Our discussion of arena spectacles, up to this point, has focused upon the munera staged by the magistrates and emperors in Rome herself. Such events, however, were equally popular in other cities and towns throughout Roman territory. A local notable or official could gain the same type of popularity through the staging of a successful munus in his community that the emperors in Rome earned through their own munificence, albeit to a lesser extent. In this chapter, we shall discuss these local spectacles, as well as the challenges faced by those staging them.
We have already seen that elected officials in Rome, like the aediles, were expected to provide munera to the city populace, especially prior to the establishment of the Principate, after which the production of such spectacles in the capital was largely monopolized by the imperial bureaucracy. Similarly, their counterparts in the smaller cities and towns of the Roman Empire were expected to produce spectacles for their fellow citizenry. The emperors, of course, did not view such local spectacles as a potential challenge to their authority, unlike munera produced by editores outside the imperial family in Rome itself. On average, it appears that the chief magistrates (duoviri) of a given community were expected to provide at their own expense about four days of spectacles per year, including not only arena events, but other entertainments like chariot racing and theatrical productions as well.1
One of the greatest challenges faced by local editores, of course, was cost. While emperors and members of the imperial family possessed almost unlimited funds with which to stage the exorbitant spectacles discussed in the last chapter, spectacle organizers in the smaller centres of the Roman Empire had a much smaller pool of funds for their own events. Add to this the related consideration that, under the terms of the previously discussed legislation introduced in the late second century to regulate the cost of gladiatorial spectacles, even the most modest category of munus (rated at a cost of 30,000 sesterces or less) could still cost up to £200,000 (or $US 335,000) in modern currency.2
Apart from the duoviri and their deputies, other officials commonly entrusted with the production of local spectacles were the priests of the imperial cult found in cities throughout the Empire. As part of their official duties, they too were normally required to stage munera in their respective communities on an annual basis. Most appear to have owned their own troupes, or familiae, of gladiators and venatores, which, of course, facilitated the production of such events. A good example of such an organization is found in an early third century dedicatory inscription from Heirapolis in Asia Minor. The text honours two chief-priests of the imperial cult in the city on behalf of the local familia. The latter included not only gladiators, but venatores and bull baiters as well. Presumably, grouping different performers together into one troupe, as in this example, rather than overseeing a different familia for each arena specialty, was much more convenient for spectacle organizers when it came time to organize a given event.3
The regular munera put on by the duoviri and priests of the imperial cult, however, were often not the only arena spectacles citizens had to look forward to in a given year. Such was the public demand for the munera, and the potential popularity gained by staging them, that prominent magistrates and wealthy citizens within a given community would commonly stage them even when not officially required to do so. An inscription from the town of Pozzuoli in southern Italy, for example, records that a magistrate by the name of Cassius Cerialis staged a gladiatorial spectacle there in honour of the emperor Nero, perhaps during an official visit to Pozzuoli by the latter.4
Such editores could, at least on occasion, receive funds from their respective communities in order to defray the considerable costs associated with staging an arena spectacle. Those organizers, however, who refused such financial assistance, and instead paid for munera entirely with their own wealth, could receive a special commendation from their fellow citizens. A late second century inscription from Tibur, for example, specifically praises an editor for staging both a venatio and a gladiatorial spectacle using solely his own money (sua pecunia).5
Another excellent example of this type of civic munificence, and the lengths to which spectacle organizers would go to satisfy public demand, can be found in an early second century letter sent from Pliny the Younger to his friend Maximus in Verona:
‘You did well to put on a show of gladiators for our people of Verona, who have long shown their affection and admiration for you and have voted you many honours. Verona was also the home town of the excellent wife you loved so dearly, whose memory you owe some public building or show, and this kind of spectacle is particularly suitable for a funeral tribute. Moreover, the request came from so many people that a refusal would have been judged churlish rather than strong-minded on your part … I am sorry the African panthers [leopards] you had bought in such quantities did not turn up on the appointed day, but you deserve the credit although the weather prevented their arriving in time; it was not your fault that you could not show them.’6
On this occasion, of course, the residents of Verona used the recent death of Maximus’ wife as a pretext to demand that he stage a munus in her honour; this despite the fact that such events had long since moved beyond their funereal origins. Maximus went beyond the call of duty in organizing this spectacle, particularly in attempting to import costly African leopards for the event. In his mind, as well as those of many other editores, the long-term popularity resulting from such a lavish spectacle was worth any short-term expense.
To judge from the available evidence, most organizers of venationes in the smaller centres of the Roman Empire preferred to use readily available local animals like boars, not only to save money, but also to avoid potential difficulties such as those Maximus experienced with his leopards. Having costly animals arrive late for a spectacle was, in fact, just one of the issues that could arise when editores attempted to add an exotic flair to their events. Even when such beasts arrived in plenty of time for a given spectacle, they might fall ill and die in the interim, due to the lack of proper supervisory staff and facilities in all but the largest cities of the Empire.
In certain instances, however, even the slaughter of relatively mundane local animals could be a valuable public service on the part of magistrates staging munera. Capturing and destroying wild beasts from the territory surrounding the towns and cities where spectacles took place was one way to clear arable land for agricultural exploitation. This connection between the venationes and agricultural prosperity was perhaps most prevalent in Roman North Africa, a region not only home to numerous wild animal species featured in Roman spectacles, but also extensive cultivation of such crops as grain and olives. Certainly, as the following excerpt from the sixth century poet Luxorius illustrates, North Africans were aware of the beneficial relationship between spectacle and cultivation in the region:
‘The countryside marvels at the triumphs of the amphitheatre and the forest notices that strange wild beasts are there. The many farmers look at new struggles while plowing and the sailor sees varied entertainments from the sea. The fertile land loses nothing, the plants grow in greater abundance while all the wild beasts fear their fates here.’7
Occasionally, local spectacles are referred to in contemporary literature such as the poetry of Luxorius or the correspondence of Pliny the Younger, but understandably, they receive far less attention in Greek and Roman literary sources than the massive shows put on by the emperors in Rome. Most of our specific information on the local munera in cities and towns across the Empire comes from inscriptions commissioned to commemorate these events, and the generosity of their patrons, for posterity. These inscriptions often provide detailed information on the various aspects of a given munus, particularly those considered to be exceptional, and it is through the relatively detailed records of local arena events found in Roman epigraphy that we can reconstruct their general character.
Such epigraphic evidence is of even greater importance when it comes to studying Roman arena spectacles in the eastern Empire. Magistrates and spectacle organizers in the Greek East, rather than incurring the cost of building an amphitheatre, would often adapt pre-existing structures, like theatres and stadia, for gladiatorial contests and venationes. The lack of amphitheatres in the eastern Empire led many scholars in the past to conclude that Roman arena spectacles were not nearly so popular among the Greek-speaking population as they were in Rome’s western provinces. This alleged disdain was tied to the perceived cultural superiority of the Greeks, and the belief that such civilized people would hold nothing but contempt for the bloody combats of the arena. In 1940, however, the noted French epigrapher Louis Robert published his seminal work, Les Gladiateurs dans L’Orient Grec, which, through a close study of surviving spectacle inscriptions from the eastern Empire, conclusively demonstrated that the Greek-speaking population was as fond of arena spectacles as their western counterparts.
Not surprisingly, cities in the Greek East with a strong Roman element appear to have been particularly fond of arena spectacles imported from Italy. A primary example of just such a community was the city of Corinth, sacked by the Romans in 146 BC, but later refounded as a Roman colony by Julius Caesar just over a hundred years later. The substantial number of Roman colonists who settled in the area thereafter clearly brought their passion for the munera with them; as we shall see, the theatre in Corinth, like others in the Greek East, was substantially modified to accommodate gladiatorial bouts and venationes.
The available evidence suggests, in fact, that the citizens of Corinth under the Empire were particularly fond of Roman beast hunts. An anonymous letter, thought to date to the late first or early second century, records the alleged abuses perpetrated by the Corinthians against the nearby city of Argos in order to support this particular passion:
‘But now the Corinthians, since Argos has been assigned to their territory … have grown insolent in ill-doing and are compelling the Argives to pay them tribute … it is not to furnish gymnastic or musical contests that the Corinthians need so much money, but they buy bears and panthers for the hunting shows which they often exhibit in their theatres.’8
The likely context for this complaint is that Corinth was the centre of an imperial cult to which other regional centres like Argos were expected to contribute. Interestingly, the anonymous writer of this letter contrasts the (in his mind) lesser venationes with the much more traditional Greek musical and gymnastic competitions.9
In examining the surviving epigraphic record of munera staged across the Roman Empire, the modest scale and duration of most arena spectacles outside of Rome is readily apparent. An inscribed statue base from Telesia in southern Italy, dating to approximately 100 AD, gives a good impression of the typically modest munera staged by local notables like Lucius Fabius Severus, the dedicatee of this particular inscription:
‘The council and citizens most willingly granted a statue to Titus Fabius Severus, patron of the colony, on account of his services at home and abroad, and because he, first of all producers, at his own expense, provided five Libyan beasts with a gladiatorial troupe and great pomp.’
The inscription does not specify how many gladiators fought in Severus’ munus, but the number of attested animals (five) is decidedly modest. Nonetheless, the text is careful to note that these at least were ‘Libyan beasts’, most likely lions, and that Severus was the first editor to import such animals from Africa to Telesia. The inscription does not state how long Severus’ spectacle lasted, but in cases like this, where a text fails to specify the duration of a given munus, we can assume that it was staged on a single day, given the relatively limited resources of most local editores.10
As in the case of Severus’ spectacle in Telesia, the epigraphic records of other such events across the Empire, apart from often denoting the number of participants in a given munus, also emphasize any elements thought to be particularly exotic. A priest of the imperial cult from Beroe in modern-day Bulgaria, for example, was honoured for staging a venatio which allegedly featured every type of animal, both local and foreign. Similarly, a beast hunt put on by an unknown editor from Panormus in Sicily is said to have featured every type of herbivore as well as numerous eastern beasts. As a final, even more vague example, a Greek inscription from Ancyra in modern-day Turkey denotes a local venatio as both expensive and paradoxon (‘contrary to expectation’): the latter term no doubt refers to the unusual assortment of animals allegedly collected for this particular event.11
Another noteworthy feature of Roman spectacles occasionally mentioned in the epigraphic record is the inclusion of noxii (‘condemned criminals’) in a given day’s entertainment. We shall have more to say about these performers and their status in a subsequent chapter; suffice it to say for now that under the Roman legal system, those condemned for certain offences could be forced to fight as gladiators or venatores or, even worse, be publicly executed in the arena. Such was the popularity of these executions, as we shall see, that the noxii became something of a prized entertainment commodity across the Empire. Those spectacle organizers who wished to include executions of the condemned in their munera, as a further sign of their munificence, but did not have a sufficient supply of noxii at hand in their own communities, could, at least on occasion, purchase them from the imperial government. Normally, editores in smaller centres who included what was usually a limited number of noxii in their events would stage their execution between the venationes and gladiatorial bouts.12
Those organizers with the requisite funds to stage ambitious spectacles could face bureaucratic obstacles. We have already seen that emperors such as Nero and Marcus Aurelius placed various limitations on the production of munera across the Empire, in part, at least, to spare editores from the potentially ruinous costs associated with such events. The specific details of these restrictions are not always found in the extant sources: spectacle organizers appear to have been barred from including more than a certain number of gladiators and/or animals in their events. It is important to note, however, that communities across the Empire had the right to seek an exemption from such restrictions, should they wish to stage a particularly opulent spectacle. Tacitus records such an exemption granted to the city of Syracuse by the Senate during the reign of Nero, and adds that such decrees were exceedingly common (vulgarissimum).13
The need for imperial sanction to stage larger spectacles is often reflected in the epigraphic record of local munera, particularly from the second century onwards. The prevalence of such inscriptions from the later Empire may be more than a statistical anomaly in the extant epigraphic record. As we shall discuss in more detail in a subsequent chapter, gladiators and exotic animals appear to have been harder to come by after the first century. The government in Rome may have more strictly enforced limits on the size of spectacles produced outside Rome to ensure enough gladiators and exotic animals were available for events staged by the emperors themselves.14
Examples of local editores being forced to obtain imperial permission for lavish spectacles, as reflected in the epigraphic record, include the magistrate Titus Ancharius Priscus who, ex indulgentia Augusti (‘with the emperor’s permission’), was able to stage a gladiatorial munus lasting eight days in the Italian town of Pisaurum in the later second century. Similarly, the magistrate Publius Baebius Justus took advantage of this same indulgentia to stage four days of venationes in the town of Minturnae in 249 AD. As a final example, from Gortyn in the Greek-speaking eastern half of the Empire, a fourth century inscription honours the chief-priest of the local assembly for his unprecedented achievement in obtaining imperial permission to stage three days of venationes, during which he was allowed to slaughter as many animals as he wished, as well as four days of gladiatorial combat, in which at least four pairs of gladiators appear to have fought to the death each day. The specific mention of the granting of imperial permission in inscriptions such as these further underlines the solicitude of these men on behalf of their respective communities.15
Occasionally, events such as gladiatorial combat and venationes were staged as part of ludi iuvenum or Iuvenalia (‘youth games’). We have already noted the emergence of these games in Rome under the first emperor, Augustus. It is clear from the epigraphic record, however, that the ludi iuvenum also spread beyond the capital, providing a means for youthful members of the local elite in various communities across the Empire to demonstrate their mettle to their fellow citizens. A late second or early third century inscription from Carsulae in central Italy, for example, commemorates the generosity of a certain Lucius Egnatius Victorinus, editor Iuvenalium, for the outstanding venationes he staged, in which local iuvenes appear to have taken part. Interestingly, Victorinus is also identified in the inscription as a municipal magistrate and as patron of the local imperial cult, illustrating the potentially close connection between such offices, as well as their responsibility for staging local munera.16
Another, roughly contemporary funerary inscription from Aquae Sextiae in southern France indicates the variety of duties the iuvenes themselves could perform. In the relevant section, the deceased dedicatee, Sextus Julius Felicissimus, lists his various accomplishments:
‘… well-skilled in the teachable sport of young men [lusus iuvenum] in the arena, I was that handsome man who often fought the beasts, armed with different weapons, but I also lived as their doctor and a comrade of the ursarii [comes ursaris] …’
In addition to his evident participation in local venationes associated with the ludi iuvenum, Felicissimus also suggests that he acted as veterinarian, at least on a part-time basis, for the same beasts against which he and his compatriots could fight in the arena. Doctors and veterinarians were some of the most important behind-the-scenes personnel associated with the gladiatorial contests and beast hunts of the arena. It is not surprising, therefore, that a person with the requisite skill, like Felicissimus, could perform double-duty as both veterinarian and combatant, perhaps as a cost-saving measure. More curious is Felicissimus’ evident association with the ursarii (bear hunters). As we shall see, this term could denote either Roman soldiers who specialized in capturing bears on the frontiers, or arena performers who specialized in fighting such animals. Given the fact that Felicissimus does not appear to have served in the Roman army, the latter interpretation is perhaps more likely in this instance.17
Apart from epigraphic testimony, one of the most important types of evidence available for the study of Roman spectacles is contemporary art, particularly in media such as sculpture and mosaic. Numerous depictions of arena spectacles survive from throughout Roman territory, and in many cases, such artwork provides us with as much detailed information on the munera as contemporary inscriptions. On occasion, mosaics depicting venationes feature not only the names of the animals participating in a given event, but also the number of each species, denoted by the letter N (numerus), followed by a number, inscribed on the sides of various beasts. A third century venatio mosaic from Carthage, for example, depicts a bear with the inscription N XL, an ostrich with N XXV, and a wild goat with N X, indicating that on one particular day during the spectacles commemorated by the mosaic, forty bears, twenty-five ostriches, and ten wild goats fought in the arena. As we shall see in a subsequent chapter, such artwork also provides indispensable evidence for the equipment and weaponry borne by gladiators and venatores, as well as their tactics.18
One of the more important depictions of a spectacle in a smaller city of the Empire is the famous fresco of an amphitheatre riot discovered in Pompeii. The painting in question does not provide any specific details of combat in the arena, but rather provides us with a vivid illustration of the passions, sometimes verging into the destructive, which the munera could evoke in spectators. The fresco provides an overhead view of the amphitheatre and adjacent gladiatorial barracks in Pompeii, as well as the surrounding area. The depiction of a group of combatants on the arena floor is common; what is noteworthy in this scene is the combat between spectators spilling out onto the streets surrounding the barracks and amphitheatre.
Fortunately, in this particular instance, we also have surviving literary testimony to clarify what the fresco depicts. According to Tacitus, this spectator violence was precipitated by a munus staged by the ex-senator Livineius Regulus in 59 AD. On this occasion, not only Pompeians, but also a large number of spectators from the neighbouring town of Nuceria attended the spectacle. These two groups of spectators soon began attacking each other, first verbally, and then as their anger grew, physically. In the resulting melee, the Pompeians overcame the Nucerians, and a substantial number of the latter were killed or wounded. The subsequent senatorial inquiry in Rome saw Pompeii punished by being barred from hosting any sort of arena spectacles for ten years, and Regulus, the editor of the spectacle at the centre of the trouble, being sent into exile.19 It is important to note that clashes like that occasioned by Regulus’ munus, whether between spectators from rival towns, or between fans of a given performer or faction, must have been relatively common in the sporting venues of the Roman Empire, albeit not normally as violent as the debacle in Pompeii. One need only consider the brawls and disorder involving spectators of many modern sporting events.
Many of the finest depictions of arena spectacles are found on mosaics from Roman North Africa. Unlike in other areas of the Empire, where exotic animals like lions were relatively hard to come by, such animals were comparatively abundant in North Africa and, as a result, local editores likely found venationes less expensive to stage than gladiatorial spectacles. This appears to be one of, if not the main reason for their marked prevalence in the surviving mosaic depictions of munera staged in Rome’s North African provinces. This is not to say, however, that depictions of gladiators are entirely absent from the artwork of the region.
One of the best representations of gladiators as part of a large arena spectacle, in fact, is found on a mosaic, likely dating to the later second century, from a Roman villa at the site of Zliten in modern-day Libya. Just as an inscription commemorating a given munus routinely lists its various constituent events, so too does the Zliten mosaic depict all of the various events making up a day (or days?) at the arena in one continuous frieze. Somewhat unusually for a North African mosaic, pride of place is given to the gladiators: multiple pairs, with differing types of equipment, are shown in various stages of combat with each other. Other aspects of the munus are not neglected. A number of musicians, who evidently provided a similar diversion to that of organists and recorded music at modern sporting events, are depicted on the frieze, as well as various unfortunate noxii being pushed towards waiting leopards and lions. A number of venatio scenes are also shown, including combat between animals as well as human venatores and other beasts. The most unusual of the depicted struggles is that between a dwarf and boar, evidently emblematic of the ‘light entertainment’ commonly included in many munera as relief from bloodier or more violent events.
To judge from the available evidence, the type of execution depicted on the Zliten mosaic, damnatio ad bestias (condemnation to the beasts), was the standard judicial punishment enacted by editores who were able to procure condemned criminals for their spectacles. The elaborate ‘fatal charades’ staged by the emperors in Rome were, of course, far beyond the resources of a typical spectacle organizer in the provinces. In some cases depicted in contemporary artwork the condemned was shoved towards a waiting animal by an arena attendant, a technique that could present almost as much risk to the latter as to the former. Sometimes, however, the noxius would be tied to a stake in the arena floor before his executioner was released, an arrangement which offered more safety to the attendants. The Zliten mosaic depicts a more elaborate form of damnatio ad bestias, wherein the condemned was tied to a stake on a cart which was then wheeled from behind by an arena attendant towards an expectant animal. Presumably, one of the advantages of this method, as opposed to merely staking the noxius to the middle of the arena floor, was that with the cart, the animal could be provoked into mauling his victim more quickly than if it were left to find the condemned criminal on its own. Regardless of the exact method employed, damnatio ad bestias was, in some respects, a relatively inexpensive means for a spectacle organizer to provide additional entertainment for his audience: in particular, some of the animals procured for the morning’s venationes could presumably be reused for the midday executions.
Regarding the overall composition of the Zliten mosaic, it is obvious that the various events conflated together on the frieze could not have been staged simultaneously on the arena floor.The realistic depiction of individual scenes, however, such as the combat between different pairs of gladiators, suggests that the mosaic commemorates an actual munus, rather than being simply a work of imagination. To judge from the number and variety of participants in this spectacle, the editor who staged it (and presumably commissioned the subsequent mosaic as well) was extremely wealthy, even by the standards of the local aristocratic elite. Unfortunately, due to the lack of any other evidence, that is about all we can suggest about this particular benefactor.20
One of the most important and informative depictions of a local spectacle is found on another mosaic from Smirat, in modern day Tunisia, probably dating to the mid-third century AD. As in the case of most other North African arena mosaics, the munus depicted is a beast hunt, in this case involving four venatores in combat with four leopards. Several other figures feature in the scene, including the editor of the spectacle, Magerius, as well as his herald. For the purposes of our present discussion, the most interesting aspect is the herald’s proclamation included in the mosaic:
‘Proclaimed by the curio (herald): ‘My lords, in order that the Telegenii should have what they deserve from your favour for [fighting] the leopard, give them 500 denarii.’21
The Telegenii, about whom we shall have more to say shortly, were the corporation that produced the venatio commemorated on the mosaic. Evidently, an editor like Magerius would pay such groups separately for each animal appearing in a given show, rather than a bulk sum for all of the beasts, presumably so that if one or more of the expected animals was unable to appear in the spectacle (perhaps because it died in captivity), he would not be left out of pocket. This conclusion is supported by the fact that Magerius’ herald is shown holding four bags containing 1,000 denarii apiece, as indicated by the symbols on them, one for each of the leopards. The fact that each of the bags contains twice the amount of money requested by the herald is further proof, of course, of Magerius’ munificence.22
The acclamation of the crowd, also preserved on the mosaic, not only further emphasizes the generosity of Magerius, but also highlights a few typical features of spectacles staged in the smaller centres of the Empire, some of which we have already encountered:
‘They [the crowd] shouted: May future generations know of your munus because you are an example for them, may past generations hear about it; where has such a thing been heard of? When has such a thing been heard of? You have provided a munus as an example to the quaestors; you have provided a munus from your own resources. That day: Magerius gives. This is wealth. This is power. This is now. Night is now. By your munus they [the Telegenii] were dismissed with moneybags.’23
First of all, as in some of the spectacle inscriptions discussed earlier, the text is at pains to emphasize that Magerius paid for the munus commemorated by the mosaic out of his own pocket. More specifically, the acclamation makes the claim that Magerius’ spectacle was so lavish as to rival those of the quaestors staged each year in Rome itself. At the same time, however, by seemingly linking the departure of the Telegenii to nightfall, the text suggests that the event in question lasted but a single day, typical, as we have seen, of spectacles staged outside of Rome.24
The Magerius mosaic is just one piece of evidence illustrating the widespread popularity of hunting corporations like the Telegenii in Roman North Africa: at least ten such groups, in fact, have been identified by scholars. Venationes appear to have been much more popular spectator events in the region than gladiatorial combat, due at least in part to the ready availability of animals like lions and leopards, and as a result, the groups which were hired to organize such events found ready employment. Perhaps the most vivid testimony as to the existence of these hunting-corporations is found in yet another North African mosaic, in this case an early third century work from the town of El Djem (ancient Thysdrus) in modern-day Tunisia. The mosaic appears to depict five venatores from rival corporations carousing in an amphitheatre, above a group of zebus and attendants, on the night before a spectacle. The rowdy behaviour of the men seated above the arena floor is indicated not only by the text placed beside them (e.g. ‘Bibere venimus [‘We’ve come to drink!]’), but also by the admonition of the attendants below [‘Silentiu[m] dormiant tauri[Silence! Let the bulls sleep.]’).25
The most notable aspects of this particular mosaic, arguably, are the various items held by the venatores, as well as the symbols branded into the flanks of the zebus on the arena floor. The former include a millet stalk, an ivy leaf, and a crescent-tipped staff, while the latter also include a millet stalk and ivy leaf, as well the figure of a gladiator. At first glance, the significance of such seemingly random objects might not be clear. The presence of these motifs in other Roman mosaics and pottery from North Africa, however, has led scholars to conclude that, far from being simple decorative elements, they instead represent specific hunting-corporations active in the region. The Telegenii, for example, are represented by the crescent-tipped staff, while the Leontii and Taurisci are represented respectively by the millet stalk and ivy leaf. In the context of the mosaic under discussion, then, the collected symbols and attributes indicate that not only the venatores in the scene, but also the zebus, belonged to specific hunting-corporations.26
The relevant artistic and epigraphic evidence from North Africa gives us a good idea of the scope and popularity of these groups and their activities. First, for example, artwork pertaining to the hunting-corporations largely dates to the third and fourth centuries AD, suggesting that venationes were particularly popular in Roman North Africa during that period. The relative ubiquity of the crescent-tipped staff as a motif in contemporary art also suggests, more particularly, that the Telegenii were the most popular corporation associated with the beast hunts of that time. As we shall discuss in more detail in a subsequent chapter, gladiatorial spectacles appear to have been in decline throughout much of the western Empire as early as the third century. It is no surprise, therefore, that as such events became less and less frequent, the already popular venationes in North Africa, as well as the services of the corporations producing them, were even more in demand.27
The accumulated evidence, in particular inscriptions mentioning various hunting-corporations, also suggests that such groups, as well as the performers affiliated with them, were active in specific regions, rather than being equally represented across Roman North Africa. The Telegenii, for example, appear to have been most active in the area around El Djem, while the Leontii’s centre of operations lay in Sousse (ancient Hadrumetum) to the north. Interestingly enough, these different groups appear to have attracted a strong regional following, similar in some ways to the circus factions of the later Empire. A number of North African vases from the later third century, decorated with scenes of animal combat in the arena, as well as acclamations like Perexi Nika [‘Win, Perexii!’] or Telegeni Nika [‘Win, Telegenii!], were evidently commissioned by adherents of particular corporations. In addition, extant funerary inscriptions in which the deceased are specifically identified as partisans of a given group like the Telegenii are also indicative of the loyal following which such corporations inspired in Roman North Africa.28
We have already noted the perceived beneficial link between the slaughter of wild animals in the venationes and the clearance of land for agriculture in the Roman Empire. This was particularly true in North Africa, which was both the breeding ground for some of the most dangerous wild animals ever witnessed in the Roman arena, and one of the most important sources of lucrative agricultural commodities such as olive oil. Not surprisingly, then, the available evidence suggests that North African hunting corporations had vested agricultural interests in addition to their arena-related activities. It is perhaps no coincidence that hunting corporations like the Telegenii first appear in the third and fourth centuries, precisely the period when the agricultural exploitation of Roman North Africa was at its height.29
Examples of evidence pertaining to the mercantile activities of specific hunting corporations in North Africa include amphorae stamped with the insignia of the Telegenii found at the site of Roman ports like Ostia. These indicate that this faction was involved in the lucrative shipment of olive oil from North Africa to Italy. A fragmentary fourth century mosaic from Tebessa (in modern-day Algeria), which includes among its motifs a ship carrying olive oil amphorae, as well as a crescent-tipped staff and a millet stalk, further suggests that not only the Telegenii, but also the Leontii, were involved in the olive oil trade. The latter supposition is reinforced by the epigraphic record of a certain Publius Junius Junianus Martialanus, governor of Numidia in the early third century, which testifies not only to his agricultural estates in the province, but also his family affiliation with the Leontii.30
Although the lion’s share (no pun intended!) of evidence for hunting corporations like the Leontii comes from North Africa, such groups are also attested elsewhere in the Empire. This is a clear indication of the general popularity of the venationes, particularly in the late Empire when, as we shall see, gladiatorial contests appear to have disappeared from the Roman arena. One of the apparent differences between the hunting corporations of North Africa and those found elsewhere, however, is that while the latter appear to have been largely modelled upon, or linked with contemporary gladiatorial troupes from an early date, groups like the Telegenii were seemingly independent entities, having no such affiliation with other arena performers. The main reasons for this disparity appear to be, first of all, that gladiatorial spectacles were never as popular in North Africa as in other regions of the Roman Empire and, as previously mentioned, the Telegenii and other factions only emerged in the third century, when the production of gladiatorial munera was already in decline.
One of the foremost examples of a private hunting corporation outside North Africa in the late Empire is that alluded to by the famous orator and rhetorician of Antioch, Libanius, in the later fourth century. In one of his extant speeches, Libanius attacks the current governor of Syria, Tisamenus, for hiring a seemingly disreputable entrepreneur from the nearby town of Beroea for an upcoming spectacle in Antioch:
‘He [Tisamenus] thought up an idea that nobody else would ever have dreamed of. He invited that fellow from Beroea, along with the beasts he maintains and the men hired to fight them. And along he came, with bears and panthers and the fellows who had at times lost to them and at times beaten them, and he was cock-a-hoop at overcoming the greater city with the less.’31
The existence of such a hunting troupe, even in a relatively small settlement like Beroea, suggests that even in the later Empire, similar groups may have been scattered throughout Roman territory, particularly in areas like Asia Minor where wild game was still relatively plentiful. As we shall see subsequently, the evident popularity of venationes in the later Empire, as attested to by contemporaries like Libanius, presumably meant that such corporations found ready employment.
One important final element in our discussion of the myriad spectacles staged outside of Rome herself is the venues in which they took place. Originally, many smaller centres, in the western Empire at least, appear to have staged munera in the forum, which provided a flat, open space well-suited to such events. The primary concern of editores under such circumstances was providing a strong, high temporary barrier around this space to prevent the participants, in particular the wild beasts, from attacking spectators. Given the leaping abilities of some animals employed in the spectacles, such a barricade would need to have been at least 5m to 6m in height. Over time, however, as the logistical and spatial limitations of the forum for the staging of munera became more and more apparent, most smaller towns and cities built their own modest amphitheatres so as to be able to provide larger gladiatorial bouts and venationes in a safer venue for the populace. This trend mirrors the process in Rome where the munera over time moved from venues like the Forum Romanum to purpose-built facilities like the Colosseum.32
On occasion, rather than build an entirely new edifice for the munera, communities would instead adapt pre-existing structures for the spectacles, or build multi-purpose facilities. A prime example of the latter phenomenon is the series of ‘arena-theatres’ or ‘theatre-amphitheatres’ built primarily in Gaul over the first two centuries AD. As their nicknames suggest, these structures could be used to stage both theatrical performances and various munera: their proximity, in many cases, to preexisting Celtic temples has led to the suggestion that they were only used on religious occasions associated with these places of worship. Other such mixed venues, however, free from any possible connection with Celtic worship, are found in the Greek East. The theatre at Stobi, built in the early second century, is emblematic of such designs. Although its cavea and orchestra are similar to those found in regular theatres, the complete absence of a stage left much more room for gladiatorial and animal combats – evidently more popular than traditional theatre in Stobi. Evidence of a temporary fencing system, which could be raised above the podium wall as occasion demanded, has also been found here.33
An even more common practice in the Greek east was to convert preexisting theatres and stadia for Roman munera. Perhaps the best example of a Greek theatre adapted for Roman spectacles comes from the city of Corinth, whose citizens, as we have already seen, were avid partisans of the munera. The restructured theatre at Corinth appears to have been in use from the late first century BC (soon after the establishment of a Roman colony by Julius Caesar) through to the third century AD. As in other such theatres in the Greek world, the first step in converting Corinth’s theatre for the munera involved removing the lower rows of seats (to create more space for combatants), and walling up the front of the stage and the side exits from the orchestra to create a relatively large, enclosed space for combat. The podium wall was also raised and likely surmounted by an iron grating to provide complete security for spectators.34
Stadia were, perhaps, the preexisting venue in the Greek world best suited for Roman events. The floor of such a venue did not normally need enlarging, since the oblong space of a stadium provided substantially more room for such spectacles than the smaller orchestra of a theatre. One should remember that the Romans themselves, prior to the building of the Colosseum, staged a number of munera in the Circus Maximus. One of the main concerns was spectator security. To judge from the archaeological evidence, a number of Greek stadia, including the second century Panathenaic stadium in Athens, had fencing and netting added to the tops of their podium walls to protect spectators from wild animals during the venationes, evidence that such events were staged in these venues.35
The foregoing discussion, while certainly not exhaustive, has nonetheless amply illustrated the popularity of Roman arena spectacles beyond the imperial capital. Like their counterparts in Rome, editores in the smaller centres of the Empire often sought to turn this popularity to their political advantage. As already touched upon, spectacle organizers, be they emperors or municipal magistrates, staged a wide variety of events, and it is the different types of events, as well as the performers who participated in them, to which our focus now turns. We shall also examine more closely the allimportant interaction between editor, spectator, and arena combatant, which could often determine the success or failure of a given event.