A gasp went up from the crowd, for it was all over now. Suddenly the prone man brought up his shield between the Norseman's legs. As the big man doubled up in agony, the Roman rolled away and, bounding to his feet, plunged his sword into his opponent's armpit where the heavy bearskin did not cover him. The Norseman went down while the crowd screamed in delirious excitement and the band played frenetically.
Naturally, all anyone remembered of that set of games was the young officer's brilliant victory, but Flamma was well content. He had disposed of his two Germans in a neat businesslike way and as an ex-soldier he had learned to do the job assigned to him and let it go at that. He greatly admired the young officer's feat and was proud that his armour and sword had been used, but he was only a gladiator and that sort of grandstand stuff could well be left to some red-hot young aristocrat with more guts than sense.
The lanista kept his eye on Flamma. He liked the soldier's way of fighting: nothing spectacular, but dependable. In the next few years, Flamma defeated Greek Hoplomachi in full armour and fighting with pikes, Dimachaeri with daggers in each hand and Andabatae on horseback. His usual opponents were Samnites who were equipped much like the Secutors. The Samnites were the first professional gladiators, because the big gladiatorial combats began shortly after the Samnite nation was conquered by the Romans and the prisoners were used as gladiators. For a long time, the words "gladiator" and "Samnite" were interchangeable, but as Romans conquered other nations, new styles of gladiators were constantly being introduced so the Samnites became simply one type of fighter. However, they never lost their appeal and might be called the "standard gladiator," all other sorts being more or less novelty acts.
Flamma was beaten a few times but was always saved by the crowd which gave the "thumbs up" signal that meant a fallen man was to be spared. Flamma, winning or losing, always put up a good fight and the crowd liked him.
There had been a lot of discussion exactly as to how the mob signalled their wishes. Until recently it was believed that "thumbs down" was the death signal and "thumbs up" meant the man was to live. Some authorities today think that the death signal was made by stabbing with the thumb at the spectator's own chest meaning "let him have it here" and the signal for release was to extend the hand flat with the thumb bent under the palm. Others think that the thumb was only used to signal death, that if the man was to be released the crowd waved their handkerchiefs. No one knows. Perhaps there were many different gestures and they went by fads; some being popular at one period and others at another.
Not being a flashy fighter, Flamma had a slow publicity build-up, but gradually people began to notice the big man who never went in for any grandstand plays but nearly always won. Some fighters put on a regular act like modern wrestlers —taking great swipes at each other, banging their shields around, pretending to fall, staggering as though they had received a mortal wound and then heroically returning to the fray. Again as with wrestling, there was often a "hero" and a "villain." The hero was usually some clean-cut young
Roman, often a freeman fighting for hire or some rich young wastrel who had run through his inheritance and turned to the arena as a last resort. The hero always got a careful build-up and was given a big ovation as he explained to the crowd that he was only fighting to get enough money to bury his father or support his widowed mother. The villain was a tough-looking brute who came out yelling insults at the hero, spitting at him, and promising to massacre the bum. The hero always won. Such fights naturally had to be fixed or the gladiatorial schools would have run out of villains.
The fights were by no means always staged. The crowd was pretty shrewd at detecting fakes and also it was hard to persuade a gladiator to throw a fight if he thought he could win because it would be up to his opponent whether to kill him or not, regardless of what previous arrangement might have been made. Still, up to the reign of Tiberius (or, roughly about 20 a.d.) there was a good deal of ‘give and take' in the arena. A highly trained gladiator was a valuable man and knew it. An experienced gladiator wouldn't fight a tyro. Many of them openly expressed their contempt of the crowd and used to stop in the middle of a fight to cuss the people out, in the manner of Mr. Leo Durocher. They developed an enormous esprit de corps. A gladiator prided himself on bearing any wound without a cry and even when mortally wounded would shout to the lanista for instructions. The lanista was allowed to stand on the sidelines while his man fought, like a prize fighter's manager, and shout instructions. This was a great help to Flamma, who wasn't too smart and often needed someone to shout: "Try him with an upper-cut under the palette" (the shoulder-piece), and so on.
Slowly, by hard work and considerable luck, Flamma worked his way up to being one of the top gladiators in Rome. He never faked a fight, he always did his best, and he gradually won a following in the city. Sculptors made statues of him; his head appeared on coins as Mars, the god of war; he was wined and dined in wealthy homes and given an estate by a rich lady admirer. Crowds of women followed him around, and on street walls were scribbled: "Flamma is a girl's sigh and prayer" and "Oh you Flamma! You're the doctor who can cure what's wrong with me." He never did as well as the gladiator Spiculus who was given a palace by Nero, or Veianius whose son was made a knight, but Flamma wasn't complaining. He began to grow rich.
After a successful fight, whoever was putting on the games had to present the winning gladiators with a bowl of gold coins, the exact amount being specified by the crowd. Also, like Diocles, Flamma sold tips on the fights, having a good idea which of two gladiators had the best chance of surviving.
At this time, a gladiator had to fight for three years.Then he was excused from actual combat but remained a slave, working at the gladiatorial school for another five. But the crowd could at any time demand that a gladiator be given a wooden sword, which meant that he could retire from the arena. Before the actual combats, the gladiators warmed up by fighting with wooden weapons and so the wooden sword symbolized that in future the man would never have to fight for his life.
After one of his most brilliant fights, the enthusiastic crowd voted Flamma the coveted wooden sword. Flamma refused it indignantly.
"Are you crazy?" he roared at the stands. "I'm making more money than anyone in Rome, I can have any woman I want, I'm living in a villa and I'm the toast of the empire. Leave the arena? What for?"
"Good old Flamma!" howled the delighted crowd. Flamma refused the proffered wooden sword four times, the only gladiator who ever turned down this offer not once but several times over. As a result, his name has come down to us over nearly two thousand years.
When he finally retired, he was given an ivory rectangle, like a G.I.'s dogtag, to wear around his neck. It was inscribed with his name, the name of his former owner, and the date on which he was set free. Flamma married and lived to a grey old age in his villa, telling everyone who'd listen that the modern gladiators didn't have the stuff the boys did when he was a young man. When he died, his devoted family had the record of his victories carved on his tomb.
Flamma's attitude toward his profession was not unique. A Myrmillo, during a period when fights were few, was heard to complain that he was wasting the best years of his life. Epictetus, a Roman writer, says that the gladiators used to pray for more fights so that they could distinguish themselves in the arena and make more money. (Not too surprising, when the famous toast of the armed forces in Great Britain used to be: "Here's to a sudden plague and a bloody war!"— the only two events that could speed up promotion.)
Although never nearly as popular as the sword fights, boxing was also featured in the arena. It was originally simply an athletic event as with our amateur boxing, and then the promoters decided to liven it up to appeal to the crowd. The leather straps over the knuckles were studded with leadlike brass knuckles. These devices were called "caestus" and later were even equipped with nails. The caestus of a famous fighter, covered with blood and brains, were hung up in one school to encourage young hopefuls.
> Statius gives this description of a boxing match. The editor opens the fight by shouting:
" 'Now courage is needed. Use the terrible caestus in close fighting—next to using swords, this is the best way to test your bravery.'
"Capaneus put on the raw oxhide straps covered with lumps of lead—and he was as hard as the lead. His opponent comes out, a young, curly-haired boy named Alcidamas. Capaneus takes one look at him. laughs and shouts, 'Haven't you anybody better than that?' They lift their arms, deadly as thunderbolts, watching each other. Capaneus is a giant but getting old. Alcidamas is only a youth but stronger than he looks.
"They spar, feeling each other out, just touching their gloves. Then Capaneus moves in and starts slugging, but Alcidamas holds him off and Capaneus only tires his arms and hurts his own chances. The young fellow, a smart fighter, parries, ducks, leans back and bends his head forward to avoid die swings. He turns the blows with his gloves and advances with his feet while keeping his head well back. Capaneus is stronger and has a terrific right but young Alcidamas, feinting right and left, distracts him and then getting his right hand above the older man, comes down from on top. He gets home on his forehead. The blood runs.
"Capaneus doesn't realize how badly he's hurt but he hears the yelling of the crowd, and stopping to wipe the sweat off his face with the back of his glove, he sees the blood. Now he really gets mad and goes for the boy.
"His blows are wasted on the air; most of them only hit his opponent's gloves and the boy stays away from him, running backward but hitting when he gets a chance.
"Capaneus chases him around the arena until both of them are too tired to move, and they stand panting and facing each other. Then Capaneus makes a wild dash. Alcidamas dodges and hits him on the shoulder. Capaneus goes down! He falls on his head and tries to get up but the boy knocks him down again. Suddenly Capaneus jumps up and goes at the boy, flailing with both fists. The boy falls and Capaneus bends over him, hammering him on the head. The crowd yells, 'Save the poor kid! His skull's cracked already and Capaneus is going to beat his brains out.' The attendants rush in and pull Capaneus off his victim. 'You've won!' they tell him. Capaneus bellows, "let me go! I'll smash his face in! I'll spoil that pretty fairy's good looks that make him so damned popular with the crowd.' The attendants had to drag him out of the arena."
Not surprisingly, the old-type circus acts consisting of acrobats, tumblers and animal trainers had a rough time competing with the gladiators and chariot races. One after another they began to drop out and it looked as though they'd be dead as vaudeville. But one man by the name of Ursus Togatus resolved not to be beaten by a bunch of plug-uglies and horses. Ursus could shoot a bow and arrow with his toes while standing on his hands, juggle five glass balls, and had a troupe of trained bears that acted out a play while dressed in clothes. Pretty tame stuff, but he must have been well liked at one time, as he had his picture painted on vases as a souvenir of the circus. He was a tall man with abnormally long arms and legs. He seems a trifle pudgy but apparently he was limber enough. He had a long, clean-shaven face and looked like an exceptionally clever horse.
Ursus was one of the few people in show business who was ever able to adapt himself to a new trend and he made circus history. He dropped the juggling and instead of a troupe of performing bears he kept only one—a really tough animal. When the bear charged him, Togatus would run at the animal with a long pole, vault over his back and race for the arena wall. With the bear right at his heels, he'd use his impetus to run up the wall, jump over the bear again, and then tear back to his pole and repeat the performance. The crowd loved the act, as there was always a good chance that Togatus wouldn't make it.
Other animal trainers quickly got the idea. One man walked on stilts through a pack of hungry hyenas. Another rolled around the arena in a large openwork metal ball while three lions tried to get at him. One of then finally succeeded in tearing his arm off through a hole in the ball, but other performers copied the act. Acrobatic troupes of men and women learned how to grab a charging bull by the horns and turn somersaults over its back. The Romans liked animal acts, especially if they were dangerous, so in spite of the gladiators there were always animals in the circus.
By 50 b.c., the exhibitions were rough enough, heaven knows, but they were still fairly well controlled, and on a comparatively modest scale. But in 46 b.c., a victorious general named Julius Caesar with political ambitions arrived in Rome. In spite of his triumphs, Julius was in the doghouse both with the Senate and the people. They suspected him of wanting to be a dictator. Cicero warned him, "You are only a dwarf tied to a long sword. You have the army but the people will never tolerate you."
Caesar smiled. "Sulla, the dictator, tried to subdue the people by force and failed. I have other plans."
Caesar knew the Roman mob. He put on the first of the really big shows in Roman history, rebuilding the Circus Maximus to hold them. There was a hunt of four hundred lions, fights between elephants and infantry, evening parades of elephants carrying lighted torches in their trunks, bull fighting by mounted Thessalians and the first giraffes ever seen in Rome (Cleopatra sent him the giraffes as a present). The chariot races alone lasted for ten days, from dawn to dark. There were also gladiatorial combats—how many isn't recorded but the senators were so horrified that they passed a law limiting the number of gladiators any one man could own to three hundred and twenty pairs. Caesar may have had a couple of thousand—practically a small army. He used them as a bodyguard when they weren't fighting in the arena.
The law limiting the ownership of gladiators didn't last long. The people went mad over these big games and didn't care if Caesar became dictator or not as long as he kept them amused. But by now, a number of prominent men felt that the games were getting to be a danger. The people would elect anyone to office who gave them a good show. A group of wealthy men decided to give the public more educational entertainment. They hired a troupe of famous Greek actors to perform some of the great classical plays. In the middle of the first performance, a man rushed into the theatre to say that some gladiators were fighting in the circus. In ten minutes, the Greek actors were playing to an empty house. After that the reformers gave up.
Although Caesar had staged the games simply as a popularity getter, they gave him an idea. He said to Dolabella, one of his top advisers, "This is a perfect way to try out new weapons and fighting techniques. Our legions will be fighting tribes from all over the world. Let's pit captives from different tribes against each other, each using his own weapons."
This opened up a whole new era in the games. Not just a few professional gladiators fought but whole battles were staged. Tattooed Britons fighting from chariots went out against German tribesmen; African Negroes with shields and spears took on Arabs fighting from horseback with bows and arrows. Thracians who used scimitars and had little, rough shields strapped to their left wrists engaged the heavily armed Samnites. Once the entire arena was planted to resemble a forest, and a company of legionnaires, condemned to the circus for various military misdemeanors, had to march through it while Gauls in their native costume and with their native weapons ambushed them. An engagement was staged between war elephants and cavalry to get the horses accustomed to the big animals. Meanwhile Caesar and his general staff sat in the imperial box and took notes. The winning side was generally given its freedom, which ensured a good fight.
Julius Caesar might be called the father of the games because under him they ceased to be an occasional exhibition of fairly modest proportions and became a national institution. By the time of Augustus, the people regarded the games not as a luxury but as their right. Under the old Republic, the games lasted for sixteen days: fourteen chariot races, two trials for horses, and fourty-eight theatricals. By the time of Claudius (50 a.d.), there were ninety-three a year. This number was gradually increased to a hundred and twenty-three days under Trajan and to two hundred and thirty under Marcus Aurelius. Eventually there were games of some kind or
other going on all the time. In 248 a.d. the crowd didn't go to bed for three days and nights. Augustus and several of the other emperors tried to limit the number, but it always produced mob uprisings. Marcus Aurelius disliked the games but in his official position had to attend, like a president opening the baseball season by throwing out the first ball. He used to sit in the royal box and dictate letters to his secretaries while the games were going on. The mob never forgave him, any more than a modern crowd would forgive a president who sat transacting official business with the bases loaded and Mickey Mantle at bat. Marcus Aurelius was one of the best emperors Rome ever had, but as a result of his contempt for the games, he was also one of the most unpopular.
Claudius, who was probably insane, was very popular. He loved the games and used to make a great point of pretending to add up the betting odds on his fingers (although he was an excellent mathematician) as did the crowd. He also used to jump into the arena to berate the gladiators for not fighting hard enough, send people in the crowd notes asking what they thought of some particular gladiator's chances, and tell dirty jokes. Both Caligula and Nero, probably the two worst rulers in history, were greatly mourned by the crowd because they always put on such magnificent games. Nero, who used to light the arena at night by crucifying Christians and then setting fire to their oil-soaked bodies, was especially beloved. Even after he was forced to kill himself by the Praetorian Guard, the people refused to believe that he was dead. For years opportunists kept cropping up, claiming to be Nero, and always got a following of people who remembered what wonderful games the insane emperor had provided.
Those About to Die Page 4
