By the early Empire a typical day’s munus had come to include both gladiatorial contests and beast hunts, and, on occasion, executions of condemned criminals in the arena. Given the close association between venationes and gladiatorial bouts, it comes as no surprise that the participants in these events, despite their different specializations, shared a number of similarities in characteristics such as social status and organization. The arena itself, regardless of the specific event unfolding within it, also served a number of shared social and political functions for the assembled spectators, as our subsequent discussion will make clear. Certainly, the popularity of the munera did not lie solely in their perceived entertainment value.
However, one should not overlook the more ‘mundane’ attractions of arena spectacles. At a certain level, of course, spectators appreciated the simple, visceral thrill of seeing man and/or beast pitted against one another. An added enticement of these bouts, for many members of the audience, was the possibility of profiting from them. Gambling, certainly, is by no means a modern invention: just as we often bet upon such sports as horse-racing and boxing, the Romans wagered upon a wide variety of contests and sports, the latter including chariot racing and gladiatorial combat. A number of ancient sources1 attest to the popularity of such sports betting in antiquity
Many scholars have concentrated upon the broader, deeper functions of the events in the arena, some of which we have already touched upon, including the concept of gladiators, at least in an idealized sense, serving as an example of courage in the face of death, or the display and slaughter of animals as symbolic of human mastery over the world of nature and, more particularly, the extent of Roman territorial control. In a society with a proud military tradition like Rome, as we shall see, spectators also appreciated the martial skills of both gladiators and venatores. One of the broader importances of the arena, however, lay in its reinforcement of Roman identity, and the social solidarity of the spectators within it.
Many scholars have rightly identified the role that the architecture of venues like the Colosseum played in reinforcing the traditional divisions within Roman society. The seats within Roman amphitheatres were not randomly assigned; rather, where you sat, or were permitted to sit, reflected your social standing. In general, the lower down you sat within the cavea (the seating section of an amphitheatre or theatre), the higher your status. In the Colosseum, the imperial family had its own box or section directly above the arena floor from which to witness the action. The prominence of the imperial box, surrounded by subjects from all social strata in the amphitheatre, was a microcosm of the emperor’s central role within Roman society as a whole. Other elite groups that enjoyed the privilege of seating in the lower cavea included not only members of the senatorial class, the crème de la crème of the Roman aristocracy, but also members of prominent priesthoods like the Vestal Virgins. The members of the latter group were among the few women given the right to enjoy such premium seating. Above and behind the senatorial elite were the members of the equestrian class, followed by citizens of a lower social status. The very top of the cavea was reserved for the two most politically disenfranchised segments of Roman society – slaves and women.2
Another of the arena’s roles, evidently, was to maintain this social order. Paradoxical as it might seem at first glance, the violence of the events on the arena floor is believed to have helped ensure the lawful behaviour of the assembled spectators in their everyday lives. The munera, in this context, are commonly viewed as a liminoid ritual, from the Latin word for ‘threshold’ (limen). In presenting a level of carnage and violence far exceeding the threshold tolerated in everyday society, gladiatorial contests and the like allowed spectators to vent any tension or violent urges they might possess, and in so doing ensured (or sought to ensure) that the latter would lead peaceful, law-abiding lives outside of the arena. A similar and very popular liminoid ritual in modern society, to name just one example, would be mixed martial-arts competitions. Once again, spectators experience a certain catharsis witnessing the violence in the octagon, violence the vast majority would never dream of perpetrating in their everyday lives.3
Another way in which the arena reinforced social identity and solidarity was through the demonstration of Roman justice, particularly in the execution of condemned criminals (noxii) which often accompanied gladiatorial contests and venationes. Such executions reassured the audience that justice was being exacted upon those convicted of serious crimes like arson and banditry. They were also a popular form of entertainment in their own right, as can be seen in the efforts of Roman emperors, particularly in the first century, to stage particularly elaborate executions as part of a larger series of spectacles.
The psychological effects underlying the popularity of such events are thought to have been twofold. First, violent arena executions appear to have exerted the same type of fascination upon spectators as other types of state-sanctioned killing have in more recent history. It is instructive to note, in terms of such parallels, that the last public hanging in England attracted tens of thousands of spectators: the perceived Roman blood-lust (or whatever one wishes to call it), so often disparaged in the modern day, is not so alien to our sensibilities as we would like to believe. Secondly, as in the case of gladiatorial contests and beast hunts, arena executions may also be seen as another form of liminoid ritual: the cruel punishments in the arena, at least on paper, allowed the assembled spectators to restrain their own violent tendencies.4
Not all ancient commentators, however, were convinced of the social benefits of attending a day’s munera. It is instructive to note that relatively few criticisms of the spectacles concern the events themselves: one of the few exceptions, in fact, is the previously discussed outrage directed at Pompey for his slaughter of elephants in 55 BC. Much more prevalent is criticism of the perceived moral effects of the munera upon those who witnessed them. Arguably, the most famous example of this criticism, albeit a late one, comes from Augustine, writing at the end of the fourth century. Augustine relates the tale of his friend, Alypius. Dragged to a gladiatorial munus by his fellow students in Rome, Alypius initially had no intention of enjoying such a barbaric spectacle, but before long was overcome by the seductive violence on the arena floor:
‘For so soon as he saw the blood, he at the very instant drunk down a kind of savageness; nor did he turn away his head, but fixed his eye upon it, drinking up unawares the very Furies themselves…Nor was he now the man he was when he first came thither, but become one of the throng he came unto; yea, an entire companion of theirs that brought him thither.’5
Augustine tells us that Alypius was eventually able to overcome his addiction to the arena, but his account nonetheless illustrates the powerful passions that could easily overwhelm spectators at a given event.6
Spectator behaviour could often be particularly unruly when editores distributed prizes to the audience at a given event, a practice most commonly attested for the emperors in Rome. The giving of such gifts was meant to illustrate further the munificence of the latter, and thereby win them even greater public acclaim. Prizes could vary widely, ranging from food and sweets to domesticated, or even, on occasion, wild animals. Most commonly, tokens would be distributed among audience members for various prizes, which could then be redeemed when the spectacle was over. According to Seneca, such occasions, not surprisingly, often provoked scuffles and other violent behaviour in the crowd, a scenario familiar to those who have witnessed the use of T-shirt cannons and the like at modern sporting events. Even more dangerous, however, were those instances when spectators descended onto the arena floor in order to claim their prizes directly. Perhaps the best-known example of such carnage occurred in the early third century, when a number of spectators were killed in the struggle to seize various items put up for grabs during one of the emperor Elagabulus’ lavish spectacles.7
Another way in which editores might further increase their popularity with spectators, although perhaps not as common as those benefactions already listed, was through the distribution of free meat from the carcasses of slaughtered arena animals after a munus. This would have been a beneficial and presumably popular addition to the often limited diet of the urban populace. There is little evidence for this particular brand of euergetism, perhaps because of its more mundane nature, but enough does remain, nonetheless, to verify its periodic occurrence. The Christian writer Tertullian, for example, refers to this practice, and its cannibalistic overtones, as part of his broader criticism of the pagan munera:
‘… what of … those who dine on the flesh of wild animals from the arena, keen on the meat of boar or stag? That boar in his battle has wiped the blood off him whose blood he drew: that stag has wallowed in the blood of a gladiator. The bellies of the very bears are sought, full of raw and undigested human flesh …’
In terms of archaeological evidence, the bones of such animals as boar, bear, leopard, and ostrich found in close proximity to the Colosseum also attest to the periodic distribution of arena meat on the part of Roman emperors.8
In addition to such rewards as the giving of prizes, another attractive element of arena spectacles such as staged executions, at least from the perspective of the spectators, was the amount of power the crowd could often wield on such occasions, a degree of power absent in the vast majority of their lives. In the later Empire, one of the standard forms of trial was the cognitio (inquiry), in which a single magistrate would hear a case and pass a sentence not subject to appeal. A number of these cognitiones, to judge from contemporary Christian martyrdom accounts, were held in public venues like amphitheatres, so as to allow as many citizens as possible to witness the Roman justice system at work. Although the power of the magistrates presiding over these inquiries was absolute, at least in theory, one can see how they might have been influenced in their verdicts by hundreds or thousands of spectators clamouring for a given sentence.9
One such example of the popular pressure exerted upon a magistrate under such circumstances comes from the martyrdom of a group of Christians in Lugdunum (modern-day Lyons) during the reign of Marcus Aurelius in the late second century. One of the condemned Christians on this occasion was a Roman citizen who, in accordance with his status, should only have been beheaded, a form of capital punishment the Roman authorities considered less humiliating. The unruly crowd of spectators, however, ultimately convinced the presiding magistrate to throw the unfortunate man to the beasts along with other non-citizen Christians, a clear contravention of Roman law; on this occasion, the judge clearly ranked pleasing the whims of the public above the niceties of Roman law.10
As the above anecdote suggests, damnatio ad bestias appears to have been by far the most popular type of capital punishment commonly meted out on the arena floor. On occasion, in fact, executions could be delayed until the requisite animals were available: another prominent Christian martyr, Polycarp, was only burned at the stake because the Roman authorities, on this particular occasion, did not want to delay his execution by waiting for lions to be brought to the city.11
As professionally trained gladiators became ever harder to procure and more expensive, noxii in general, whatever the exact method of their punishment, became an increasingly valued commodity in the arena. A late second century imperial edict suggests that the value of even the lowliest gladiator at that time was at least six-times that of a condemned criminal, clearly illustrating the financial attraction of the latter type of performer for prospective editores. Further imperial legislation in the following century instructed provincial governors to reserve particularly combative noxii for spectacles in Rome, indicating that the sale of condemned criminals for the spectacles had become so widespread, in fact, as to endanger the provisioning of the emperors’ own events, something which the imperial bureaucracy naturally could not tolerate.12
Undoubtedly, the best known way in which spectators exercised their power in the arena was through passing judgement on whether a defeated gladiator should be slain, or spared. This, of course, is the origin of the ‘thumbs up’/‘thumbs down’ gesture still widely used today. Interestingly enough, however, we in modern society may be using the gestures incorrectly, at least as compared to their original usage. According to the usual interpretation, Roman spectators would give a ‘thumbs up’ if they wanted a gladiator to be spared, while the ‘thumbs down’ gesture meant they wanted him killed for a lacklustre performance. Some scholars, however, have suggested that we may have the meaning of the gestures backwards, and that ‘thumbs up’, with the digit pointed towards the jugular, actually signified death, while ‘thumbs down’ actually was a vote for sparing the gladiator, with the lowered digit signifying a sheathed sword. The main reason for this uncertainty is the comparative lack of relevant evidence in the ancient sources. The poet Juvenal uses the phrase pollice verso (‘turned thumb’) to describe the gesture for sparing a gladiator, but the interpretation of this rather vague phrase depends upon whether one views the natural position of the thumb as being pointed upwards or downwards.13
The magistrate or editor in charge of the munus was not technically obliged to heed the spectators’ wishes, regardless of which way their thumbs were pointing: the final decision on the fate of a defeated gladiator was his alone. Nonetheless, a spectacle organizer who ignored the crowd ran the risk of incurring its wrath. The arena, or the circus for that matter, was one of the few venues in Roman society where men and women from all walks of life had the opportunity to interact with the rich and powerful, even in some cases with the emperor himself, and spectators wished to exercise that privilege. Those editores who failed to cater to the crowd, or take an active interest in the spectacles they had organized, were certainly subject to the crowd’s censure, regardless of whatever other merits they might possess: both Julius Caesar and Marcus Aurelius were criticized for their apparent lack of interest in the munera. Conversely, otherwise terrible emperors like Nero and Commodus, as we have seen, were popular at least within a certain segment of the population because of their devotion to the spectacles.
The sense of power and superiority enjoyed by the spectators at a given munus was due in no small part to the negligible status of the performers in the arena. Under Roman law, public execution was generally reserved for only the most serious of crimes, and it was this consideration, as well as the fact that such punishments were designed to be as humiliating as possible, which helped ensure members of the audience felt only scorn and derision for a given noxius. The thoroughgoing degradation of the condemned ensured that any harm to the social order brought about by his or her crimes was fully rectified. In addition, as previously mentioned, the most horrific methods of execution, like damnatio ad bestias, were reserved, at least on paper, for the lower classes. Therefore, the average spectator could feel a clear sense of superiority over any condemned criminals on the arena floor based on his or her social status, regardless of the specific crime the noxius had committed.14
Apart from condemned criminals, the other performers found in the arena were also usually of low social standing, which once again ensured, under normal circumstances, that the spectators at a given munus would not suffer undue concern over any tribulations the former suffered on the arena floor. Many gladiators during the Republican period, as we have already seen, were originally prisoners of war captured during Rome’s wars of conquests, and successful warfare continued to provide gladiators and other arena combatants on an intermittent basis during the Empire as well. Obviously, given their origin, they could expect even less sympathy from spectators than other performers!
Another common source of gladiators and venatores alike was criminals condemned ad ludos (‘to the games’). As the term suggests, individuals convicted of serious crimes, albeit crimes not serious enough to warrant execution, were often sentenced to fight in the arena. The extant sources, unfortunately, are often not explicit as to what offences merited specific sentences like condemnation to the games, but among those mentioned in connection with such performers are arson, sacrilege, and murder. There was obviously an overlap between some of the offences punishable by damnatio ad bestias or damnatio ad ludos, but the judicial niceties which determined, for example, whether a given arsonist was condemned to be torn apart by wild beasts or to fight as a gladiator are, unfortunately, lost to us. In practice, of course, damnatio ad ludos was preferable to damnatio ad bestias. The former sentence, at the very least, offered a slim prospect of eventual release, especially for those who could fight well enough to earn their freedom from the arena.15
A related, albeit less formal phenomenon was the practice of slave-owners punishing their own slaves by selling them to the lanistae, the managers of the training schools for gladiators and venatores about whom we shall have more to say subsequently. This practice, although seemingly common during the late Republic and early Empire, was eventually banned by the state, which did not appreciate private citizens taking the law into their own hands. Legislation introduced during the reign of the emperor Hadrian in the early second century explicitly stipulated that slaves could only be condemned ad ludos by a court of law, not at the whims of their masters.16
A final category of arena combatants comprises those who chose to fight as a gladiator or venator of their own free will. Such performers, of course, were far less numerous than those who were forced to fight in the arena, but they are nonetheless attested in the epigraphic record. Unfortunately, such inscriptions shed little light on why someone might volunteer to participate in such a dangerous sport: one possibility, by way of example, is that some of those who consigned themselves to the arena were driven to it by bankruptcy or financial desperation. Others may have been attracted to such a profession by the lure of celebrity. As we shall discuss in greater detail later in this chapter, successful gladiators and venatores could sometimes achieve a devoted following among fans of the munera, a fame which, in the eyes of some, outweighed the dangers of the arena.17
Regardless of their specific background, those who were condemned to the arena, or chose to fight in the munera as a career, were all branded with the same label: infamis (‘disreputable’). The same status, incidentally, was conferred upon other professions deemed immoral by Roman authorities, including actors and prostitutes. Infamia was formalized by the oath that gladiators were required to take upon their entry into the training-schools, which can be reconstructed as follows from the Satyricon of the first century writer Petronius: ‘We solemnly swear to obey [the lanista] in everything. To endure burning, imprisonment, flogging and even death by the sword.’18
It is unclear whether or not venatores who entered the formal training schools (ludi) had to take such an oath, but given the many similarities between gladiators and beast hunters in terms of their organization, it is certainly plausible. Regardless, as we shall see presently, both types of performer suffered from the same infamia.
As noted previously, those arena performers who fought well and survived did have the opportunity eventually to earn their freedom. On rare occasions, in fact, a particularly proficient venator or gladiator might earn his outright release from the arena thanks to the particularly boisterous acclamations of the crowd. In the case of other performers, surviving the arena was not quite as difficult as commonly assumed. Some scholars in the past have maintained, for example, that a gladiator stood about a fifty per cent chance of dying in any given munus, but a close look at the extant evidence, in particular epigraphic texts, suggests that only about ten per cent of the gladiators met their deaths in any given spectacle. Those who fought well but were defeated could usually expect to be spared by the editor to fight again another day. The extant evidence suggests that, under ordinary circumstances, a successful gladiator could earn a reprieve from fighting after three years, and his freedom after five. Gladiators and venatores who survived their careers in the arena, however, were still stigmatized with the same infamia they had earlier possessed. Those considered infamis possessed no citizen rights, and suffered under a multitude of legal restrictions, such as being barred from serving on municipal councils or juries.19
Not much information, unfortunately, survives concerning the careers pursued by successful gladiators and venatores after their retirement from the arena. Some particularly accomplished arena combatants, certainly, could continue serving as trainers and the like within their respective familiae after their retirement from the arena. It should also come as no surprise that ex-gladiators and venatores who chose to pursue careers outside of the munera were nonetheless employed in professions which took advantage of their fighting ability. In the turmoil of the late Republic, for example, many prominent figures are known to have hired groups of former arena combatants as bodyguards. The two most famous examples are the bitter political rivals Clodius and Milo, who both employed gangs of slaves and gladiators to, at the same time, protect themselves and intimidate their opponents. Matters came to a head in early 52 BC, when the rival groups encountered each other just south of Rome in an encounter that swiftly led to a violent confrontation. The death of the popular demagogue Clodius in the fighting ultimately had serious political repercussions, including the subsequent exile of Milo from Italy. Despite the infamy of this episode, however, retired gladiators and venatores continued to be employed as bodyguards by powerful and wealthy Romans well into the imperial period.20
Whatever the career prospects of arena performers who survived until retirement, those who fought well in the arena, as alluded to previously, could attract a considerable following among spectators. The most accomplished could even amass considerable wealth or property for their retirement, usually, it appears, because of imperial patronage: Tiberius, for example, is said to have awarded the princely sum of 100,000 sesterces to one recently retired gladiator. Such instances, of course, are the exception rather than the rule. Nonetheless, as is made clear by the relevant epigraphic testimony, many arena performers earned enough money over the course of their careers to support a wife and children. The prizes routinely given out by editores to those gladiators or venatores who fought particularly well at a given spectacle could be important sources of income.21
Among our best sources of information on the careers of individual gladiators are the extant tombstones erected for them after their deaths. As well as listing the name and age of the deceased, most of these epitaphs also record the discipline under which a given gladiator fought and the rank he had achieved, as well as the number of times he fought, and won, in the arena. It is no surprise, of course, that the wives and children of the deceased dedicated many of these memorials; many, however, were also erected by members of the deceased gladiator’s familia, including former trainers and comrades-in-arms. An even more interesting dedicant, perhaps, appears in an epitaph from Tergeste (modern-day Trieste):
‘Constantius who gave the munus has given this tomb to his gladiators because the munus was well received. To Decoratus the retiarius, who killed Caeruleus and died himself; as both died by the same sword, so the same pyre covers both. Decoratus, the secutor, after nine fights, left his wife Valeria grieving for the first time.’
As the epitaph states, the editor Constantius, as a final display of generosity sure to be appreciated by fellow-citizens and surviving gladiators alike, erected a funerary monument for the three dead combatants. Evidently, the cost of such an undertaking, in Constantius’ estimation, was easily outweighed by the positive publicity he could reap through this gesture.22
Another type of epigraphic testimony, the surviving notices of specific combatants in upcoming spectacles, provides clear evidence of the celebrity some performers could earn during their careers in the arena. Such notices, of course, are very reminiscent of the star billing the most famous athletes receive in modern-day advertisements of upcoming boxing or mixedmartial arts cards, to name only two examples. Our best source for ancient advertisements of upcoming munera (as opposed to the commemorations of various spectacles discussed last chapter) is the city of Pompeii, where the eruption of Mount Vesuvius preserved many of these painted notices from 2,000 years ago. One of the best examples of such notices, in the context of our present discussion, is the advertisement of an upcoming spectacle featuring a venatio and thirty pairs of gladiators. The only named performer in the entire notice, the gladiator Ellius, is listed at the very end of the text. Whoever wrote up this advertisement, evidently having some marketing savvy, deliberately left Ellius’ name until last, so that the final impression passersby who read the notice would be left with would be the participation of a famous gladiator.23
Another common way in which the participation of specific gladiators and venatores in various munera would be commemorated for posterity was through the inclusion of their names in depictions of the events in question. In addition to the notices of upcoming spectacles, numerous graffiti have been preserved at Pompeii depicting gladiatorial bouts in the arena, with the names of the participants written beside them. One particularly informative example is a graffito showing the combat between two gladiators, Marcus Attilius and Hilarus. In this instance, the writing beside the figures not only gives their names, but also additional details, such as the fact that Attilius was a tiro (a novice gladiator), and his opponent Hilarus had won twelve of his previous fourteen matches. The abbreviation ‘NER’ beside Hilarus, in addition, indicates that he was a member of the Neroniani, the imperial gladiatorial familia set up by the emperor Nero. Finally, the graffito also indicates, perhaps most importantly, who won the bout. The letter ‘V’ (for ‘vicit’/‘he conquered’) beside Attilius shows that he won the duel against his far more experienced rival, while the ‘M’ (for ‘missus’/‘sent away’) beside Hilarus indicates that although he was defeated, he was spared to fight again another day.24
Similar information is often included on arena scenes found in other media, most notably mosaics and relief sculpture. A fragmentary tomb relief from Rome, for example, dating to the late first century BC, provides a number of interesting supplementary details concerning the gladiators depicted upon it. The fragmentary inscription beside the gladiator on the far left (‘IVL VVV’) informs us, for example, that he not only won the bout depicted, but that he was a member of the Iuliani, another gladiatorial familia established by Julius Caesar. The fact that the gladiator beside him, Clemens, lost the match, but survived, is once again indicated by the letter ‘M’ (‘missus’). Sadly, as another notation informs us, the ultimate fate of the gladiator on the far right of the scene was not as fortunate. The two letters beside his head (‘MΘ’/‘missus’-‘thanatos’) indicate that, like the central gladiator, he was spared after being defeated. The ‘Θ’, however, representing the Greek word for ‘dead’, indicates that he subsequently died of his injuries, a fate not unfamiliar to arena combatants.25
We have already encountered another example of a spectacle scene including the names of the participants, namely the so-called ‘Magerius’ mosaic from Smirat. One interesting aspect of this mosaic, which is often mirrored in other North African arena scenes, is that not only the human combatants, but also their animal opponents are named as well. While the inclusion of such names was often done merely to provide as detailed a record of a given munus as possible for posterity, we shall see, nonetheless, that particularly ferocious animals, just like their human counterparts, could achieve a certain measure of celebrity as well.
A final category of epigraphic text testifying to the popularity of arena performers, which should be mentioned in the context of our present discussion, is the curse tablet from Roman North Africa. Such tablets, usually made of lead, were inscribed with a magical formula meant to doom a given performer to defeat, serious injury, and/or death. Curse tablets are more commonly associated with chariot racing, a sport which certainly provoked as fierce a partisanship among its fans as any other in Roman society, but some have been found dating to the second or third century which pertain rather to the world of the arena, in particular venatores. The fact that, for example, only two out of the twelve arena curse tablets refer to gladiators rather than beast hunters clearly suggests that, as previously discussed, the popularity of venationes had eclipsed that of gladiatorial contests by that period, at least in North Africa. A typical curse tablet, in terms of the invective used against a performer, is a third century example directed against the beast hunter Maurussus, which prays that his feet be bound and that he be exhausted and unable to run, all of which would make him easy pickings for an animal like a lion or bear. Interestingly enough, one of the extant tablets is directed not just against a single venator, but seven: perhaps they all belonged to a single faction or corporation like the Telegenii.26
One of the curse tablets in question, dating to the second or third century, also provides us with some useful information on the niceties of combat in the venationes, particularly important since such details are not particularly abundant in other sources. The text in question suggests, not surprisingly, that accomplished beast hunters were expected not merely to slaughter the animals they were pitted against, but display at least a modicum of skill in doing so. In particular, the author of the tablet prays that a venator by the name of Gallicus prove his incompetence by being unable to kill a bull or bear with one, two, or even three blows. Evidently, accomplished beast hunters would display their skill to spectators by killing a given animal with a predetermined number of strikes. The emphasis upon the skill of the venator is reminiscent of modern-day bullfighting, in which the audience similarly expects the matador to kill his quarry with a degree of finesse.27
Some of the most detailed testimony concerning specific gladiators or venatores and their feats in the arena comes from Roman and Greek literature. Pride of place in this instance should be given to the work of Martial, On the Spectacles, which provides a vivid account of contemporary imperial munera in the newly-opened Colosseum. Two of the epigrams in this collection mention gladiators by name, performers who had evidently already achieved great fame because of their fighting prowess. Given the auspicious nature of the munera recounted by Martial, it is to be expected, of course, that only the best and most famous of combatants would enter the arena on such an occasion.
It is important to note that both of the poems in question are at pains to emphasize the generosity of the Emperor and his solicitude for the audience. In the first epigram, with half the crowd clamouring for the gladiator Myrinus, and the other half calling for another by the name of Triumphus, the Emperor displays his munificence by allowing both men to enter the arena at the same time. In the second poem, the Emperor decides a long and evenly-matched struggle between two gladiators, Priscus and Verus, by awarding them both with the prize of victory; as Martial succinctly concludes: ‘…this has happened under no emperor except you, Caesar: two men fought and two men won.’28
Among celebrity performers, however, pride of place in Martial’s work is taken by the venator Carpophorus. Just as the imperial bureaucracy had spared no expense in importing particularly exotic animals like tigers and rhinoceroses for the munera in the Colosseum, so too did it arrange for a beast fighter of unsurpassed talent (at least to judge from Martial’s description!) to appear as well. In his poems concerning Carpophorus, in fact, Martial claims that the beast hunter’s exploits in the Colosseum easily surpassed not only those of famous Greek heroes like Meleager, Bellerophon, Jason, Theseus, and Perseus, but even those of Hercules himself, the mightiest warrior of Greek myth:
‘If the ages of old, Caesar, in which a barbarous earth brought forth wild monsters, had produced Carpophorus, Marathon would not have feared her bull, nor leafy Nemea her lion, nor Arcadians the boar of Menelaus. When he armed his hands, the Hydra would have met a single death, one stroke of his would have sufficed for the entire Chimaera. He could yoke the fire-breathing bulls without the Colchian, he could conquer both the beasts of Pasiphae. If the ancient tale of the sea monster were recalled, he would release Hesione and Andromeda single-handed. Let the glory of Hercules’ achievement be numbered: it is more to have subdued twice ten wild beasts at one time.’30
In this particular poem, which claims that Carpophorus could have killed on his own all the hideous monsters dispatched by a multitude of Greek mythical heroes in the distant past, no mention is made of the specific animals Carpophorus killed in the arena, only that he allegedly killed twenty at once (as compared to the lesser twelve labours of Hercules, spread out over a long period of time). In a second poem dedicated to Carpophorus, however, Martial claims that he killed a boar, bear, lion, and leopard in the arena. Given all of the hyperbole of Martial’s poetry, of course, we cannot state with certainty what Carpophorus did in the Colosseum, only that it greatly impressed Martial as well as his fellow spectators.31
Centuries later, the exploits of another popular venator, a black Egyptian by the name of Olympius, were recorded by the poet Luxorius. One interesting aspect of the poems in question, written in sixth century Carthage, is the evidence they provide that the venationes continued to be popular in the region a century after the collapse of Roman authority. Secondly, Luxorius’ testimony also suggests that Olympius’ great fame and popularity as a venator overcame the negative stereotype many had of the physical appearance of native Africans:
‘… animal fighter Olympius, you bear a fit name because of your bodily strength, a Hercules by virtue of your neck, shoulders, back, and limbs … Not at all does your swarthy body harm you because of its blackness … so does the huge elephant please because of its dusky limbs, so do black Indian incense and pepper give pleasure …’32
The fame arena performers such as Olympius could achieve is further stressed in the epitaph Luxorius wrote for him after his sudden death, perhaps in the arena:
‘… Alas, now this tomb contains you carried off so unexpectedly by envious death, you whom the walls and towers of Carthage could not bear when you triumphed in the arena! But you lose nothing among the shades because of this bitter death. The fame of your glory will live everlastingly after you, and Carthage will always say your name!’33
It is important to note that human performers like Carpophorus and Olympius were not the only arena participants who could achieve a certain celebrity among spectators. On occasion, animals that fought well in the venationes could evidently earn some notoriety as well. One indication of such a phenomenon is the regularity with which animal as well as human performers are labelled in artwork like mosaics pertaining to the munera, such as in the aforementioned Magerius mosaic. It is possible, of course, that such names were an invention of the artist. What seems more likely, however, is that animals, like human gladiators and venatores, often fought under various stage names, and those animals who survived multiple appearances in the arena could achieve name recognition among spectators, like their human counterparts. The suggestion that certain animals were known by name to the audience is borne out by an anecdote from the reign of Marcus Aurelius: at one of his munera, the spectators called for a specific lion which was renowned for its especially bloodthirsty nature, much to the disgust of the Emperor.34
Various methods were certainly available to help ensure that popular animals would survive combat in the arena. Martial specifically records, for example, that an animal that fought well, like its gladiatorial counterpart, could be granted a reprieve (missio). Another apparent method in the case of particularly popular animals was to pit them against much weaker animals in the arena. By this means, the ‘celebrity beast’ could display its savagery without much risk of injury or death.35 No plan is foolproof, however, and the poet Statius, writing during the reign of Domitian, records an incident wherein a popular lion, much to the crowd’s displeasure, was apparently killed quite unexpectedly by the weaker animal which had been pitted against it:
You are slain, educated ravager of tall beasts. You were not hemmed in by a Massylian band [from North Africa] and a cunning net nor plunging over hunting spears in a fearsome leap nor deceived by a pit’s hidden cavity, but vanquished by a fleeing beast … the placid lions are angry that such an outrage has been suffered.’36
Female gladiators and venatores comprised another category of celebrity performer in the arena, one noted for its novelty. The vast majority of performers in such dangerous professions were male. Nonetheless, a number of editores, in an attempt to add the novelty that was one of the hallmarks of a successful munus, included professional female combatants, as opposed to upper-class novices, in their spectacles. Such performers are not known with certainty to have participated in imperial spectacles prior to the reign of Titus, but they were certainly one of the novelties introduced by the Flavian emperors to make the inaugural games of the Colosseum even more exciting. In one of his epigrams, Martial recounts a female hunter (venatrix) who, like Carpophorus, put Hercules to shame:
‘Illustrious fame used to sing of the lion laid low in Nemea’s spacious vale, Hercules’ work. Let ancient testimony be silent, for after your shows, Caesar, we have now seen such things done by women’s valour.’37
As discussed previously, Domitian also included not just women, but dwarves, in gladiatorial spectacles staged during his reign.
Female arena combatants were, however, not just limited to Rome. Our best artistic evidence for the participation of female gladiators in the munera, in fact, a first or second century relief sculpture, comes from the city of Halicarnassus in Asia Minor. The relief shows two named gladiators, Amazon and Achillia, confronting each other with raised shields and drawn swords. The Greek verb at the top of the scene, apeluthesan (‘they were released’), an apparent equivalent to the Latin term stantes missi (‘they were sent away standing’) suggests that the women fought to a draw. As in the case of many other arena performers, of course, the names under which they performed were intended to recall the world of classical myth. The natural connection to the Amazons, the fierce women warriors of Greek legend, is drawn not only by the name of one of the gladiators, but also by the fact that both fought bare-breasted, as their mythical counterparts had. The name of the second combatant, Achillia, is a little stranger at first glance, being the feminized form of the name Achilles, but in this instance, of course, a clear parallel is being drawn between her and the greatest hero of the legendary Trojan War. Among his many other martial accomplishments during that conflict, Achilles fought and killed the Amazon queen, Penthesileia, which may well have provided something of an inspiration for the duel depicted on the relief.38
The practice of women fighting as gladiators was formally banned during the reign of Septimius Severus (193–211). The events leading to this ban are unclear, but what appears to have happened is that a group of aristocratic women fought in one of the Emperor’s spectacles as gladiators, an act which, according to the contemporary Dio, led to mockery not only of the performers, but also of upper-class Roman women as a whole. To ensure such a disreputable event never happened again, Severus subsequently banned female gladiators outright, regardless of their social status. To judge from the available evidence, female gladiators do not appear to have featured in many, if any spectacles in Rome following the death of Domitian in 96 AD, so the spectators of Severus’ day, far less accustomed to such performers than their counterparts a century or so earlier, may indeed have found them an outrageous proposition. As in the case of so many other previously mentioned decrees, however, there is reason to believe the Emperor’s ban did not spell an end to this practice entirely. An inscription from Ostia alluding to a munus with female gladiators, which appears to date to the later third century, suggests that Severus’ ban was ignored even in close proximity to the capital.39
Sex appeal is one other important aspect of arena performers’ charm that should be addressed, apart from fighting prowess and novelty. Certainly, a very common motif in Roman literature is the lust of upper-class Roman women for the brutish gladiators fighting on the arena floor. Perhaps the most famous exposition of this theme is in Juvenal’s sixth satire, written in the early second century. As mentioned earlier, the poem is a diatribe against the vices of women, and one of the most infamous examples of alleged depravity that Juvenal adduces is the tale of a senator’s wife by the name of Hippia who left her family behind to follow her lover, an ugly gladiator named Sergius, to Egypt:
… his face was really disfigured: there was a furrow chafed by his helmet, an enormous lump right on his nose, and the nasty condition of a constantly weeping eye. But he was a gladiator. That’s what makes them into Hyacinthuses. That’s what she preferred to her sons and her fatherland, to her sister and her husband. It’s the steel that they’re in love with.40
Unfortunately, we do not have any other information with which to corroborate Juvenal’s account. It may well be that he employed some poetic licence to make a stronger case overall for the alleged turpitude of women.
One of the most famous instances of such alleged infidelity in ancient Rome is said to have involved no less a figure than the empress Faustina the Younger, wife of Marcus Aurelius and mother of the future emperor Commodus. Basically, many Romans had a difficult time believing that Marcus Aurelius could be Commodus’ father, given their seemingly antithetical personalities. While the former was noted for his philosophical detachment, and relative distaste for the spectacles, Commodus, as we have seen, was arguably the most passionate adherent of the Roman munera ever to sit on the imperial throne. Given such profound differences, many believed that the empress Faustina must have been unfaithful to her husband, and the result of one such dalliance with a gladiator was her son, Commodus. This story, however, appears to belong to the realm of scurrilous gossip rather than fact. Sons with decidedly different personalities than their fathers has been a relatively common phenomenon throughout history, and does not need explaining by marital infidelity.41
Other, less questionable sources of evidence from the Roman world do nonetheless amply attest to the passions inspired by arena performers among appreciative spectators. One such source is arena-related graffiti from Pompeii. In addition to the notices of upcoming spectacles discussed earlier, another category of graffiti consists of amatory pronouncements made by arena performers or their fans. Two particularly boastful gladiators in Pompeii, to judge from the available evidence, were the retiarius (netfighter) Cresces and the Thrax (‘Thracian’) Celadus. In one such graffito, Cresces refers to himself as suspirium puellarum (‘heartthrob of the girls’), while in another, Celadus, not to be outdone, calls himself ‘the doctor to nighttime girls, morning girls, and all the rest’.42
One of the more famous archaeological finds from the ruins of Pompeii was thought by some scholars to provide even more vivid evidence of the romantic attachment between gladiators and their fans. During the excavation of the gladiatorial barracks in Pompeii, archaeologists discovered the skeleton of a young noblewoman, identifiable as such by the fine jewelry found with her remains. A common assumption was that the young lady, an embodiment of Juvenal’s Hippia, was carrying on an affair with one of the gladiators in the city, and had run off to be with him (and ultimately died with him) when Mount Vesuvius erupted.43 Attractive as this reconstruction of events might be, however, it cannot be proven. It is just as possible that the young woman merely happened to be near the gladiatorial barracks when the volcano erupted, and sought shelter there before being overcome by the ash. Other mementos of the arena surviving from the Roman era also attest to the devotion, carnal or otherwise, which gladiators and venatores could inspire in their fans. One of the ‘side industries’ associated with the munera was the production of statuettes and other small items depicting performers in the arena, which could be purchased by spectators and taken home after a given munus. One such memento, for example, is a small bronze mirror depicting on one side a venator fighting a boar. A common category of such souvenirs, one that plays on the lewder associations of arena combatants, is the depiction of such performers in association with the Roman god of fertility, Priapus, and/or his most prominent attribute, an oversized phallus. An excellent example of such a memento is a small hanging bronze lamp depicting a gladiator with a gigantic phallus.43
Often, spectators were not just partial to individual gladiators, but to a particular type of combatant as well. Such partisanship, unsurprisingly, could extend to the emperors themselves. The emperor Caligula, for example, was an adherent of the ‘Thracian’ gladiators and, as previously alluded to, is said to have appeared as one in the arena. Commodus’ favourite type of gladiator, according to Dio, was the secutor (‘follower’). Beast hunters, as we shall see, fought in much less varied equipment than gladiators, and as a result, did not attract the same type of partisanship based upon their style of armament.44
There are, in total, some twenty different types of gladiators attested in ancient literature and art, who differed in terms of their weaponry and defensive armament. Unfortunately, due to differing levels of popularity enjoyed by the various types of gladiators, as well as gaps in the relevant ancient evidence, we have far more information on some types of gladiators than others. In some cases, for example, while we might possess the name of a particular class of gladiator, there might be no surviving depictions of it in ancient art, which makes it very difficult, of course, to reconstruct with certainty the type of equipment and weaponry borne by the gladiator in question.
As discussed in our first chapter, gladiatorial events began at Rome in the mid-third century BC, at a time when the city-state was beginning a period of dramatic expansion that would see it become, over the next couple of centuries, not just mistress of Italy, but of the entire Mediterranean. It is perhaps not surprising, during this period of frequent conflict, that the earliest attested types of gladiator in Rome took their inspiration from Rome’s recent or current enemies. At a certain psychological level, of course, the spectators of these early munera could take some comfort or satisfaction from seeing Rome’s enemies, as symbolized by the gladiators on the arena floor, being killed, just as their counterparts had been, or were about to be, crushed by Rome’s armies on her frontiers.
The oldest attested gladiatorial type in Rome was the ‘Samnite’, named after the powerful tribal coalition of central and southern Italy which Rome fought three wars against from the mid-fourth to early third century BC. According to Livy, the ‘Samnite’ gladiator originated during these conflicts, namely after a major battle in 310 BC between the Samnites on one hand, and Rome and her Campanian allies on the other. Many of the Samnites who fought in the battle are said by Livy to have worn ostentatious armour, including plumed helmets, large, oblong shields, and greaves on their left legs. After the battle, which resulted in a Roman victory, her Campanian allies chose to humiliate further their defeated enemies by dressing up their gladiators in armour taken from the battlefield, thus creating the ‘Samnite’ gladiator. Rome ultimately followed suit, and it was ‘Samnite’ gladiators, in fact, who featured in the first recorded Roman gladiatorial munus in 264 BC. Like their namesakes, the ‘Samnites’ fought with swords or, less commonly, spears. Those who fought in Roman spectacles, however, were not always as heavily armed as their Campanian progenitors, sometimes, for example, fighting with smaller round shields rather than the larger oblong variety.45
Two other ‘ethnic’ gladiatorial types which emerged in Rome during the Republic were the ‘Gauls’ and ‘Thracians’. The Romans, of course, had been very familiar with the Gauls since the sack of Rome in 390 BC, and after that particular disaster, the figure of the Gaul had become something of a bogeyman in the Roman collective consciousness. In the last two centuries of the Republic, however, the Romans began annexing Gallic territory, culminating in Julius Caesar’s conquest of Gaul in the 50s BC. It was during these campaigns that captured Gallic warriors began to appear in Roman arenas as ‘Gauls’, armed with traditional Celtic weaponry – a flat shield and longsword, for example. Similarly, ‘Thracian’ gladiators also emerged in the second century BC, as Rome began expanding into the territory of Thrace (roughly speaking, modern day Bulgaria and northeastern Greece), and captured natives were forced to fight in their ethnic armament for the Roman public’s amusement. The weaponry of the ‘Thracian’ gladiator normally included a brimmed helmet and small rectangular shield. The most distinctive items of his equipment, however, were the greaves he wore on both legs, as well as a distinctive type of curved short sword, native to the lower Danube region, know as a sica.46
By the early Empire, gladiator types based upon ethnic caricatures had largely faded in popularity: the last extant mention of ‘Samnite’ gladiators, for example, dates to the reign of Augustus. Undoubtedly, the main reason for this change in fashion was the fact that, by the first century AD, Rome’s most active period of territorial conquest had ended, and she was no longer involved in continually fighting large coalitions like the Gauls or Samnites. As a result, gladiators representing such ethnic groups in the arena no longer resonated with spectators as they once had. While ‘Thracian’ gladiators remained popular until the end of gladiatorial munera in the Roman Empire, the other two principal ethnic types of gladiator, the ‘Gaul’ and the ‘Samnite’ evolved by the earlier Empire into newer categories of combatant identified by their distinctive equipment or combat methods rather than the ethnic group they professed to represent. The ‘Samnites’, for example, appear to have evolved into the hoplomachus, while the ‘Gaul’ transitioned into the murmillo.47
The hoplomachi (‘armed fighters’) and murmillones (‘fish fighters’) were both heavily armed types of gladiator. Like the ‘Samnites’, the hoplomachus wore a greave on his left leg, as well as a brimmed helmet with visor. The most distinctive piece of equipment borne by the hoplomachus, however, was a small, round, concave shield. His offensive weaponry normally consisted of a spear, dagger, or short sword. It is not clear why this type of gladiator was given a Greek name, but perhaps the most plausible suggestion is that the weapons carried by the hoplomachi were reminiscent of those borne by the hoplites of classical Greece. The murmillones, who possessed the most bizarre name, at first glance, of all the gladiatorial types, were so called because of the fish motifs that commonly decorated their brimmed helmets. The other defensive equipment of a murmillo included a large rectangular shield (scutum), similar to that carried by Roman legionaries, as well as short greaves. Longer leg-guards were not necessary because of the length of shield carried by the murmillo. Both the hoplomachus and murmillo fought without any sort of chest armour. The usual weapon carried by the latter was a short sword, or gladius, which, like his shield, was also reminiscent of the weaponry carried by regular Roman troops.48
In most cases, different types of gladiators were pitted against each other in the arena to provide an interesting contrast in both armament and fighting styles for the assembled spectators. ‘Thracians’ and hoplomachi, for example, appear to have most commonly fought against murmillones, but far less commonly against each other. Numerous depictions of such combats survive from the ancient world, including a first to second century terracotta sculpture depicting a duel between a hoplomachus on the left, easily recognizable by his small round shield, and a ‘Thracian’ bearing a rectangular shield on the right. One suggestion explaining the specific appeal of such contests for spectators is that the legionary style armament of the murmillo would form an interesting contrast with the Greek style equipment of the hoplomachus or the even more exotic weaponry of the ‘Thracian’.49
Gladiatorial contests did not remain static, of course, during their long history, and one of the most notable results of this continuing evolution in the first century CE was the emergence of two more popular types of gladiators, the secutor and the retiarius, who fought against each other in the arena. The retiarius, who does not appear to have emerged prior to the mid-first century AD, was so named because of his rete (throwing net), one of his most important pieces of equipment. The other important piece of a retiarius’ arsenal was his trident. Unlike other types of gladiator, the retiarius wore no armour to speak of, and therefore had to rely almost entirely upon his speed and nimbleness against more heavily encumbered opponents. His basic offensive strategy was to try to entangle his adversary in his net, leaving him vulnerable to a thrust from his trident. If all else failed, he also had a dagger with which to defend himself. The secutor (‘follower’) took his name from his standard tactic, namely stalking his opponent with shield raised around the arena floor and waiting for an opportune moment to press home his attack. In most respects, he was identical to the murmillo: the only distinct difference between the two types of gladiator lay in their respective helmets. Rather than wearing an ornate visored helmet like that of the murmillo, the secutor wore a smooth helmet whose only accoutrements were a simple crest and two very small eyeholes. Such a helmet may well have reminded many spectators of a fish head, adding to the ‘maritime theme’ already suggested by the retiarius’ net and trident. Why Roman editores of the early Empire evidently decided to introduce such an element into their spectacles, however, remains a mystery.50
What is abundantly clear, however, is the popularity this new pairing of gladiators achieved among Roman spectators. Among the clearest indications of this popularity, naturally, are the numerous depictions of both secutores and retiarii in Roman art. Even today, arguably, the retiarius is the first type of gladiator that springs to mind when we think of the Roman arena, and they have commonly appeared in such Hollywood sword-and-sandals epics of the past as Spartacus and Gladiator. One of the best ancient illustrations of a combat between retiarius and secutor comes from the gladiator mosaic found in a Roman villa near Nenning, in modern-day Germany, created no earlier than the late second century AD. Unlike many depictions of gladiatorial combat, which often show the victorious and defeated gladiators at the end of a given bout, the Nenning mosaic seemingly depicts the contest between the two gladiators at its height. The retiarius, however, appears to have already thrown and lost his net, which would put him at a disadvantage against his opponent. The figure standing behind the two combatants is a referee, about whom we shall have more to say presently.
As stated previously, the vast majority of gladiators fought against other varieties of combatant in the arena to provide a more interesting spectacle for the audience. Two exceptions to this general rule, however, beginning in the late Republic, were the equites and provocatores, who appear to have fought only against gladiators of their own type. In the case of the equites (‘horsemen’), the reason for this practice is not hard to discern – having one gladiator fight on foot and another on horseback would grant an unfair advantage to the latter. To judge from the extant evidence, the equites did not fight an entire duel on horseback, but would only begin the contest in such a fashion, armed with a lance. At a certain point, assuming they had not already been thrown or knocked off their horses, the equites would dismount and decide the issue with swords. The standard defensive armament of the equites was a brimmed helmet and round shield.51
In the case of provocatores (‘challengers’), it is not readily apparent why they only fought against others of their own ilk in the arena. In many respects, the equipment borne by the provocatores was similar to that of the ‘Samnites’: a relatively ornate helmet, a greave on the left leg, and a large oblong shield. The most distinctive piece of equipment worn by the provocator, one that distinguished him from all other types of gladiator, was a metal breastplate secured by leather straps. Perhaps the best depiction of provocatores in Roman art is to be found on the previously-discussed tomb relief found just outside of Rome, and dating to the late first century BC.52
The gladiator types discussed above, as alluded to previously, were certainly not the only variants to appear in the arena. They were, however, the most popular. Other classes of combatant are known, but given their relatively infrequent appearances in the munera (at least as compared to gladiators like retiarii), they are not well attested in the relevant ancient sources. As a result, it is often quite difficult to reconstruct with accuracy their armament and fighting styles. One such category, for example, was the essedarius (‘chariot fighter’), which appears to have emerged at roughly the same time as the retiarius, in the mid-first century AD. Unfortunately, however, we possess absolutely no examples of gladiator art from antiquity that unequivocally depict essedarii. As a result, a number of questions must remain concerning their tactics in the arena: did they, for example, fight the entirety of their bouts from their chariots, or did they, like the equites, dismount to conclude the duel?53
Two of the more interesting minor categories of gladiators were the dimachaeri (‘two-handed fighters’) and scissores (‘splitters’). As the name suggests, the first of these performers fought without a shield, and instead bore a weapon in each hand. Lacking a shield, the dimachaerus, presumably, had to rely a little more on his speed and dexterity in combat to avoid the blows of his adversaries. Given the extremely limited evidence for this particular type of performer, it has recently been suggested that, rather than representing a distinct type of gladiator, the term dimachaerus merely referred to another type of gladiator, like a secutor for example, who would sometimes, for the sake of variety and increased spectator interest, wield blades in both hands rather than a sword and shield.54
Fortunately, we possess more definitive pictorial evidence for the scissor. In terms of his defensive armament, he was quite similar to the secutor. The weaponry of the scissor, however, was certainly among the most singular found within the gladiatorial ranks. The limited evidence for this particular performer suggests that he fought with a conventional sword in one hand, but bore a semicircular crescent blade, attached to a metal forearm covering, on his other arm. His name, perhaps, came from the sizeable slashing wounds that could be inflicted by such a wide blade.55
The different gladiatorial disciplines, as we shall discuss in more detail in our next chapter, required specific training: under ordinary circumstances, a given gladiator would be assigned a specific fighting-style early in his career, based upon his perceived strengths and weaknesses, and be placed under the tutelage of a trainer in that particular discipline. The majority of attested arena combatants specialized in a single fighting style for their entire careers, but a few fought in more than one discipline, an accomplishment noted in the epigraphic record of their achievements as further proof of their fighting prowess. Two gladiatorial inscriptions from northern Italy, for example, commemorate performers who fought respectively as a murmillo and hoplomachus, and murmillo and provocator. The three types of gladiator mentioned in these inscriptions, as noted previously, used similar equipment, which certainly makes the concept of a single performer fighting in more than one of these disciplines not at all implausible.56
An even more unusual case, evidently, was that of an arena combatant who switched from gladiatorial combat to the venationes, or vice versa. Nonetheless, at least one such example is known from antiquity. An epitaph from Nicaea, namely, records a certain Chrysomallus (?): ‘… retiarius, he was a hunter before …’ As in the case of the two inscriptions just cited, a switch between venator and retiarius, in terms of equipment and fighting tactics, is by no means unthinkable: both performers were relatively lightlyarmed, and relied much more on their speed and agility to survive in the arena rather than any defensive armament. It should also be noted that the deceased switching from the beast hunting to the gladiatorial ranks does not necessarily mean that there was a hierarchy between the two disciplines, and that the transition was therefore viewed as a promotion. We have already seen that, in certain areas of the Empire at least, the venationes were evidently more popular than the gladiatorial munera.57
As stated previously, the equipment of the venator in the arena was decidedly limited. On occasion, beast hunters are depicted in relatively heavy armour, somewhat similar to the equipment worn by contemporary gladiators. Perhaps the best visual example of the use of such armament among venatores is found on a late first century BC relief from Rome. The scene depicts five beast hunters in combat with a variety of animals, including a lion and bear. The short swords and rectangular shields borne by many of the human combatants appear quite similar to those used by murmillones in the arena, while the round shield carried by the fallen venator in the bottom left corner of the scene is reminiscent of the equipment of the hoplomachi. One suggestion concerning the relatively unorthodox armour worn by the beast hunters in this particular scene is that at this comparatively early date, there was not yet a clear distinction between venatores and gladiators in terms of the armour they wore. Another consideration, particularly in the case of later depictions of armoured beast hunters, is that they may well have wished to wear extra protection when fighting particularly dangerous animals like bears and lions.58
Much more commonly, to judge from the extant artistic evidence, venatores wore next to no armour, relying instead upon their speed and mobility to evade the attacks of the animals they were pitted against. In many depictions, they are shown wearing only leggings, tunics, and/or a leather covering over their abdomens. The standard weapon employed by beast hunters was a long hunting-spear (venabulum), often equipped with a perpendicular bar behind the head of the spear to prevent it becoming stuck in one of the animals. A typical beast hunter, with his tunic, waistband, leggings, and spear is depicted on a second century relief from northern Italy. In his right hand, however, he also holds a whip, which was another weapon periodically employed by venatores in the arena.59
Like gladiators, beast hunters may have periodically altered their standard equipment, using such weapons as clubs, daggers, and whips to add variety and interest to their performances. The most unusual alternate weapons employed by them, however, were boxing-straps (caestus), similar to those employed by pancratiasts in Greek combat sports. As attested in a few ancient sources, the animals most commonly fought by venatores employing such implements were bears. On the face of it, of course, this would seem to be a horrible mismatch in favour of the bear. Such an impression, however, appears to be misleading: Pliny the Elder, writing in the later first century, claimed, in fact, that beast hunters could often kill the bears they were pitted against with a single punch. Presumably, the way this was achieved was by placing lead strips under the straps, a tactic also familiar to Greek pancratiasts. Such a dangerous event, with such a surprising outcome, if the bear was indeed incapacitated with a single punch, was undoubtedly very popular among audience members wishing for as novel a spectacle as possible.60
As we have just seen, many items of arena apparel appear to have originally been inspired by equipment used in other professions or occupations, such as the military. It is important to note, however, that the equipment used by arena performers, regardless of their particular specialization, was generally much more ostentatious than any counterparts found outside the arena. Gladiatorial accoutrements, for example, could include armour decorated with gold filigree or gems, as well as helmets topped by ostrich or peacock plumes. The lavishness of such apparel, of course, added to the positive impression of a given spectacle upon the audience, and was certainly another one of the ways in which an enterprising editor could demonstrate his munificence. Even condemned criminals could be specially equipped for the occasion: Pliny the Elder records with disgust that Julius Caesar, in the munera he staged as aedile in 65 BC, established the precedent of having noxii outfitted with silver equipment to fight against wild beasts in the arena.61
Perhaps the best, and most idiosyncratic examples of arena apparel are the helmets worn by many different types of gladiators, of which a number of examples were found in Pompeii. Originally, gladiatorial helmets were quite similar to their military counterparts, but by the early Empire, they had evolved into their own distinct style, with broad rims, elaborate visors and, often, embossed metal reliefs and/or feathers on the crest of the helmet used as decoration. It has been suggested that the visors added to gladiatorial helms during the reign of Augustus were intended to make the now faceless gladiator appear even more intimidating. It may also be, of course, that the individual identity of gladiators was considered of little importance because of their negligible social status.62
To this point, we have discussed some of the most prevalent attitudes of Romans towards arena spectacles, as well as the most common types of combatants participating in the munera. Before leaving the topic of ‘performer and spectator’, however, we shall discuss in more detail the events of a typical spectacle, a discussion which will not only illustrate further some of the themes and topics mentioned earlier in the chapter, but will also illustrate what a complex undertaking the staging of a munus was. This, in turn, will lead into our subsequent examination of the all-important organizational infrastructure necessary for the success of such an event.
The ceremonies and events associated with a typical day’s munus did not merely begin with the first combat of the morning in the arena, but were instead initiated with a ritual known as the cena libera (free/public dinner) staged a night or two beforehand. On this occasion, the gladiators and other performers participating in the upcoming spectacle would partake of a banquet set up in a public area like the town forum. This would allow interested members of the community to get a relatively close look at the participants in a given munus, in particular any celebrity performers, even before they stepped into the arena. The closest, albeit imperfect, modern parallels to this custom would be the open practices sometimes scheduled by various sports teams, as well as the media scrums set up before various events like boxing.63
On the day of the spectacle proper, the festivities would begin with a procession of the editor and his performers, accompanied by attendants and musicians. The latter would not only play during this procession (pompa), but also during the subsequent bouts on the arena floor, as shown in a number of extant depictions of the munera. One is reminded of the modern day organists who play during ice hockey games and other contests in order to drum up spectator interest in the proceedings. A second preliminary spectacle before the actual combats was the prolusio/proludium (‘prelude’). This warm-up segment of the munus often involved, in general, a non-lethal exhibition of martial skills, usually achieved with the use of blunted weapons. On occasion, however, particularly in the case of spectacles that included a venatio, the prolusio might also feature a procession of some of the exotic animals slated to fight in the arena, or a non-lethal (to the venatores at least) preliminary combat involving relatively harmless animals like rabbits and deer. A final important component of these preliminary proceedings was the so-called probatio armorum (‘test of arms’), in which the editor would inspect the weapons to be used in the actual munus, confirming their lethality to the assembled spectators.64
With such opening festivities concluded, and with the audience’s anticipation for the carnage whetted (hopefully!) to a fever pitch, the time had come for the day’s main attraction, the genuine struggle between performers on the arena floor. Heralds and attendants bearing placards would inform spectators on the pertinent details of the bouts being contested before them, in particular the names and fighting record of the combatants. Such information, of course, was essential for the many members of the audience betting on the proceedings.
Under the developed programme of a typical munus, as stated previously, the first full fledged combat events of the day would be the venationes. These beast hunts, however, could take a variety of forms, including, most notably, venatores pitted against various animals, or the latter pitted against each other. In some cases, the choice of animals pitted against each other was meant to reflect real or imagined confrontations in the wild: on occasion, for example, crocodiles would fight against hippopotami, or rhinoceroses against elephants, two particular pairings reflecting the common (and mistaken) belief that these animals were mortal enemies in the natural world.65
Sometimes, the animals paired off in such a fashion were understandably hesitant to fight each other. Under such circumstances, the spectacle organizers could pursue a variety of means to force combat. One popular method was to link the animals together by a length of chain. Wild beasts, as to be expected, would not tolerate such a situation for long, and would soon attack each other in order to try to escape their enforced proximity. One of the best depictions of such a practice comes from the aforementioned Zliten mosaic: a bear and bull, linked by a long chain, are depicted in the midst of combat, while a scantily clad figure below extends what appears to be a long hook towards the chain. The identity or function of this figure is not clear, but one possibility is that he is an arena attendant who, having led the bear and bull out onto the arena floor by their chain, is depicted at the moment he withdraws his hook, allowing the animals to fight in earnest.
On occasion, in perhaps an even more dangerous pursuit, arena attendants would simply goad reluctant animals into fighting by poking them with sticks or firebrands. One of the most vivid depictions of this exercise comes from Martial’s epigrams celebrating the first appearance of a two-horned rhinoceros in the Colosseum, an animal, which, at least initially, was hesitant to display its fighting prowess:
While the trembling trainers were goading the rhinoceros and the great beast’s anger was long a-gathering, men were giving up hope of the combats of promised warfare; but at length the fury we earlier knew returned …66
One can well imagine the terrified attendants running for their very lives as the rhinoceros snapped into action!
As already mentioned, the animal events of a given munus did not always involve combat or death: on occasion, an editor would stage a display meant to illustrate the intelligence, rather than the fighting prowess, of the creature in question. Although such nonviolent displays appear to have been less common under the Empire than during the Republic, they are attested as late as the fourth century AD. Particularly popular in the imperial spectacles of Rome itself, to judge from the available evidence, were displays of elephants performing various alleged feats like tightrope-walking or synchronized dancing. One reason elephants appear to have been particularly common participants in such events, quite apart from the general affection in which many Romans appear to have held these highly intelligent animals, was their regal connotations. Many Roman emperors, in emulation of Alexander the Great and later Hellenistic rulers, associated themselves with these animals (e.g. by having themselves depicted on their coinage being driven in elephant-drawn chariots). It may have been considered unseemly, therefore, for elephants to be slaughtered in the arena like more mundane animals. A similar reason may also be behind the occasional appearance of lions, animals with their own regal connotations, in nonviolent displays under the Empire: the most famous example would be the lion trained to let hares in and out of his mouth unharmed, as recorded in the poetry of Martial.67
After the morning animal events, the midday pause would ensue, during which any condemned noxii the editor of the spectacle had been able to procure would be executed. On such occasions, the heralds would proclaim to the assembled audience the crimes for which the condemned were being punished: the deterrent effect of such executions would presumably be diminished somewhat if the spectators had no notion what specific crimes could merit such a grisly punishment. The midday pause also provided an opportunity for the attendants to prepare the arena for the gladiatorial combats of the afternoon. Among the mundane tasks that could be performed at this time, for example, was raking up the blood that had accumulated on the arena floor during the morning events, as well as any subsequent executions.
Although gladiators, as we have seen, could periodically fight in mass combats, the standard form of gladiatorial contest was a one-on-one duel. These combats were officiated by two referees known as the summa rudis (‘first stick’) and secunda rudis (‘second stick’), named for the long sticks they wielded, with which they kept the gladiators in line. Such officials are commonly depicted in scenes of gladiatorial munera. Gladiators were expected to fight by a common set of rules, and the summae and secundae rudes stood by to punish any breach of conduct. Unfortunately, many ancient writers do not appear to have been overly interested in the niceties of gladiatorial combat, and as a result, we do not possess a great deal of information on the specific rules to be observed during a bout.68
In general, however, there were three possible outcomes to a gladiatorial combat. By far the most common was missio (‘reprieve’), in which the defeated gladiator, presuming he fought well and did not earn the audience’s displeasure, could be dismissed from the arena to fight again another day. As seen in a number of ancient depictions, a losing gladiator usually sought such a reprieve by lowering his weapons and raising his finger to the referee (i.e. the summa rudis), after which the latter would stop the fight and await the verdict of the crowd and editor. The referees apparently could also stop a combat at their own discretion, at least on occasion. A far less common type of combat, or combat outcome, was sine missione (‘without reprieve’). In this more dangerous type of contest, the combat usually continued until one gladiator was incapacitated and unable to continue, either through serious injury or from dying at the hands of his opponent. Finally, a third attested outcome was stantes missi (‘they [the gladiators] were sent away standing’). Under these circumstances, the combatants fought to a draw, and both were granted a reprieve after the combat was halted.69
The apparent prevalence of missiones (‘reprieves’) in gladiatorial combat suggests, as mentioned previously, that such duels did not lead to fatalities as often as commonly assumed. Apart from these formal rules, another factor that may have limited gladiatorial deaths (at least to a degree) was an informal code of conduct. A number of extant inscriptions indicate that gladiators who followed this code only sought to injure their opponents enough to secure victory, and in no way sought to kill them. One of the more interesting allusions to this code is found in the epitaph of a gladiator by the name of Diodoros:
‘Here I lie victorious, Diodoros the wretched. After felling my opponent Demetrios, I did not kill him immediately. But murderous Fate and the cunning treachery of the summa rudis killed me, and leaving the light I have gone to Hades …’
The text of the inscription suggests that Diodoros, as per the ‘gladiators’ code’, let up on his attack against Demetrios during their bout, believing that he had done enough to secure victory. The dastardly summa rudis, however, (at least from Diodoros’ perspective) did not stop the duel, but allowed it to continue. It was in the second phase of the contest that Demetrios, who evidently was not seriously wounded, slew Diodoros outright, and in so doing, violated the code.70
Of course, despite conventions such as missio that prolonged the average gladiator’s lifespan in the arena, those combatants who fought poorly could still ultimately be condemned to death. When one gladiator had achieved the upper hand over his opponent, and the referee had stopped the contest to await the verdict of the editor and spectators, the losing gladiator would kneel on the arena floor, while his victorious opponent stood behind him with his sword pressed against the base of his neck. Depending upon the verdict, the latter would either sheathe his sword, or plunge it into his opponent’s neck, severing his spinal column. It was now that the defeated gladiator could display the courage and contempt for death so admired by Seneca and other Roman writers. In fact, it was expected that, should the moment come, a true gladiator would not bewail his fate, but would calmly allow himself to be dispatched by his opponent.
After a given bout had concluded, the victorious gladiator, or venator for that matter, would receive his reward from the editor of the spectacle. In the late Republic and early Empire, victors would normally receive a sum of money, as well as the more symbolic prize of a palm branch. Those who fought particularly well could earn the especially prestigious reward of a laurel wreath (corona), or even monetarily valuable items like silver plate. In the later Empire, however, the coronae appear to have supplanted palm branches as a general symbol of victory, and ceased only to be given out to those who had especially distinguished themselves in the arena. Gladiatorial commemorations, be they artistic or epigraphic, often made reference to such palm branches and laurel wreaths as a useful shorthand to indicate the amount of success a given performer had enjoyed in the arena. A good example of the latter practice is the following epitaph of a gladiator from the mid-first century found in Spain: ‘The essedarius Ingenuus, from the ludus Gallicus [‘Gallic school’], a German by birth, lived twenty-five years and won twelve palms …’71
One final aspect of arena spectacles that should be addressed in this chapter is their continuing religious overtones. Although, as we have seen, gladiatorial munera had moved beyond their funereal origins by the end of the Republic, enough of a religious veneer remained that the Christian critic Tertullian, writing at the beginning of the third century, could level the following broadside at such events:
‘…what am I to say about that dreadful place, the amphitheatre? Even perjury could not face it. For it is dedicated to more names, and more awful names, than the Capitol itself; it is the temple of all demons. There are as many unclean spirits gathered there as it can seat men.’72
One manifestation of such religious connotations is found in the terminology of the arena and its architecture. The two main gates leading onto the arena floor, for example, were known as the porta Sanivivaria (‘Gate of Life’) and the porta Libitinensis (‘Gate of Death’). The former was the portal through which performers initially entered the arena, as well as through which those who survived their bouts were able to leave. The latter took its name from Libitina, the Roman goddess who oversaw funerals. It does not require much reasoning to deduce which performers exited the arena through this gate! The corpses of performers killed in combat were taken to the spoliarum, a chamber where their equipment would be stripped off prior to burial after passing through the porta Libitinensis.73
According to Tertullian, the pagan religious overtones of the arena were further betrayed by the costumes worn by many of the arena attendants during a given munus. At least some, for example, dressed as the Roman god Mercury, whose traditional duties included escorting the dead to the underworld. One of their tasks in the arena, according to Tertullian, was to poke prone gladiators to make sure they were dead. Other attendants, either dressed as the Roman god of the underworld, Pluto, or as his Etruscan equivalent, Charon, were specifically assigned the task of dragging dead performers out of the arena with a hook. It should be noted, of course, that Tertullian is the sole ancient author to mention these costumed attendants, and they are not depicted in the extant artistic evidence from the ancient world. It has also been noted by scholars that the ignominious treatment of being dragged out of the arena with a hook was reserved for the noxii, not the regular gladiators or venatores. Nonetheless, it appears unlikely that Tertullian completely fabricated these aspects of a munus, since his contemporaries could have easily refuted such an invention.74
We have examined up to this point the evolution of arena spectacles, as well as their importance within Roman society, which ranged from their perceived entertainment value to the deeper social and propaganda functions ingrained within them. We have also had occasion to survey the wide variety of performers and events that could form part of a given munus. Next, we shall turn our attention to the considerable infrastructure behind the staging of such events. As will become evident, an enormous amount of preparatory organization had to be carried out before the participants in a spectacle even set foot upon the arena floor.