BY ALPER ÖZKAN (MSN/PhD)
d_ozkan@ug.bilkent.edu.tr
I voiced my adoration for Japanese Bug Fights in my last column, but it now occurs to me that, in doing so, I may have sounded excessively cruel toward insects—and so I will try to rectify this by also singing praises of Roman Human Fights, which flourished for a far longer period of time and had developed into a bustling industry by the dawn of Christianity. Far from being mindless slaughter, gladiatorial combat often took place between trained fighters who, if not entirely symmetrical, had thematically contrasting equipment that nonetheless gave each side a fair chance for victory—which, in combination with the public support of famed gladiators and the rarity of executions in later periods, made the event less of a bloodbath and more of an exceptionally gory sport. That being the case, I respect the practice much more than, say, bullfighting: at least gladiator fights are set up to be fair, while the poor fighting bulls are never allowed to see a human on the ground prior to the day of their fight, which is one reason they attack the cape rather than the matador—let them familiarize themselves with their foes, and I would expect these fights to go quite differently.
But I digress, so back to gladiators—they could, for starters, either volunteer for the job or be condemned to it for heavy offenses such as arson, larceny and tax evasion (that last one’s a mighty good argument for bringing back the arena), and their debut could be preceded by a lengthy training period in a gladiator school (because of course there were gladiator schools in ancient Rome). If they volunteered, their gladiator contract (because of course there were gladiator contracts in ancient Rome) stipulated where, when and how they would fight, though would-be gladiators should keep in mind that it also unconditionally made you a slave (yes, even though you volunteered) and sanctioned your execution in the event that you broke it (so it wasn’t that much different from modern contracts). They were rarely mistreated outside the arena, however, and there was a vested interest in keeping them healthy and hearty: an onsite medical staff was available for the trainees, and a fat-rich diet ensured that they would be protected in combat by a layer of blubber—unlike lithe, fast-running modern sportsmen, gladiators seldom needed to cover ground quickly, and a heavyset frame did not particularly hinder their ability to perform within melee range.
Equipment, of course, was the main way of differentiating between various classes of gladiators, though both arms and armor were often quite limited: combatants braved the arena with their weapon(s), a helmet and minimal amounts of protective gear (shields, armguards or even leather straps), the latter of which was sometimes donned on only one side of the body—you were expected to avoid exposing your squishier side to the enemy. Despite these constraints, however, gladiator types were diverse. While the most common emulated the fighting men of the Roman and other armies, you also had the likes of the retiarius, a fisherman who fished for men with his net and trident, or the cestus, a fragile, low-ranking warrior who wore no armor but was more than suitably armed with his namesake, a terrifying cross between brass knuckle and boxing glove that could tear skin with a punch. Mounted combat was another form of entertainment, though I’m inclined to think that these sessions were less fatal than the chariot races of the time—as anyone who has watched “Ben-Hur” will attest, chariot races can be nothing short of murderous. The latter sport even had its own hooligans, who during Byzantine times started the Nika riots, which ended in the deaths of over thirty thousand people (and one of the highest-paid athletes of all time was a chariot-racer, Gaius Appuleius Diocles, who in modern terms earned a total of some 15 billion dollars, so rest assured that the ancient world took their races very, very seriously).
These fights and races were the usual fare: gladiatorial games were commonplace, and even lesser statesmen could hold them—indeed, their origins lay in memorials and funerary rites rather than state-sponsored spectacles. But when a spectacle was desired, one could be provided. In addition to lavish games featuring several hundred veteran gladiators, the Romans also had an event called a naumachia—while gladiators imitated cavalry and infantry, naumachiae simulated naval battles, and preparations for them were slightly more extensive. For starters, you’d, need a lake (natural or manmade—some amphitheaters were even designed to be floodable for these events), some ships and a couple thousand men—preferably those condemned to die, because unlike gladiator combat, there’s no getting out of this fight, and indeed the title quote comes from a naumachia in which the participants were fully aware of their inevitable doom.
Lastly, although gladiators were considered lowly, and respectable citizens were expected not to associate with their lot, high-ranking individuals also fought in the arena. Even senators were known to perform as gladiators proper, though the crazier Roman emperors (so all of them, pretty much) by and large had other ideas, such as fighting a semi-beached whale or murdering a hundred lions in a day
(I’d have expected Commodus to, you know, get bored after the first two dozen or so). But then, those are hardly the craziest things Roman emperors did.