As alluded to periodically in our previous discussion, all munera, whether they were the massive imperial spectacles of Rome, or the countless, much more modest events staged every year throughout Roman territory, required a considerable degree of planning and organization beforehand. As we shall see, the preparation of a successful munus required a veritable army of officials and support personnel, whose responsibilities ranged from training gladiators and other performers to ensuring an adequate supply of healthy animals for a given venatio. One advantage possessed by the emperors in Rome was having the ready resources of the Roman army at hand to help pursue such objectives. Although such behindthe-scenes activities did not garner the attention of the spectacles themselves on the part of ancient writers, enough evidence remains to illustrate the tremendous investment in terms of both money and manpower which was necessary for the staging of munera across Roman territory over the course of several centuries.
One indispensable group in the preparation of an arena spectacle that we have already mentioned was the familia, a group of trained performers headed by a chief trainer/manager known as a lanista. Such groups, as we have seen, began to emerge in the later Republic as the gladiatorial munera became more and more popular. The tens of thousands of prisoners-of-war captured by Roman armies during the last two centuries of the Republic provided, of course, a more than ample pool of potential recruits for these familiae.
When an editor wished to stage a spectacle, he would normally procure the services of a lanista and his familia. The price the spectacle organizer had to pay, of course, depended upon a number of variables, most notably the number of performers he wished to include in his event. Another very important variable was the number of performers killed in the munus. Under ordinary circumstances, it appears, the editor was merely renting the services of a given familia, and the price charged by the lanista came with the nominal understanding that all of his performers would be returned unharmed after the spectacle (or at least not seriously injured). The spectacle organizer, then, had to pay extra compensation for any performers who were incapacitated or killed during his spectacle, an amount that might reach as much as fifty times what he had originally paid for the person in question!1
With the spread of munera across the Empire came the concomitant proliferation of private familiae. We have already noted that priests of the imperial cult in various cities and towns throughout Roman territory purchased a number of these groups to expedite the staging of their spectacles. To judge from the extant evidence, these familiae were not all of a single, uniform type, but could vary in composition. While some groups, like the previously discussed familia from Hierapolis, could include both gladiators and venatores, others included only one category of performer. An inscription from Corsica dating to the late first or early second century, for example, makes mention of a familia venatoria, a local group evidently involved solely with the production of beast hunts.2
A number of other inscriptions make reference to the training system within such groups, in particular the gladiatoriae familiae. As mentioned previously, a prospective arena performer would normally be assigned to a specific fighting discipline soon after joining a given familia, and would thereby pass under the instruction of a specialist in that particular style. Numerous inscriptions found throughout Roman territory attest to doctores (‘trainers’) of the secutores, murmillones, hoplomachi, and other disciplines, all of whom had probably gained their expertise through fighting as gladiators themselves.3
The training regimen gladiators underwent, not surprisingly, was similar in many respects to that found in the Roman army. A novice gladiator (tiro), like an army recruit, would not begin his training by sparring against fellow recruits, a practice which at this stage might have resulted in serious injury, but would instead practice his weapon strokes initially against a wooden stake (palus). The ranking system of gladiators, in turn, took its name from these stakes. Each combatant was ranked within his discipline as ‘first stake’, ‘second stake’, ‘third stake’, and so on, depending upon his proficiency in the arena: the lower the number, the higher the skill level. The number of palus ranks within a typical familia likely numbered four or five, although as many as eight have been attested in the ancient sources. Not surprisingly, many extant gladiatorial epitaphs make note of the palus ranking which the deceased had achieved during his career in the arena: a third century inscription honouring a certain Peregrinus, for example, not only denotes him as a murmillo, but also specifies that he had achieved the rank of primus palus. Ordinarily, gladiators of an equal rank would be pitted against each other in the arena (e.g. a firstrank retiarius against a first-rank secutor), so as to make their contest as evenlymatched as possible, but as we have already seen, novices could be pitted against veterans, sometimes with surprising results!4
Our best evidence for the facilities used by familiae in the smaller towns and cities of the Empire comes, not surprisingly, from Pompeii. The earliest known gladiatorial barracks at Pompeii was originally a private residence converted to house arena performers sometime between the reigns of Augustus and Claudius (14–41 AD). The large open courtyard of the house, along with the numerous small rooms flanking it on three sides, made it an ideal venue for gladiators to both train and live in. It appears that, at any given time, approximately twenty were resident in the house. Our main evidence for their presence in this building is the abundance of preserved graffiti left behind by the gladiators, which indicates that a variety of different gladiators, such as ‘Thracians’, murmillones, and retiarii, all stayed here.5
In 62 AD, because of the earthquake that damaged much of Pompeii in that year, the gladiators were forced to move to a new, and better-known facility, the quadriporticus (colonnaded square) behind the city’s theatre. The extant evidence indicates that the rooms surrounding the square on all four sides were converted to a variety of purposes after 62 AD, including quarters, a kitchen, and a communal dining room. The larger size of this square meant, of course, that substantially more gladiators could be housed here than in the previous barracks in Pompeii. Among the most interesting archaeological finds in the quadriporticus were many examples of gladiatorial armament, as well as the previously discussed skeleton of a young noblewoman (see p. 107). Another skeletal find, that of a newborn infant, may suggest that at least some gladiators in Pompeii lived in the barracks with their families, assuming, of course, that the unfortunate infant was not simply left in the quadriporticus to die at the time of Vesuvius’ eruption in 79 AD. The accumulated evidence from Pompeii, if it can be taken as at all representative of larger trends across the Empire, suggests that, while larger cities may have possessed purpose-built facilities for gladiators and other arena performers, their accommodations and training venues in smaller centres were much more ad hoc in nature.6
Alongside the private groups of gladiators and other arena performers scattered across the Roman Empire in towns like Pompeii were the stateowned familiae. One of the primary inspirations for the latter organizations were the gladiatorial cohorts which had been created in the late Republic under the auspices of prominent political leaders like Julius Caesar, who wished to have a supply of gladiators and other arena performers ready at hand for their munera. The practice of Roman leaders setting up their own private groups of arena performers continued into the imperial period. The emperor Nero, for example, created a new school of imperial gladiators known as the Neroniani, which supplemented the Iuliani, the familia originally instituted by Julius Caesar at Capua that had ultimately come under the control of Augustus and his successors.7
Just as the production of munera in Rome had been brought under much tighter control by the imperial bureaucracy, so too was the supervision of such imperial familiae carefully regulated during the imperial period. A number of inscriptions, in fact, attest to the regional procurators charged with overseeing state-owned familiae in different regions or cities of the Empire. To judge from the other important posts held by attested procurators of various familiae, this particular responsibility was considered to be of great importance, and was only bestowed upon equestrian officials of proven competence. A good example of such a procurator is Publius Cominius Clemens, whose career is recorded for posterity on a late second century inscription discovered near Venice. In addition to his post as procurator of a gladiatorial familia in northern Italy, Clemens is also recorded as having held, at one time or another, other important responsibilities, including command over the fleets stationed at Ravenna and Misenum, as well as the post of imperial procurator in two different provinces.8
Closely associated with the state-owned familiae under the Empire were the various imperial ludi (training schools), as well as their associated personnel. The largest and most famous of these schools, not surprisingly, were located in Rome itself. Pride of place went to the Ludus Magnus (‘Great School’), which was the main gladiatorial training facility in the city. Other gladiatorial barracks in the city included the Ludus Gallicus, evidently so-named because it had originally been built for the training of ‘Gallic’ gladiators, and the Ludus Dacicus (‘Dacian School’). The origin of the latter school’s name is even less clear than that of the Ludus Gallicus, but one plausible suggestion is that it was originally built in the late first or early second century AD to house and train the thousands of Dacian prisoners captured during Domitian’s and Trajan’s campaigns. Rounding out the prominent training schools in Rome was the Ludus Matutinus (‘Morning School’) for venatores, so named because, as we have seen, the beast hunts were traditionally staged in the morning. It is estimated that these ludi in Rome could have housed some 2,000 gladiators and venatores in total at any given time.9
It is not exactly clear when these state-owned training schools came into operation, but it may have been under the Flavian emperors, in the later first century AD. Clearly, the imperial bureaucracy associated with the munera had begun to evolve before that date: Suetonius, for example, mentions an unfortunate curator munerum ac venatioum (‘manager of the gladiatorial games and beast hunts’) who was beaten to death at the orders of Caligula. This emperor is also credited with building the first training school for arena performers in Rome, which may have formed the precedent for later facilities in the city. The earliest, specific references to the administrators of both the Ludus Magnus and Ludus Matutinus, however, date to the reign of Trajan.10
Given the accumulated evidence, a Flavian date for the imperial training facilities in Rome does not appear at all unreasonable. It was under this dynasty, of course, that the Colosseum was constructed, and it is certainly feasible that many associated structures like the Ludus Magnus were also built at this time, to ensure that there were enough trained performers ready at hand to participate in the lavish imperial spectacles made possible by this new facility. The Flavian period also saw an increasing bureaucratization of the munera, with the creation of new administrative posts like the procurator a muneribus (‘manager of the munera’), whose responsibility was to oversee the organization of imperial spectacles. Conceivably the procurators put in charge of the various training schools could have been part of this administrative reorganization as well.11
All of the training schools, and in particular the Ludus Magnus and Ludus Matutinus, were, not surprisingly, located in close proximity to the Colosseum. Unfortunately, however, very little is known of the design and layout of these training schools, with the exception of the Ludus Magnus. The focal point of the latter structure was a large practice arena (63m by 42m in size), similar in layout to that of the Colosseum, and about three-quarters the size of the latter. The seating around the arena of the Ludus Magnus appears to have held up to 3,000 spectators. This venue, of course, not only allowed gladiators to train in conditions as close to those of the Colosseum as possible, but also allowed some Romans, presumably members of the elite, to get a sneak peak at them before the munus proper took place. A final important design feature of the Ludus Magnus was the tunnel connecting it to the Colosseum basement, which allowed gladiators to travel quickly and quietly to the amphitheatre on the day of their performance without being waylaid by overzealous pedestrians.12
The Ludus Matutinus, although only about half the size of the Ludus Magnus, appears to have been closely based in design upon the latter structure. Like the Ludus Magnus, for example, the Ludus Matutinus featured a practice arena for the performers housed within its walls. It is possible that a tunnel also connected the latter building to the Colosseum basement for the safe movement of both venatores and animals. Although the evidence is certainly not conclusive, it has been suggested that a passage branching off to the south from the tunnel connecting the Ludus Magnus and Colosseum originally led to the Ludus Matutinus. Such an arrangement certainly would have made sense, since the last thing spectacle organizers wanted was for members of their audience to be mauled on the streets by wild animals on their way to the arena!13
As might be expected, given the close relationship between gladiatorial spectacles and the beast hunts under the Empire, the same person, at least on occasion, could hold the procuratorship of both the Ludus Magnus and the Ludus Matutinus. A late second century inscription from Palestrina, for example, records that a certain Titus Flavius Germanus, among many other important posts, was procurator of both ludi at successive points in his career. Similarly, another fragmentary inscription from Sicily, dating to the late second or third century AD, records an unnamed individual as having not only been in charge of the Ludus Magnus and Ludus Matutinus during his career, but also having been at one time procurator of the gladiatorial familiae in Sicily, Aemilia (north-eastern Italy) and Dalmatia (the presentday Croatian coast).14
As in the case of the previously discussed procurators of the imperial familiae, the procuratorship of the training schools, to judge from the extant epigraphic evidence, was only entrusted to equestrian officials of proven competence. Many of the attested officials, particularly in the case of the Ludus Magnus, had held previous military postings, which undoubtedly would have proven useful in their supervision of hundreds of armed arena combatants in the heart of Rome. The procuratorship of the Ludus Magnus, however, was a more prestigious post than that of the Ludus Matutinus, with holders of the former position earning an annual salary of 200,000 sesterces, considerably higher than the sum paid out to procuratores Ludi Matutini. The salary paid to the procurator of the Ludus Magnus, in fact, made him one of the highest-paid members of the imperial bureaucracy in Rome.15
Such officials, of course, are not the only personnel of the state-owned ludi attested by the epigraphic evidence. Numerous imperial freedmen worked under the auspices of the procurators, in a variety of capacities, to ensure the smooth functioning of their respective facilities. Among the personnel attested by extant inscriptions, for example, are a dispensator Ludi Magni (‘steward of the Ludus Magnus’), a commentariensis Ludi Matutini, who evidently served as administrative secretary to the procurator of the ‘Morning School’, and even a cursor Ludi Magni (‘messenger of the Ludus Magnus’). One of the more important attested officials, arguably, was the praepositus armentario Ludi Magni, who was in charge of the weapons armory (armentarium) attached to the training school. Not surprisingly, medici (‘doctors’) are also known to have been in residence at both the Ludus Magnus and Ludus Matutinus.16
Those editores who wished to stage a venatio as part of their munus, be they municipal officials or the emperors themselves, were faced with one particular challenge: namely, ensuring the successful capture and live transport of various wild animals to their ultimate destinations. Certainly, as we have already seen, it was common for at least some of the beasts imported for a given spectacle to die in transit before even reaching the towns or cities in which they were slated to appear. Another potential difficulty, which we shall have occasion to address, was keeping those animals who did successfully arrive at their destinations alive and in good health until the day of their spectacle.
Despite the challenges of the animal trade, however, a number of civilian entrepreneurs are known to have made their livings from this profession. We have already encountered a certain Patiscus who, as the correspondence of Cicero indicates, evidently supplied various exotic animals to wealthy and powerful clients in Rome during the late Republic. Such private entrepreneurs involved in the animal trade continued to exist even centuries later, as subsequent correspondence from the fourth and early fifth centuries confirms. In a series of letters from the mid-fourth century concerning his attempts to round up animals for upcoming spectacles in the eastern city of Antioch, the noted rhetorician and political figure, Libanius, twice mentions a certain Polycarp who, like Patiscus, evidently had under his employ a group of hunters who captured and shipped exotic beasts for wealthy clients. A few decades after Libanius’ correspondence, the Roman aristocrat Symmachus wrote another series of letters detailing his own attempts to procure animals for future spectator events in Rome. Like his predecessors, Symmachus also made use of private personnel to oversee the capture and shipment of beasts to Rome; one seeming difference in the case of Symmachus’ preparations, however, is that he also sent many members of his household staff to assist in the procurement of animals as well.17
Another apparent constant in the organization of animal spectacles over the centuries was that those involved in such an endeavour sought to make use of powerful political contacts to expedite the process as much as possible, just as Caelius pestered Cicero to find him some leopards while the latter was governor of Cilicia. Among the political notables solicited by Libanius centuries later in an attempt to procure animals and performers for upcoming spectacles in Antioch were the vicars of Asia (the regional governors of Roman provinces in what is now western Turkey), as well as the current governors of Bithynia and Phoenicia. Similarly, in his own attempts to facilitate the production of animal events in Rome, Symmachus pestered such notables as the praetorian prefect of Italy, the governor of Africa, and even the powerful general Stilicho, who at the time was arguably the most powerful man in the western Empire.18
Another interesting constant in many of these letters, regardless of whether they date to the late Republic or Empire, is the arguments used to try to persuade various correspondents to agree to what must have been expensive and time-consuming requests. As we have already seen in our survey of late Republican munera, for example (see p. 14), Caelius emphasized the alleged damage to Cicero’s reputation that would result if he failed to procure any leopards for Caelius’ spectacle in Rome.19
Centuries later, Libanius’ letter to the governor of Phoenicia, Andronicus, similarly stresses the loss of personal and political standing that would theoretically ensue should the governor not honour Libanius’ request:
‘Well, perfection in the beast-shows depends mainly upon you [Andronicus]. Phoenicia produces expert huntsmen, and if you are willing, we shall employ them; if not, we will be deficient in this respect, and people will reproach not us, for our disappointment, but the one who pays no regard to his friends, for no one is unaware of the fact that we are inviting people from there or of the person to whom we direct our request.’20
One complicating factor in the preparation of animal spectacles that earlier editores like Caelius did not have to deal with, but is readily apparent in the later correspondence of Libanius and Symmachus, was potential interference on the part of the emperor and his officials. In our earlier survey of spectacles staged outside Rome, we already encountered some examples of local editores being granted imperial permission to stage particularly extravagant munera (at least by local standards). The letters of Symmachus and Libanius, however, clearly show that such imperial permission became even more important in the late Empire, particularly as the supply of exotic animals available for various spectacles became ever more reduced.
In the letter just quoted, for example, Libanius was asking Andronicus to overlook the fact that the current emperor, Constantius II, had already requested the huntsmen and animals in question for one of his own spectacles. In a subsequent letter, Libanius pleaded with yet another high official to work around the emperor’s demand for animals, all so that Libanius’ cousin would have enough beasts for his own event. Similarly, Symmachus had to do his own cajoling of the emperor and his representatives when arranging another series of spectacles a few decades later in Rome. One particular challenge was securing a supply of lions. As we shall see in our next chapter, lions were placed under an imperial monopoly in the late Empire, apparently because of their reduced population in Roman territory. As a result, Symmachus had to write more than one letter requesting an imperial indulgence for the inclusion of such animals in his son’s munera.21
Much of our written evidence for the civilians actually involved in the capture and transport of beasts for the munera consists of allusions to men like Patiscus in the correspondence of Cicero, Libanius, and Symmachus. Much more testimony is available, as will be seen, for the involvement of Roman military personnel in the animal trade. Nonetheless, in addition to the evidence already cited, there is some limited epigraphic testimony pertaining to civilians who made a living supplying the venationes. Two early third-century inscriptions from the area of modern day Salzburg, for example, suggest that members of the household staff of a certain Lollius Honoratus were involved in animal capture, possibly, at least in part, for local spectacles. A certain Profuturus is identified as a vestigiator (tracker of wild animals), while one of Honoratus’ slaves is denoted as a cinctor, a term meaning one who set traps or snares.22
Other epigraphic evidence from modern day Austria, in particular the associated reliefs depicting hunters in pursuit of such animals as bears, deer, and even a lion, also suggest that the prominent family of the Albii were involved in a similar occupation. One of these inscriptions, a dedication made to the health of one of the Albii by a local governor in the early third century, may have been commissioned because the former earned the governor’s solicitude by previously supplying the animals for one of his spectacles. It is no surprise, of course, that various entrepreneurs like the Albii could make a lucrative living from the animal trade in a wildlife-rich area like Austria. It is reasonable to assume that civilians could have been involved in such an occupation in some of the other less-settled frontier regions of the Empire, although much of the specific evidence for their activities appears to have vanished in the intervening centuries.23
Far more literary and epigraphic evidence survives in relation to the Roman army’s role in capturing animals for the venationes. The two principal reasons for this appear to be, first of all, that the various personnel of the military were very fastidious in recording their activities for posterity, and secondly, that the munera with which the Roman army was involved were larger and more important spectacles, more likely to be commemorated in the epigraphic record. In particular, Roman troops, as we shall see, were an indispensable source of labour with which the emperor and his officials could collect animals from across Roman territory for a given event. In a happy coincidence, most Roman troops settled on the less populated frontiers of the Empire, where wild animals were relatively abundant.
Although most of the extant evidence for Roman military involvement in the animal trade comes from various inscriptions, a number of literary references also attest to the practice of hunting in the Roman army. A third century encyclopedic work known as the Cestes, for example, actually recommends capturing animals in the wild as a useful military exercise, and includes instructions for capturing lions in particular. Similarly, Vegetius, in his treatise on the Roman military written in the late fourth century, states that stag and boar hunters make ideal recruits for the army. It should be noted, of course, that not every mention of hunting in such sources is necessarily related to capturing animals for Roman spectacles: at least some of the game captured or killed by Roman troops could have been used for other purposes, such as a supplement to the regular soldiers’ diet. Nonetheless, it appears unlikely that soldiers involved in as mundane a task as killing animals for the dinner table would have their achievements commemorated for posterity so often in the extant epigraphic record.24
One of the best illustrations of the Roman army’s role in capturing animals for the arena comes from an inscription datable to 147 AD found on the Danube frontier in modern day Bulgaria:
‘Tiberius Claudius Ulpianus, tribune of the First Cilician Cohort, with vexillations of the First Legion Italica, the Eleventh Legion Claudia, and the Flavian fleet of Moesia, because of the successful capture of bears and bisons ordered by the legate Claudius Saturninus for the imperial venatio, dedicated an altar to Diana …’25
The background to this particular dedication is that Saturninus, the current governor of the Roman province of Moesia, ordered troops from different military units under his command, including two separate legions, as well as the local fleet on the Danube, to capture and transport various wild beasts for an upcoming imperial spectacle. The most likely candidate for the venatio in question is the previously-mentioned lavish event which the current emperor, Antoninus Pius, staged to celebrate the 900th anniversary of the city of Rome in 148 or 149, an event which was noted for the wide variety of animals which participated in it. The European bisons – now extinct – mentioned in the inscription were likely a particular target for the troops involved in capturing animals, to add extra variety to the Emperor’s event. This particular inscription, in fact, marks the first time this species is mentioned in extant Latin epigraphy, suggesting that it had appeared in few, if any, previous spectacles. Although not attested in the extant epigraphic record, it is likely, given the circumstances, that governors of other provinces (at least those with a sizeable population of wild animals) were likewise instructed by the imperial bureaucracy to round up as many local beasts as possible for Pius’ venatio.26
One drawback of the inscription just cited is that it does not give us any details relating to the capture of the bears and bisons for the event in question. Apart from recorded Roman military expeditions into central Africa and their possible connection to the exhibition of such animals as Domitian’s rhinoceros, which we have already had occasion to address, very few specific animal capturing expeditions are recorded in the extant sources. Among the possible reasons for this comparative silence is that such activities were considered part of a Roman soldier’s regular duties, and normally took place relatively close to the fort(s) in which the participating soldiers were stationed: only those expeditions that were unusually large, or took place over an extended area may have been deemed worthy of commemoration for posterity.
One such expedition appears to be recorded on a fragmentary late second century inscription found in modern day Algeria. Like the previously discussed text from Bulgaria, the Algerian inscription mentions multiple military units: in this case, units normally stationed some 400kms to the east, in the Roman province of Numidia. One of the major questions pertaining to this inscription, therefore, is what these troops were doing so far from their regular base of operations. Two conclusions may be drawn from the preserved portion of the text. First, the mission they were on was considered important enough that the governor of Numidia himself rewarded their commander, a centurion by the name of Catulus, with a promotion. Secondly, the mission had something to do with lions over a forty-day period, as explicitly stated in one of the fragments of the inscription: ‘… laeones [in] diebus XL …’ The most likely conjecture, based upon this evidence, is that the soldiers were hunting or capturing lions during this period, in an area on the fringes of the Empire evidently considered to be relatively rich in wildlife.27
The mission in question, assuming our interpretation is correct, bears a number of similarities to another animal capturing expedition undertaken on the northern frontier of the Empire, near modern day Cologne. The latter undertaking is recorded in a late first or early second century inscription, which commemorates the achievements of the centurion Restitutus in capturing fifty bears over a six-month period. In both instances, the number of troops involved appears to have been relatively modest, to judge from the units specifically mentioned in both texts. Centurions like Catulus or Restitutus, junior commanders within the Roman military, would have been ideally suited to lead such small-scale expeditions. A final similarity is that both missions were evidently to be completed within a set period, be it forty or fifty days: presumably, Catulus’ and Regulus’ commanders did not want them taken away for too long from their other military duties.28
From the available evidence, we are comparatively well informed on the types of specialist soldiers who might have participated in missions like those of Catulus and Regulus. A number of sources, for example, specifically mention venatores immunes in the Roman army, who were specialist hunters granted an exemption (immunitas) from some of the more mundane military duties in return for their hunting expertise. Other attested immunes within the Roman army included weapons-smiths, bookkeepers, and even trumpet players. Among the known military hunters are two soldiers, Julius Longinus and Flavius Valerius, from the same camp in modern-day Bulgaria where the previously discussed inscription concerning preparations for an imperial venatio was found. Since the inscription denoting them as venatores immunes was commissioned only eight years after the earlier text, it is entirely possible, of course, that Longinus and Valerius were actually involved in the preparations in 147 AD for the upcoming spectacle in Rome.29
Some soldiers evidently possessed even more specialized hunting skills. The vestigiatores who were active in the civilian sphere, for example, could also be found in the Roman military. Such trackers appear to be alluded to in the aforementioned Cestes of Julius Africanus. In his section on the proper techniques of lion capture for the military, the author advises that, as a first step, the trackers specializing in large felines should locate the animal’s lair. A second century pottery sherd from the site of the Roman fort at present day Zugmantel in Germany, inscribed with the word vesstigiatorum [sic] (‘of the trackers’) suggests the presence there of such specialists. In addition, a fragmentary first or second century letter from Roman Egypt, containing the term vestigiator transliterated from Latin into Greek, also indicates that such specialists were active in that particular corner of the Empire. The fact that the letter makes use of the transliterated Latin term, rather than simply using the Greek word for ‘tracker’, suggests the word denoted an official title within the local Roman military.30
A number of surviving inscriptions from the Roman provinces along the Rhine frontier also attest to the existence of specialist ursarii (‘bear hunters’) within the Roman army. Examples include a third century dedication to the forest god Silvanus from an ursarius of the 30th Legion stationed in Lower Germany, as well as another, similar dedication made to both Silvanus and Diana by unnamed ursarii in the province of Raetia (roughly modern day Switzerland). The Rhine frontier, to judge from such evidence, as well as the previously mentioned inscription from Cologne detailing a bear-capturing expedition, was comparatively abundant in such animals in antiquity.31
Specialist lion hunters also seem to have existed within the military on Rome’s eastern frontier. Our best evidence for such troops comes from the site of Dura-Europos on the upper Euphrates, situated in a region that appears to have been relatively abundant in wildlife during the period under discussion. Several of the soldiers listed in surviving troop rosters from Dura-Europos, namely, have the notation ad leones (‘to/for the lions’) added next to their names. This rather curious notation suggests that the troops in question were involved in hunting/capturing lions or, perhaps, looking after such animals in captivity before they were shipped west – as we shall see shortly, some Roman units, in addition to their hunting activities, appear to have maintained their own vivaria (animal enclosures). One alternative suggestion to explain the presence of the ‘lion soldiers’ at Dura Europos is that, rather than being involved with the preparation for venationes, they were instead assigned to kill lions for officers within their unit like the signiferi (standard-bearers), who are known to have worn lion skins as part of their uniforms. One problem with this suggestion, however, is that the number of attested ‘lion soldiers’ appears too large for merely satisfying uniform needs. In 222, for example, there were as many soldiers assigned ad leones in the Dura Europos cohort as there were signiferi.32
The hunters involved in the preparations for various spectacles, be they soldiers or civilians, used the same techniques to capture and transport their quarry. Much of our evidence for these techniques comes from surviving artistic evidence, in particular mosaics from Roman North Africa, where many of the exotic animals for the venationes were captured. A number of such works, for example, illustrate the use of nets to surround and entrap a wide variety of beasts. The most informative artwork in depicting exotic animal capture and transport, however, the so-called ‘Great Hunt’ mosaic, is found not in North Africa, but at the site of a Roman villa near Piazza Armerina in Sicily. The sheer size of the mosaic (some 70m in length), as well as its central position within the villa complex, suggests that the unknown owner of the estate was intimately involved with the activities depicted in the mosaic, perhaps as a senior official in the imperial bureaucracy.33
The mosaic in question takes as its theme the capture of exotic animals from throughout the known world as a demonstration of Roman hegemony, a claim made clear by the personifications of India and Africa at either end of the mosaic. There are certainly some fantastic or unrealistic elements in the scene, such as the gryphon included as one of the allusions to India, whence the creature supposedly originated, or the single hunter shown carrying an ostrich all by himself, something physically impossible in real life. Nonetheless, in its depiction of the capture and transport of various animals, including lions, tigers, gazelles, elephants, and boars, the mosaic does provide a relatively realistic portrayal of at least some contemporary practices. One such practice illustrated in the mosaic is the collaboration of both civilian and military hunters in the capture and transport of beasts. Although we have discussed civilian and military hunters separately in this chapter, in reality the two groups must have frequently worked together, particularly when it came to gathering animals for large-scale venationes like those put on by the emperors in Rome. Also worthy of note are the animal cages depicted on both an oxcart and ship in the mosaic, very similar to the containers shown elsewhere in Roman art.34
Of the two methods of transport depicted in the Piazza Armerina mosaic, seaborne and overland, the Romans preferred to use the former as much as possible. Sea travel was much faster than land transport in antiquity, and correspondingly cheaper. One must keep in mind, in the case of any live animal shipment, that the beasts in question had to be fed during their journey, and depending upon the size and number of animals on a particular vessel or overland caravan, the costs of feeding them could become exorbitant. A single elephant, for example, requires at least twenty-seven kilograms of food and fifty litres of water per day.35
Such was the demand for exotic animals at the height of the Roman Empire that at least some shipping companies appear to have specialized in this lucrative cargo. Our best evidence for such business ventures comes from the so-called Square of the Corporations at Ostia, which was the main port of Rome. The floor mosaics surrounding this square were often decorated with scenes pertaining to the shipping interests of the businesses that commissioned them, and such evidence suggests that at least three of these corporations were involved in the animal trade. Not surprisingly, all three of the offices in question appear to have been set up by shipping concerns based in North Africa which, as we have already seen, was one of the most important sources for exotic animals used in Roman spectacles. Two of the mosaics, including one specifically identified as representing the shippers of Sabratha (in modern day Libya), are simply decorated with animals like elephants, stags, and boars, which suggests, perhaps, that the animal trade was the primary commercial interest of the companies involved. The third mosaic, commissioned by shippers based in Sullectum (modern day Tunisia) is not as explicit in terms of its connection to the exotic animal trade: it depicts two merchant vessels arriving at the port of Ostia. The top of an animal cage, however, can be seen in one of the vessels, suggesting that wild animals were indeed among the commodities shipped out of Sullectum.36
Despite the Roman preference for the maritime transport of animals, the vast majority would be transported overland for at least part of their journey, unless hunters were fortunate enough to capture a given animal in close proximity to a port city. We have less information on the logistics of overland animal shipment than on maritime transport during the Roman period, but one particular text gives us at least some idea of the challenges the former could represent. The text in question is an edict issued by the joint emperors Theodosius II and Honorius in 417 AD:
‘Through the lamentation of the office staff of the Governor of Euphrates, We learn that those persons who by the ducal office staff are assigned to the task of transporting wild beasts remain, instead of seven or eight days, three or four months in the city of Hieropolis, contrary to the general rule of delegations, and in addition to the expenses for such a long period they also demand cages, which no custom permits to be furnished. We therefore direct that if any beasts are sent by the duke of the border to the imperial court, they shall not be retained longer than seven days within any municipality. The dukes and their office staffs shall know that if anything contrary hereto is done, they must pay five pounds of gold each to the account of the fisc.’37
The city of Hieropolis, with its strategic position between the upper Euphrates and the Mediterranean coast, was one of the major way-stations for animals and other goods being shipped from Rome’s eastern frontier to points further west. As the edict suggests, in the late Empire at least, military personnel under the command of the provincial duces (generals) were responsible for supervising the transport of animals for imperial spectacles, and evidently had the authority to demand provisions and the like from the municipal councils of cities like Hieropolis which lay on their route. Importantly, however, these personnel were not to overstay their welcome, since supplying a group of animals and their handlers for even a few days could prove to be onerous for municipal officials. The crux of the complaint that gave rise to this edict, of course, was that some personnel involved in the animal trade were abusing their privileges, and forcing the city of Hieropolis to cater to their needs for months, rather than days at a time. To judge from the size of the threatened fines at the end of the edict, such an abuse of power was not limited to Hieropolis alone.38
Among the most critical components of the venationes’ infrastructure were the animal enclosures (vivaria) found in military establishments and cities throughout Roman territory. Beasts destined for the arena would have to be safely contained and looked after at various points, whether in way-stations like Hieropolis, or in their destination cities awaiting the day of a spectacle. Not surprisingly, a number of such facilities appear to have been located in close proximity to Roman frontier forts: the soldiers stationed at these sites were evidently responsible for not only capturing animals, but also looking after them before they began their journeys to their ultimate destination. The Roman troops stationed at Cologne, for example, who were involved in capturing bears for the spectacles, also maintained just such a structure, to judge from an inscription recording that a centurion stationed there ‘… vivarium saepsit’ [‘fenced in an enclosure’]. Cologne would have been an ideal gathering point for animals captured on the Rhine frontier, especially after it became headquarters of the Rhine fleet (the classis Germanica) in the late first century.39
The Praetorian Guard also maintained its own vivarium in the heart of Rome. We have already seen that the emperors, at least on occasion, entrusted these elite troops with various animal capturing responsibilities. Their spectacle-related duties also extended to the care and upkeep of various animals after their capture, as illustrated by the relevant epigraphic evidence. A third century inscription, for example, explicitly identifies some members of the Praetorian Guard as venatores immunes cum custode vivari (‘specialist hunters with jurisdiction over the enclosure’). In addition, the medici veterinarii (‘veterinary doctors’) attested as belonging to the Praetorian Guard may have looked after the more exotic beasts in this enclosure in addition to the cavalry horses possessed by the unit.40
Not surprisingly, the imperial bureaucracy also maintained a number of other vivaria in and around Rome to ensure the smooth production of the various large-scale venationes attested in the sources. One of the best known is an enclosure described by the sixth-century historian Procopius as being located just outside the city walls beside the Porta Praenestina, one of the main gates on the eastern side of Rome. Although no physical evidence survives of this structure, the fact that locals referred to an area south of this gate as the vivarium for centuries thereafter, and that ancient wall-paintings depicting a variety of exotic animals, including lions, elephants, and a giraffe were discovered in the same area during the Renaissance, strongly suggests the accuracy of Procopius’ testimony. Certainly, the Via Praenestina leading from the gate to the heart of the city would have provided relatively direct and easy access for animals brought to the Colosseum and/or the Ludus Matutinus.41
More evidence exists, however, for the enclosure (or enclosures) located at Laurentum, some 24kms south of Rome. The natural advantages of the site evidently made it an ideal location for such facilities. First, Laurentum was relatively close to the port of Ostia, and animals offloaded there, particularly those that had to wait for an extended period of time before appearing in a spectacle, could be easily transferred to Laurentum and kept there without endangering the populace of Rome. Secondly, the area possessed an ample supply of fresh water for the animals. The advantages of Laurentum in this regard were evidently recognized at an early date: the late Republican aristocrat Quintus Hortensius, for example, is known to have possessed a large animal enclosure at this site.42
One particular group of exotic animals that appears to have been kept longterm at Laurentum was the imperial elephant herd. A freedman procurator Laurento ad elephantos [‘manager of the elephants at Laurentum’] is attested as early as the mid-first century, and the elephant vivarium implied by this title seems to have continued in existence well into the following century at least. The poet Juvenal, writing early in the second century, appears to refer to this same enclosure in the following extract from his work:
… here there are none, not even for cash. Such a beast doesn't breed in Latium or anywhere in our climate. It’s grazing in Rutulian forests and the land of Turnus, for sure, but brought from the dark nation, a herd that belongs to Caesar. They are not prepared to be the slave of any private individual …’43
It is also likely that the elephants hastily assembled by the emperor Didius Julianus in a vain attempt to defend Rome against the forces of Septimius Severus in 193 were levied from Laurentum.44
Other freedmen officials attested in the epigraphic evidence may also have overseen various animals sequestered at Laurentum. The first, who was active in the later first century, is described on his tombstone as praepositus camellorum [‘supervisor of the camels’]. Two other officials, both active about a century later, are described on their respective tombstones as praepositus herbariarum [‘supervisor of the herbivores’] and adiutor ad feras [‘assistant overseeing the wild beasts’]. The second of these epitaphs implies, of course, that there was at least one other official above the adiutor in the hierarchy of the vivarium. Another, more general conclusion to be drawn from all of these inscriptions is that animals of different types or categories, each with their own assigned supervisory staff, were divided up among the imperial enclosures. This only makes sense, of course, since it is not difficult to imagine the chaos that would result if ferae like lions were not kept segregated from herbivores like antelopes!45
Unfortunately, little detailed information has been preserved concerning the care and training of such animals in Roman enclosures. We know, for example, very little about the support staff working under such officials as the procurator ad elephantos. It is evident, however, that the Romans often imported foreign trainers to work with various exotic animals and prepare them for the din of the arena, in the belief, certainly valid in many instances, that personnel native to the same regions as their animal charges would make better trainers. Augustus, to name just one example, imported native tribesmen from Upper Egypt, along with several crocodiles, for one of his spectacles in Rome. Such a practice, of course, was not confined to ancient times: when British authorities brought the first hippo seen in Europe since the fall of Rome to London in the mid-nineteenth century, they were also careful to bring along an expert Egyptian trainer.46
One of the major challenges faced by those staging various animal spectacles, as alluded to previously, was keeping their beasts well fed and in fighting trim until the day of their appearance in the arena. Apuleius describes the misfortune befalling even the most conscientious of editores in his Metamorphoses:
‘But such grand and splendid preparations for the public’s pleasure [on the part of the editor Demochares] did not escape the baleful eyes of Envy. The bears, exhausted by their lengthy captivity, emaciated from the burning summer heat, and listless from their sedentary inactivity, were attacked by a sudden epidemic and had their numbers reduced almost to nothing.You could see the animal wreckage of their moribund carcasses lying scattered in most of the streets.’47
The Metamorphoses, it should be noted, is a work of fiction; nonetheless, Apuleius appears to be describing a scenario familiar to his contemporaries in the second century AD. Certainly, Symmachus, writing well over a century later, described similar problems with the ill health of the animals he had procured for various spectacles. Of sixteen horses he sent to Rome for one such event, for example, the majority either died en route or perished in the city before they were exhibited to the public.48
One particular challenge was keeping carnivorous animals properly fed. A single leopard, by way of example, requires 4lbs of meat per day. While herbivores could be fed with local crops, or with some of the vast quantities of grain regularly shipped to Rome and other large cities of the Empire, there were not as many readily apparent means to keep animals like lions from starving to death in captivity. One solution, certainly, was using cattle or other livestock to feed carnivores in their enclosures. Such a method, however, could become expensive. Indeed, Caligula is said to have fed condemned criminals to wild animals as a cost-saving measure. Another inexpensive source of meat, in particular for scavengers like lions, may have been the carcasses of wild beasts already slaughtered in the arena. There is not much evidence for this mundane practice, but the historian Ammianus Marcellinus is perhaps alluding to it when he compares the frenzy of Gallic troops to that of caged animals driven mad by the scent of carrion.49
Another related cost-saving measure pursued by the Romans, albeit with limited success, was the attempt to breed certain exotic animals in captivity. Such an attempt, if successful, would defray the considerable costs associated with capturing various beasts in the wild and transporting them long distances across Roman territory. To judge from the extant evidence, the Romans appear to have enjoyed a fair amount of success in breeding certain beasts like ostriches and African wild rams – animals that could acclimate to the Italian conditions with relative ease. Other animals, however, appear to have been far less fecund in captivity. Although the ancient sources record two spectacles that featured, respectively, twelve elephants and a rhinoceros born in Italy, these appear to have been isolated instances, and any breeding programme involving such animals certainly appears to have enjoyed limited success.50
Despite such challenges, and despite what we as a modern society might think of the types of spectacle so popular in ancient Rome, the achievement of the Romans in creating and maintaining the necessary infrastructure for both gladiatorial and animal events over hundreds of years is nonetheless impressive. Eventually, however, even the considerable resources of the Roman state, which at one time must have appeared inexhaustible, proved unable to maintain this apparatus. As the territory and wealth of Rome shrank in the later Empire, so too did the scale of her munera, until they disappeared entirely; it is this decline to which we shall now turn our attention.