equally they yielded
Caesar gave the wooden sword and the palm to both
The prize of skill for courage.

MARTIAL ON THE SPECTACLES 29

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Codex Gladiorum

At the opening of the Flavian Amphitheatre Titus had 9,000 beasts killed: 5,000 wild and 4,000 domesticated.

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Augustus seemed particularly to have it in for African animals. He says he killed off 3,500 animals in ‘African beast hunts’ including, by another source, 36 crocodiles.

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Like most Romans, gladiators are organized into either collegia (guilds) or burial clubs, so losers can generally expect a decent burial and perhaps a tombstone.

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An essedarius (chariot fighter) called Parius once received such massive applause that Caligula stormed from the imperial box in a jealous rage, complaining bitterly that the Romans thought more of a gladiator than their emperor.

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According to his biographer Suetonius, the emperor Titus would often exchange badinage with spectators about his favoured fighters.

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Drusus, son of the emperor Tiberius, was fond of lethal gladiator bouts, so much so that his father rebuked him that the really sharp swords he favoured had become known as ‘Drusians’.

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Just as habet signifies that a gladiator has been hit, the cry of practum est (‘that’s done it’) indicates a killing blow.

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Augustus, always keen on romanitas (the art of being distinctively Roman), insisted that spectators at the games wear togas.