by León, Vicki
Cross-Dressers:
It started with Caligula’s sandals
A serious student of moral turpitude, teenage Caligula studied sexual excess on the isle of Capri, mentored by his uncle Tiberius, then Roman emperor. The young man was both a voyeur and the object of his uncle’s ingenious depravity. When Caligula learned that he became sexually aroused by cruelty and torture to others, he tried on every perversion he could manage.
During those formative teen years, Caligula often cross-dressed, preferring blond wigs and long robes. He adored clothes, especially the expensive, clingy garments that women wore, made of Koan silk. An army brat who’d moved often with his family, Caligula had caught sartorial mania early. While he was a wee boy living at the military outposts of his father Germanicus, his mom had dressed him in soldier’s kit, including a child-size pair of the legionary’s classic footgear: sandals with hobnail-covered soles called caligae. Soon the bored-senseless soldiers nicknamed the kid Caligula, meaning “little boots,” or (to be precise) “little hobnailed sandals.”
A dedicated sadist and an occasional transvestite, Emperor Caligula terrorized family, friends, and Romans throughout his four-year reign.
As time went on, Caligula managed to sexually abuse his three sisters and quite a number of other innocent folks. Once he became emperor in A.D. 37, his real forte was one-upping rivals, nonrivals, and anyone else who came into his presence. With Caligula, sexual pleasure was inextricably linked with punishment, the more vicious the better.
Afflicted with mental illness that ranged from delusional to manic, the emperor often failed to sleep at night. He frequently put on extempore dramatic and musical performances during those insomniac hours, ordering his top aides and family members to be his adoring audience. Those witnesses who managed to survive the random killings and maimings that Caligula routinely dished out on a daily basis no doubt remembered the remarkable ladies’ attire the emperor wore during those memorable nights.
Nero, who as a small boy spent time in Caligula’s tender care, was very impressed by his uncle’s style. In fact, when Nero became emperor twenty-plus years later, he emulated Caligula’s fashion sense, often dressing as a woman as well. His favorite gear to wear to dinner was called a synthesis, the flowered gown worn by men only during the Saturnalia festival each December. Otherwise, the synthesis was female garb. Nero tried hard to make it a new trend in Roman fashion, but in vain, apparently.
Nevertheless, as emperors came and went, there were ardent cross-dressers among them, such as Elagabalus, whose purple gowns and painted eyes drew much attention. A figure of fun and an object of Roman disgust, this young emperor had a real desire to be female, not just look like a dame. As emperor, he seriously explored the possibility of sexchange surgery with his doctors. A man well ahead of his time, Elagabalus asked them to create for him a prototype of a female vagina! Pretty daring stuff, given the surgical abilities and the paucity of anesthesia in those days. The doctors managed to decline without incurring imperial wrath.
In ancient times, cross-dressing occurred for multiple reasons—many times it wasn’t a gender statement. For example, women occasionally had strong motives for dressing themselves as men. Greek philosopher Plato, although he disparaged the minds of women as inferior, did accept two young women named Axiothea of Phlius and Lasthenea of Mantinea as students. They wore what the other male students wore; more about them we do not know. They received a passing mention in Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of the Philosophers.
Other women, such as Thecla, the assertive and determined sidekick of Paul of Tarsus during his wanderings on land and sea around the Greco-Roman world, adopted male garb for safety. She remained his staunchest disciple for years.
Still others cross-dressed so they could take part in activities declared taboo for women. Such was the case for Pherenike, the Rhodian mother who acted as boxing trainer for her son in the Olympic Games of 388 B.C. (You’ll find her story in the entry on Pherenike of Rhodes.)
Of even more ancient vintage, Hatshepsut, the female pharaoh of Egypt during the eighteenth dynasty, ritually dressed in male regalia to legitimize her reign, even though it was through the female bloodline that pharaohs became heads of state.
In seventh century Mesopotamia, Ashurbanipal, the Assyrian ruler famed for creating the world’s first great library, appears, like Elagabalus, to have been a true cross-dresser, a man with transgender longings. Although married to a redoubtable gal named Ashursharrat, he chose to wear female clothing and accoutrements. He also used a major amount of cosmetics and imitated a female voice as he spoke. All of this vastly irritated other Assyrian men, including one of his generals, who happened to walk in when Ashurbanipal was penciling his eyebrows. Pulling out his dagger, the general ran his boss through on the spot.
Gladiator Sex Lives:
Even Commodus got lucky
Even though gladiators were officially scum of the earth, they often had female fans willing to swoon all over them. Or under them. Not just shady professional ladies or plebeian chicks, either, but women of exalted rank. Some of them hung around the barracks where the gladiators were billeted; a few even played make-believe viragos, practicing with the wooden swords that the fighters employed in training.
Other groupies expressed their feelings by posting impudent notes on walls, in public baths, and elsewhere. At Pompeii, Capua, and Ostia, graffiti such as these have been found: “Celadon the Thracian, three times victor and three times crowned, who makes the girls sigh,” and “Thrax is the heartthrob of all the girls.”
To get closer to the subject matter, matrons in higher tax brackets sometimes hired off-duty gladiators as muscle. As Philip Matyszak, author of The Gladiator Manual, notes with a twinkle, “Many a wealthy lady who hires gladiator bodyguards for the night does so in expectation of her body being guarded very closely indeed.”
Gladiators were first used in Etruscan times as warriors at the funeral games for bigshots. They came to form a professional cadre in centuries to come, and by the third century A.D. there were more than 230 permanent gladiatorial arenas around the Roman Empire, from Britain and Spain to Albania and Tunisia. Like champion boxers, gladiators didn’t fight that often; that kept the excitement level of the fans high, and the entry fees as well.
On the other hand, patrician sponsors of the games competed insanely, each trying to outdo the other in terms of flash and cash spent on the gladiatorial spectacles. Emperor Marcus Aurelius wasn’t a fan himself, and he passed legislation that restricted the amount anyone could spend on the games. A philosopher and writer in his spare time, Marcus was one of the most decent and hardworking emperors to ever don a diadem.
He loved his wife Faustina, perhaps to excess. Within a twenty-three-year period, she gave birth to fourteen children, including twins Antoninus and Commodus in A.D. 161.
According to accounts from authors Herodian and Dio Cassius, Faustina may not have returned Marcus’s devotion in equal measure. While watching gladiators on parade, Faustina got hit by Cupid’s arrow, becoming inflamed with passion for one of the burly fighters. This inappropriate love gnawed at her until she became ill. Finally, she confessed to Marcus; a calm and thoughtful guy, he refrained from strangling her and instead consulted Chaldean soothsayers for their advice. They suggested that his wife have sex with the gladiator in question, who should then be killed while still on top of her. She should then take an immediate bath in gladiator blood, tidy up a bit, and follow that with lovemaking to her husband Marcus. She and Marcus allegedly followed that routine, and it seemed to cool her passion—or so the story goes.
According to some sources, Empress Faustina got the hots for a gladiator. Instead of homicide, her understanding husband kept her busy, bearing fourteen imperial children.
The Scriptores Historiae Augustae, called an unreliable source by modern historians, also claims that Faustina regularly had gladiator paramours, and that son Commodus was the result of her adultery.
That b
oy, the sole surviving child of the fourteen she gave birth to, did grow into a monster. Commodus became emperor in A.D. 180 and for twelve years actually outdid Nero and Caligula in terms of shameful behavior, cruelty, and just plain weirdness—even by Roman imperial standards.
Although during his tenure the Roman army fought and won battles hither and yon, Commodus was never present on the battlefield. Instead, he served as the star in the lavish triumphs that were held after each victory. Dismissing imperial dignity and Roman gravitas as things of the past, Commodus enlivened the proceedings by bringing along his latest boy-toy in his parade chariot, kissing him ardently from time to time.
Sexually, however, Commodus was more often a voyeur than a doer; he kept “harems” of nubile young boys and girls and enjoyed watching as many as six hundred bodies copulate simultaneously. He also had a fascination for deformities and supersize genitalia. One of his favorites was a man he called “Ass,” whose male member closely resembled that of an animal in the equine family.
The Roman public, a bit blasé after nearly two hundred years of outrageous imperial antics, was stunned when Commodus announced that he was going to pursue his two true vocations: becoming the new Hercules; and becoming a gladiator.
To make time to accomplish his passions, Commodus blew off the circle of wise advisers his father had left him and assigned the running of the government to a flunky named Perennis. Commodus’s first priority was to focus on looking like his idol, Hercules. At nineteen when he began to reign, he already had a muscular body and a full head of curly blond hair. Before long, he grew a beard and put on Herculean regalia: a lion-skin headdress and flashy purple-and-gold robes. And he carried a club. A big club.
Because of his hands-off policies regarding actual governing, Commodus was regularly confronted with plots and conspiracies, which he managed to suppress by slaughtering his enemies, real and imagined. As the years passed, he became even more paranoid, trusting no one and hating almost everyone. Except gladiators, of course.
Misfortune dogged Emperor Marcus Aurelius, however. His sole surviving child with Empress Faustina was Commodus, one of Rome’s most notorious rulers—and a self-proclaimed gladiator.
A natural athlete, Commodus had talent as a swordsman and archer. After learning from the pros and practicing a great deal in his large private arena (in the year 2000, archaeologists excavating his villa in Rome found traces of it), Commodus declared himself ready for the big time. For the next two years, he appeared in public a number of times. He fought in front of sellout crowds, of course. No one could ever remember seeing an emperor perform in the arena, although everyone knew emperors who’d condemned people to the arena.
The sorry fact is, Emperor Commodus cheated. Although he was a terrific marksman at throwing the javelin and shooting arrows, he seldom got down and dirty in the actual arena. Instead, he had a terrace built that encircled the amphitheatre, from where he stood and fired away.
Still, if you were an average Roman, at first it might have been rather exciting to see him slaughter a hundred bears and a hundred lions in a row, along with herds of other animals, from bulls to flocks of ostriches. To make the emperor’s job even easier, the arena would be partitioned off into sections where various species were penned.
To vary the program a bit, Commodus had a group of leopards mixed in with a group of condemned criminals. When a leopard made a lightning move and grabbed a man, about to take his face off, the emperor saved the day with a javelin shot to the animal’s head. Thus rescued, the man was then obliged to die in some other stomach-turning fashion.
On a few exceptional occasions, Commodus did appear on the sands of the arena, barechested and bold, taking up arms like a real gladiator. His opponents, however, weren’t much of a match for him. Knowing that you’re obliged to fight the ruler of the entire known world does that to a guy. So does being handed a wooden sword. In one instance, Commodus’s “opponent” was a handicapped fellow, “armed” with a sponge!
Roman emperor Commodus had time to write out a few more death lists and rename all the months of the year after divine aspects of himself before general disgust resulted in his assassination on December 31 of the year 192.
Section V
Red-Letter Days & Red-Hot Nights
Hispala Fecenia:
Wet blanket at the orgy
Heroines and villains show up in the strangest places. Take this story of two flesh-and-blood gals named Hispala and Paculla.
First, a little background. In Thrace, a lightly populated wilderness north of Athens, the female followers of the wine god Dionysus used to get together three times a year. Their rites, called orgia (origin of our word orgy), were secret. And it was a girls-only gathering. Once initiated, matrons as well as young unmarried women would decompress by hanging out together all day and night. Everyone loved the maenad gear too: ivy garlands, fawn-skin robes, a walking stick made of fennel, and an optional live snake or two.
While the sun was up, the gals confined themselves to mild mischief: binge drinking, hallucinogen intake, and raucous singing. As it grew later, the maenads ran barefoot in frenzied, torch-carrying glee on the hillsides, occasionally bringing down a victim or two (usually mammal, on occasion an unlucky higher primate) to serve as carpaccio appetizers. And so it went for ages.
Then a smarty-pants priestess named Paculla, whose turn it was to direct the Dionysian activities, made major changes. First shock: she dragged her two grown sons into it. Then she bossily decreed they should allow more men to join. Finally she insisted that the group meet monthly for five consecutive nights of “initiation.” When the members groaned, she shut them up by hollering, “Dionysus the god personally told me to do it!”
In the third century B.C., the cult went mainstream, as more and more male initiates wiggled their way into the mix. And it spread from sleepy, bucolic Thrace to Greece and then to Italy. Now popularly known as Bacchanalia after Bacchus, the Latin name for the wine god, the cult took the Etruscans—always game for late-night partying—by storm. It then captured the fancy of big-city Romans, who were reveling in the ecstatic aftermath of a successful war against Hannibal and the Carthaginians. By 186 B.C., the wild initiations and orgiastic goings-on had reached a fever pitch—the cult had over seven thousand avid adherents in Italy alone. Red-Hot Nights
Living in Rome at that time was an upscale young courtesan named Hispala Fenecia, a former slave who longed to find a decent guy, settle down, and live the straight life. As it happened, she moved into a neighborhood where a good-looking fellow named Publius Aebutius lived with his mother and stepdad. Propinquity struck and sparks flew.
Although Hispala continued to turn a few tricks, she gave her new love the “on the house” intimacy discount. A generous sort, she also chipped in to help Aebutius with his finances, since he was kept on a tight leash by his parents. At length, convinced that her relationship was truly serious, Fenecia made out her will and designated her boyfriend as sole heir.
Meanwhile, the plot thickened, as plots tend to do. Aebutius’s stepdad Titus, who controlled the young man’s inheritance from his dead father, was a rotter. He’d played fast and loose with the funds. Fearing disclosure, he pressured his wife to compromise the boy in some fashion. “We’ve got to keep his trap shut,” Titus threatened.
After some coaching, the mother told her son that the last time he’d been ill with the dropsy, she’d made a vow to the gods that if he recovered she would initiate him into the Bacchus cult.
Bewildered, Aebutius agreed to comply, although the prep for such a ceremony—a ten-day chastity fast—sounded awful. By this time, he and Hispala kept no secrets from each other. That night, he told her he wouldn’t be around for the next couple of weeks—some religious vow the mater made while he was sick.
Orgies among the worshipers of wine god Dionysus, or Bacchus, often had wild initiation rites, their sordid secrets for members only.
When Hispala learned it was the Bacchanalians, sh
e had a meltdown, cursing and lamenting. “No way will I let you do that!” she cried. “It’s an abomination and will destroy your life. I know—because when I was a slave, my mistress compelled me to take part in their hideous rites. Oh, the wine, the feasting, the loud music, the debauchery—it took me weeks to recover.”
Even though it sounded suspiciously like fun to Aebutius, he solemnly swore to his girlfriend that he’d confront his parents and just say no. When he told them, they screamed, “The caresses of that serpent have made your disrespect your parents and the gods!” With the help of four slaves, they kicked Publius Aebutius out of the house.
After much travail, a terrified Hispala and Aebutius took their story to a high official, the Roman consul. Hispala reluctantly agreed to give a full deposition, naming names and revealing what went on at the Bacchanalian orgies, but insisted on being placed in a witness protection program. A flood of details began to emerge. The orgies took place in the grove of Stimula, and the agenda included a mix of homosexual and heterosexual activities, with special emphasis on defiling new members, who all had to be under the age of twenty. Uncooperative initiates were defiled anyway, then tortured and/or killed.
Once Hispala got rolling, she spilled it all. “All those shrieks you hear five nights a month? That insanely loud drum and cymbal music? Bacchanalians. You might think it’s a live concert, but the noise is cover for the sounds of murder and rape,” added the young stoolie.
Thanks to the courageous testimony of Hispala and Aebutius, the entire Roman senate heard the case against the Bacchanalian cult and passed a decree to reward both of them. The senators voted the young man exemption from military service and 100,000 in coins. Hispala, the key witness, received the same amount—and also the legal freedom to wed a man of honorable birth. Oh, and round-the-sundial witness protection for her safety.
