Darkness and Dawn; Or, Scenes in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  _THE FIGHT IN THE ARENA_

  ‘Quid vesani sibi vult ars impia ludi? Quid mortes juvenum? quid sanguine parta voluptas?’

  PRUDENTIUS.

  ‘Mera homicidia sunt.’--SENECA, _Ep._ 7.

  The morning broke in cloudless splendour. Long before the dawnthousands of the Roman populace had thronged into the amphitheatreto secure the best places. The City Præfect was known to be a man oftaste and a favourite of Nero, and the Emperor himself was certain tograce the display with his idolised presence. The pairs of gladiatorswere not numerous, nor were there many wild beasts; but everythingwas to be choice of its kind, and it was rumoured that some beautifulforeign youths were to make their first appearance as fighters.

  About eleven o’clock the rays of the sun became too strong forcomfort, and a huge awning, decorated with gay streamers, was drawnover the audience by gilded cords.

  By this time the amphitheatre, except the seats reserved fordistinguished persons, was thronged from the lowest seats to thetopmost ambulatory, where stood a dense array of slaves and of thelowest proletariat. They did not get tired of waiting, for the scenewas one of continual bustle and brightness, as group after groupof burghers, in their best array, took their seats with their wivesand families. Any well-known patrician or senator was greeted withapplause or with hisses. The buzz of general conversation sometimesrose into a roar of laughter, and sometimes sank into a hush ofexpectancy. Little incidents kept occurring every moment. Interloperstried to thrust themselves into the fourteen rows of seats which wereset apart for the knights, and an altercation often ensued betweenthe seat-keeper, Oceanus, and these impostors. Now the people laughedat the unceremonious way in which he shook one of them who, to escapenotice, had pretended to be asleep. They were still more amused whenthe impatient official turned out a finely dressed personage whoprotested that he was a knight, but unluckily dropped in the scufflea large key, which showed him to be a slave.

  At last the shouting of the multitude who thronged about theprincipal entrance announced the arrival of the Præfect. Amid theacclamations of the populace, the magnificent procession by whichPedanius was accompanied passed round the arena to the reservedseats. Pedanius was scarcely seated, when the Emperor, surroundedby a group of his most brilliant courtiers, took his place in theimperial box. As the roar of applause continued, he rose againand again with his hand on his heart, to bow and cringe before thepublic--_omnia serviliter pro imperio_. For the mob of Rome was atonce his master and his slave, and was as ready at slight excuseto burst into open menaces as into blasphemous adulation. Nero wasas well aware as Tiberius that ‘he was only holding a wolf by theears;’ and he often quoted the saying of that keen observer, thatfew realised ‘what a monster Empire was.’

  Then Pedanius rose in his seat and flung down the scarlet napkinwhich was the signal that the sports were to begin.

  The opening amusements were harmless and curious. First a numberof German aurochs were led round the circus. They had been trainedto stand still while boys hung from their huge horns, or dancedand fenced standing on their broad backs. A tiger was guided byits keeper with a chain of flowers. Four chariots swept past insuccession, the first drawn by leopards with gay silken harness,the second by stags champing golden bits, the third by shaggy bisons,the fourth by four camels who amused the people by their expressionof supercilious disapproval. Then an elephant performed some clumsydances under the bidding of its black keeper. Next a winged boyled in a wild boar by a purple halter. Last of all, a tame lion wasintroduced, which, to the delight of the shouting populace, dandleda hare in its paws without hurting it, and then suffered its keeperto put his head and his hand in its open mouth. But at this point afrightful tragedy occurred. Wherever the dazzling white sand of thearena chanced to have been disturbed or stained, it was raked smooth,and fresh sand sprinkled, by boys dressed as Cupids with glitteringwings. One of these boys, presuming on the lion’s tameness, hitit rather sharply with his rake. The royal brute had been alreadyexcited by hearing the howling of the animals of all sorts withwhich the _vivarium_ was crowded, as well as by the shouts of thespectators, and its keeper had stupidly neglected to notice the signsof its rising rage. But when the sharp edge of the rake struck it,the lion’s mane bristled, and with a terrific snarl he first laidthe poor lad dead with one stroke of his paw, and then sprang with amighty bound upon a second lad, on whose quivering limbs he fleshedhis claws and teeth.[77] A cry of horror and alarm rose from thepeople, and those who sat just above the level of the amphitheatrestarted up in terror, for they were only protected from the wildbeasts by rails, which had been finished off with amber and silver,but did not look very strong. The brute, which had thus shown ‘a wildtrick of its ancestors,’ was soon overpowered, for the keeper wasskilled in the use of the lasso. But this incident did but whetthe appetite of the spectators for blood. They shouted to Pedaniusto begin the _venatio_ and the wild-beast fights which formed themorning show. No expense had been spared to sate the insatiablecruelty of the mob. For an hour or two longer they were gratifiedwith a prodigality of anguish. Ostriches and giraffes were chasedround and round, and shot to death with arrows. Wild beasts foughtwith tame beasts and with wild beasts, and beasts with men. Bears,lions, and tigers were worried and hacked by armed _bestiarii_, andsometimes a _bestiarius_ in his turn lay rolling on the sand, crushedby a bear or torn by the fierce struggles of a panther. Lastly,some unskilled, defenceless criminals were turned loose into theamphitheatre amid a fresh batch of animals, infuriated by hungerand mad with excitement. None of the poor weaponless wretches--_sinearmis, sine arte, seminudi_--could stand up for a moment againstthe bear’s hug or the tiger’s leaps. They stood in attitudes ofdespairing stupefaction, watching the horrible rolling gait of thebears, or the crouching of the tigers as they glared on them withyellow eyeballs and bristling manes, lashing their haunches withtheir tails, and at last, with a hoarse carnivorous roar, curvingtheir backs for the final spring. The _venatio_ degenerated into amere butchery meant to fill up the time.[78]

  All this was regarded as child’s play in comparison with the luxuryof courage, skill, and massacre which was expected in the afternoon;but it was already too much for one of the spectators. This wasthe philosophic thaumaturge Apollonius of Tyana, who happened to bepaying a brief visit to Pætus Thrasea. Thrasea had been compelled tobe present, because he knew that everything which he did or failed todo was watched with deadly suspicion; and Apollonius had accompaniedhis host from a desire to see the strange animals which were to beexhibited. At first he had looked on with real delight and interest;but when he saw the noble creatures wantonly killed, his Greekinstinct for the beautiful was disgusted. He had been shocked bythe callousness with which the vast audience had recovered from itsmomentary fright when the two poor boys had been slain by the lions;but when he saw them shouting with delight while the arena was wetwith the blood of mangled men and tortured beasts, he turned his backon the amphitheatre with disdain and horror, and whispered in the earof his companion, ‘Rome is a Bacchante rolling in blood and mud.’

  Of all these scenes Onesimus and Glanydon had been spectators;and such spectacles were little calculated to dispel the gloom ofdreadful anticipation which hung over the coming afternoon. Theyhad marched in the procession of gladiators which formed part ofthe opening pomp, and from behind a lattice-work of one of thedressing-rooms they could see all that was going on. But now the raysof the early summer were pouring a dazzling flood of warmth and lightwhich penetrated even through the awning. The vast audience requireda little rest. The awning was sprinkled with perfumes. Saffron-waterfell in a delicate dew upon the hot and tired multitude. The passagesbetween the seats were flushed with pure cold water. Refreshmentsand baskets of fruit were freely handed about, and while they wereenjoying the light mid-day meal every one chatted freely with hisneighbour.

  ‘Who are those in the _podium_ with the Emperor?’ asked
a provincialfrom Gaul of the young Spaniard who sat beside him.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ said Martial, for he it was. ‘That well-dressed,handsome, smiling man is Petronius. The tall senator with theintellectual face is Seneca. He is a countryman of whom I am proud.’

  ‘Seneca!’ said the provincial; ‘the greatest man of his age! Only tothink that I have seen Seneca!’

  Martial only smiled. Such enthusiasm was refreshing.

  ‘The young man with black hair who sits just behind him with a frownon his forehead is his nephew Lucan, the poet. The king in purplerobe is Herod Agrippa II., with his lovely sister Berenice by hisside. Just watch the flash of that diamond on her neck. That splendidfellow with fair hair, all smiles, who has grace and beauty in everymovement, is the actor Paris, and beside him is his friend and rival,Aliturus. The exquisite, who looks as if he would be paralyzed by theweight of his own rings, is Senecio.’

  ‘And that lady with her face half veiled, so that you only catch aglimpse now and then of her loveliness?’

  ‘That is Poppæa, Otho’s wife. No wonder Nero loves her better thanthat pale sad lady who sits among the six vestals.’

  ‘Yet she, too, is young and beautiful. Who is she?’

  ‘The Empress.’

  ‘Octavia, the daughter of Claudius? May the gods bless her!’

  The provincial gazed long at Octavia.

  ‘But now tell me,’ he continued, ‘who is that purpureal personage,with large rings, scarlet boots, and a very white forehead?’

  Martial laughed aloud. ‘His forehead may well be white,’ he said. ‘Doyou know what it is made of?’

  ‘Made of?’ asked the young Gaul in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. It is made of sticking-plaster! If you took it off, what do youthink you would see under it?’

  ‘His skin, I suppose.’

  ‘His skin, yes! But with three letters on it.’

  ‘What three letters?’

  ‘_O Simplicitas!_’ said Martial; ‘the three letters F. U. R.’

  ‘Is he a thief?’ asked the Gaul. ‘Then why do they let him sit thereamong the knights?’

  ‘Because his thieving has made him rich,’ answered Martial.

  ‘But his riches don’t make him honest; and every one seems to betreating him with great respect.’

  Martial laughed long and loud. ‘_O Sapientia!_’ he exclaimed, ‘_OInnocentia!_ From what new Atlantis do you come? Don’t you know thatat Rome the rule always is “Riches first, virtue next”?’

  ‘If that be the rule at Rome,’ said the other, ‘I should prefer tolive at Ulubræ or at Venta Belgarum.’

  But Martial had no more time to listen to a morality so refreshinglyunsophisticated. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘They are going to scatter down thepresents and the lottery tickets on us.’

  First came a shower of countless coins of thin metal, every oneof which was stamped with a wanton image. Then all kinds of littlepresents like those exchanged at the Saturnalia. The audience didnot exert themselves to catch these, but it was very different whenhandfuls of lottery tickets were flung among them. For these theyscrambled wildly, and with many a curse and blow; for he who securedone might find himself the happy possessor of a slave, a statue, afine vase, a rare foreign bird, a suit of armour, a Molossian dog, aSpanish horse, or even a villa; although the mystery which the numberconcealed could not be made known till he presented the ticket thenext day.

  But by this time the attendants with rakes were scraping the surfaceof the arena smooth, and sprinkling it afresh with dazzling whitesand brought in ship-loads from Africa, to hide the crimson stains ofthe life-blood of animals and men. For now was to begin the splendidexhibition of strength and skill and pluck, and the awful pageantryof death, under that blue sky, under that gleaming sunlight; and menand women were preparing themselves to be thrilled with sanguinaryand voluptuous excitement which would make the blood course throughtheir veins like fire. Most of the gladiators were men of approvedprowess, stalwart and well known; and from the senators’ seats tothe topmost gallery bets were being freely laid on their chancesof victory, and on those who should be left dead at evening,indifferent forever to those wild shouts. The only two who were not_spectati_--the only two tiros who were to make their appearance--were the young British captive and the young Phrygian slave.

  The long defiant blast of a trumpet smote the air; the folding doorsof the main entrance were flung open, and, headed by their trainer,the gladiators in a body marched in proud procession and with firmsteps to the space beneath the podium, on which stood the gildedchair of the Emperor. They were only sixty in number, but had beenselected for their skill and physique, and belonged to variousclasses of gladiators. They were clad in glittering array--theirhelmets, their shields, and even their greaves, richly embossed andgilded.

  And none were more curiously scanned than Onesimus, who walkedlast of the net-throwers, and Glanydon, who closed the file of theSamnites. It was impossible not to observe the towering stature andherculean mould of the Briton, the lithe and sinewy frame of thedark-eyed Asiatic. Then the Prætor once more flung down the napkin,in sign that the fighting should begin. Grouped under the Emperor’sseat, they all uplifted to him their right hands and chanted inmonotone their sublime greeting: ‘Hail, Cæsar! we who are about todie salute thee!’

  Nero flung them a careless glance, and scarcely broke the animatedconversation which he was holding with Petronius.

  Before the hard fighting began there was some preliminary skirmishingamong all the gladiators, with blunt weapons, merely to displaytheir skill; and a pair of _andabatæ_ amused the people by theirdifficulties in fighting practically blindfold, for their loosehelmets had no eyelet-holes.

  Then the trumpet blew once more, and a herald cried out, ‘Lay asideyour blunt swords and fight with sharp swords;’ and Pedanius examinedthe weapons to see that they were duly sharp. The display began withthe contests of the horsemen and the charioteers (_essedarii_).It was not long before two of the chariots were broken, and theirwounded occupants flung down under the hoofs of their own plunginghorses.

  Next, two horsemen, both of them popular favourites, of well-triedprowess and well-matched strength, rode out on white horses to fighteach other in mortal conflict. Hippias wore a short mantle of blue,and rode from the east side of the arena; Aruns, in a red mantle,rode from the western side. Both wore on their heads golden helmets,and military standards were carried before them.[79] The combatbetween them was long and fierce, for each knew that it was to behis last. They charged each other furiously, raining on heads andshoulders a tempest of blows, till, after a tremendous bout, Arunsthrust his spear through a joint in the armour of Hippias, and thestream of crimson blood which followed was greeted by the roar of‘Habet!’ from eighty thousand throats. The rider fell lifeless. Herequired no finishing stroke, and the mob cried, ‘Peractum est!’(‘There’s an end of him!’) This contest had excited much interestfrom the fame of the fighters, and large sums of money changed handson the result. One of the senators, named Cæcina, had hit on aningenious way of telling his distant friends whether they had lost orgained. Since Hippias was in blue, and Aruns in red, he had carriedwith him into the amphitheatre a number of swallows in two cages, ofwhich some were painted blue and some red; and, since Aruns had slainhis adversary, he let loose those which were painted red.[80]

  After this the other mounted gladiators joined combat. In a veryshort time nearly all were wounded, and three acknowledged theirdefeat. Dropping their swords or javelins, they upheld their clenchedhands with one finger extended to plead for mercy. The plea was vain.No handkerchief was waved in sign of mercy, and, standing over them,the victors callously drove their swords into the throats of theirdefeated comrades. The poor conquered fighters did not shrink. Theylooked up at the shouting populace with something of disdain on theirfaces, as though to prove that they thought nothing of death, and didnot wish to be pitied. To see that none were shamming dead, a figureentered disguised as Charon, who smote them
with his hammer; but thework of the sword had been done too faithfully--he only smote thecorpses of the slain.[81]

  By this time the whole atmosphere of the place seemed to reek withthe suffocating fumes of blood, which acted like intoxication onthe brutalised passions of the multitude. They awaited with savageeagerness the next combat, which was to be the main show of theafternoon. Twelve Samnites and mirmillos were to be matched againstas many net-throwers and chasers; and the contest was all the morethrilling because the latter were very lightly clad, so that everywound and gash was visible in all its horror on their naked limbs,while the unhelmed faces showed every triumphant or agonisedexpression which swept across them in that stormy scene.

  After half an hour’s fighting in terrible earnest, in which eachside had exchanged many a well-aimed blow, and had shown prodigies ofskill, valour, and swiftness, many of the gladiators had fallen, andothers dropped their arms in sign of defeat. Their vanquishers strodeover them awaiting the signal to be executioners of their brethren.The fight was stopped till the signal had been given with ruthlessunanimity. The defeated men, like those who had been killed beforethem, gazed without blenching on the hard and lolling multitude, asthough to show by their calm demeanour how easy a thing it was to die.

  But to make sure that they had been really killed, once more aslave entered, who, for variety’s sake, was dressed in the wingsand carried the serpent-rod of Mercury. He touched each corpse witha red-hot iron wand. No limb shrank from his touch. Other attendants,therefore, laid the dead on biers--which the admiring spectatorsobserved to be inlaid with amber--and they were carried out throughthe gate of Libitina into the spoliarium, where they were carelesslyflung out in a heap.[82]

  So far both the tiros had escaped. They had instinctively avoidedeach other, and neither had butchered his opponent except in fairfight. Of the eight who survived, four were Samnites and mirmillos,four were net-throwers. They thought that the fight was over and thatthey might severally be regarded as victors, and might look for thegifts of crowns and money, or even of the foil which set them freefrom the horrid trade. They stepped back beyond the lines whichthe trainer had marked, resting on their arms, and expecting to beushered out of the triumphal gate.

  The multitude had far other intentions. They were not yet sated withslaughter; they had not yet gloated long enough on faces convulsedwith the death-agony; they wanted to see how the beautiful youngPhrygian would look when an opponent stood over him with a sword athis throat.

  But the soul of Glanydon was filled with disgust and disdain. Heloathed those fat, shouting, comfortable burghers, those hard-facedwomen, those finical dandies, of whom he felt that he could havedriven a score before him like sheep. He strode to the barriers andset his back against them, refusing to fight.

  A yell of fury rose from the people. ‘Kill him!’ they shouted. ‘Killhim! scourge him! burn him! Why is he so afraid of cold steel? Whycan’t he die like a man? Ho! scourgers, lash the youth into thecombat again, to make the sides equal.’

  The Briton stood as in a dream, and as his thoughts reverted to hishome and the maiden whom he loved, the amphitheatre swam before hiseyes. Five or six mastigophori came running up to him, and he feltthe curling lash of one of them come stinging round his body. Theagony aroused him. With a cry as of a wounded lion he sprang on thescourger, and with one buffet laid him senseless, while the othersfled in confusion before him. Then, with the boldness of despair, hestrode under the podium, and, raising his clenched fist, cursed theEmperor aloud.

  ‘Murderer of thy mother!’ he cried; ‘thou infamy of manhood, I willfight again. But think not that thou shalt escape. Speedily thedoom shall overtake thee, and thy death shall be more shameful andhorrible than mine.’

  He had thundered forth so loudly his indignant words that they rangthrough the whole amphitheatre, and the wildest tumult arose. TheEmperor cowered back in his seat, pale with superstitious terror,yet almost suffocated with rage; and his favourite page, springingup from the low stool at his feet, began to sprinkle his face withperfume.

  The Prætorians drew their swords, and in one moment would have slainthe criminal who thus dared to blaspheme their human god. That acommon gladiator--a thing to flesh men’s swords upon--should dareto curse the Emperor! It was a portent! But there was no timeto interfere, for, with a shout, Glanydon sprang back among thegladiators, and began so furious an affray that the other side gaveway and fled. He sprang on an opponent, and the crimson rush thatfollowed his sword-thrust again awoke the deep ‘Habet!’ of theexcited crowd. But as he pressed on, now blind with fury, he fell,face forward, over the loose helmet of a slain mirmillo, and beforehe could recover himself a netsman, seizing his opportunity, flunghis net, entangled the limbs of the Briton by a dexterous twist, and,without waiting for any signal, drove his trident into his breast.The Briton died without a groan. But the advantage of the light-armedfighters was only momentary. Their courage had been daunted byGlanydon, and, after a few moments of flight and fight, the Samniteswere victorious and the net-throwers were all wounded and droppedtheir arms, except Onesimus. They knelt with their forefingersuplifted, and, as they had fought with courage and had been hardlyused, handkerchiefs began to be waved in their favour and thumbs tobe turned downwards. Octavia and Acte had both recognised the faceof Onesimus as he retreated before one of the Samnites, and failed toentangle him by the throw of his net. Filled with pity, they turnedtheir thumbs downward in sign that the combat should be stopped andthe lives of the defeated be spared.

  But unhappily Onesimus was only a few feet distant from Nero, andNero had recognised him too. The curse of Glanydon had shaken theEmperor’s nerves. He was in a peculiarly brutal mood, and, withthumb turned towards his breast, he gave the fatal sign that the fournetsmen should be slain. Three of them were so deeply wounded alreadythat their limbs were bathed in blood, and without an instant’spause the Samnites thrust their swords through them to the hilt. Butthe sight seemed to inspire Onesimus with some divine despair. Heseized his trident and dagger--he had already gathered the net roundhis shoulder--and, springing towards one of the Samnites, flung,entangled, tripped, and stabbed him. Plucking his trident from thewound, but not waiting to recover his net, he flew on the second andsmote him down. The third, who was already staggering from a woundreceived earlier in the fight dropped his arms and upheld hisforefinger, and, before the fourth could recover from his amazement,Onesimus, leaving the defeated combatant, had again seized his netand chased his opponent with it in act to throw. Being far superiorin speed, he swiftly overtook him, flung the net and, hurling hisopponent to the ground, brandished his dagger over him. The peopledwalls of the amphitheatre rang with shouts of delight and admiration.Never had they seen a more astonishing and gallant feat. Thisretiarius--and he a mere tiro--had, single-handed, defeated fourSamnites in succession. The thing was unheard of. Every thumb wasturned up for Onesimus to give the finishing stroke to his conqueredenemy, and thousands of voices clamoured that, as the sole survivingvictor of the combat, he should be rewarded with the palm and foil.

  But the brief spasm of wrath was over. Onesimus could not and wouldnot butcher his comrades in cold blood. He recognised in the youngSamnite a gladiator named Kalendio, one of the least objectionable ofhis fellows in the school--the only one who had never gone out of hisway to annoy or taunt him. At the same moment he caught sight of thebody of Glanydon. A rush of tears blinded him; he flung down net anddagger and trident, and, retreating to the barrier, stood there withfolded arms. The acclamations which had greeted his prowess werefollowed by a groan of astonishment and disappointment. Kalendio hadby this time torn and cut himself free from the net, and sprang uponthe unhappy Phrygian who had spared his life. Onesimus did not resisthim or appeal for mercy; the Samnite, who was an utter stranger tothe scruples and compunctions which had led Onesimus to spare him,drove his sword into him; life and sense flowed from him, and he fellheavily upon the bloody sand.