The signal for the fight was given by a trumpeter, using a curved instrument like a French horn. The two men came together slowly, their faces obscured by their visored helmets, almost completely covered by their huge curved shields. Hucksters selling souvenir glasses and small trays with the pictures of the gladiators painted on them moved through the stands. The crowd stopped breathing as the arena was filled with the clash of steel for many of the spectators had wagered all they owned and possibly their liberty on the outcome of the fight.
One man staggered. He recovered himself but blood was staining the golden armour. From fifty thousand throats came the shout, "Habet!" (He's wounded!) Some shouted the word gleefully, some in despair, depending on how they had placed their bets.
The wounded man fell to his knees. His opponent pressed in on him, using his shield and the full weight of his body to force the injured man down. The gladiator fell and made the sign for mercy as a great shout went up from the stands. Few people bothered to give either a thumbs-up or thumbs-down decision; they were too busy either paying off or collecting their bets.
Another pair entered the arena and still another. As the fights went on the crowd stamped with enthusiasm, howled with rage, clapped with delight or flung miracles of insults at the fighters. There were constant cries of "Good! Aim for breast! What's the matter with you, you filth-gorged privy maggot! Let him have it! Give it to him!" When one man went down and the victor turned to face the stands, the crowd went into a frenzy of delight, especially if they had been betting on him. Women especially broke into hysterical spasms, and not only the common women in the upper tiers. The noble ladies on the podium often lost their heads. When one handsome young Myrmillo, only a few weeks before a simple farmboy living on the slopes of Apennine, paraded before the podium with his bloody sword upraised a great lady screamed uncontrollably and flung her brooch and necklace into the arena. Then she stripped off her rings, tossed them onto the sand, and finally ripped off her undergarments and threw them also. When the young Myrmillo came on the crumpled garments, he thought that the lady had simply thrown him her scarf or cloak. As he picked up the clothing to toss it back, the underwear unfolded. The simple boy stood gazing horrified at what he was holding. Then he dropped the garments and fled from the arena "more terrified of a woman's underwear than he had been of his enemy's sword" The crowd thought this was killingly funny and nearly died laughing. The patrician lady's husband was not so amused.
At that, he was more fortunate than the husband of Hippia, a noble lady who left her husband and children and fled to Egypt with a gladiator named Sergius. Juvenal says bitterly, "Sergius was maimed, getting old, had a battered face, his forehead was covered with welts from his helmet, his nose was broken and his eyes were bloodshot. But he was a swordsman!" Whether Juvenal intended any pun, I don't know. Many great ladies enjoyed the company of famous gladiators in their private apartments, but few ever ran off with their lovers.
Retiarii and Secutores were fighting now. One of the Reti-arii was wearing a visored helmet which concealed his face; a very unusual uniform for a net-man. The Secutor was a steady old fighter while the helmeted Retiarius was a clumsy, nervous young man obviously unsure of himself. Suddenly the Secutor took a quick step under the circling net, knocked the trident out of his oponent's hand, and threw him down. The angry crowd contemptuously gave the death signal, which the editor instandy duplicated. The despairing Retiarius tore off his helmet and stretched out both hands in supplication to the crowd. A horrified gasp went up. Everyone recognized the young man as Gracchus, a descendant of one of the noblest of the great patrician families. A drunkard and spendthrift, the young patrician had been abandoned by his family, and sinking lower and lower had finally ended in the arena as a professional gladiator.
Unflinchingly, the Emperor gave the death sign, but the Secutor shrank from killing one "so noble and so vile." Amid a dead silence, the young man slunk from the arena.
The fights continued to rage. Slaves pushing two-wheeled carts collected the wounded, for these men were too valuable to be burned by hot irons or knocked on the head by a hammer.
The referees had trouble in saving the wounded even when the verdict of the crowd was for them, for the victorious gladiator, mad with the excitement of battle, would often dispatch his defeated adversary on the spot. A mural in Herculaneum shows a referee trying to stop a Myrmillo from killing his helpless Samnite opponent.
When the crowd tired of the individual combats, companies of gladiators engaged. A platoon of Gauls fought a platoon of Thracians. Domitian was always a strong supporter of the Thracian gladiators; people became fanatical fans of certain types of gladiators just as they backed the Reds or the Blues in the chariot races. One excited man in the stands leaped up during the fight to shout, "Smear 'em Gauls! Those Thracians may be the Emperor's pet but they can't stand up against you boys!" The furious Domitian had the offender dragged from his seat and thrown in the arena. Then he ordered Carpophorus to turn his Hyrcanian hounds loose on him.
After the gladiators had finished there were jousts between Equestres—mounted men on horseback in full armour with lances. The armour these men wore was not plate armour like the Mediaeval knight's but breastplates, visored helmets, and greaves on their legs. However, the Romans did know how to make jointed armour, that is, armour that can slide in and out like an armadillo's plates as a man moves. The Secutores wore such armour on their right arms. Possibly the Equestres were similarly equipped and may even have worn chainmail. Their lances were probably light like the lances used by the Light Brigade at Balaclava. I can't understand why the Romans didn't make more use of the Equestres in warfare. An armoured man on horseback can handle almost any number of footmen as the Mediaeval knights demonstrated. After all, King Arthur lived only a couple of hundred years after the time of Domitian, and may even have been a British governor trained by the Romans. He certainly used knights to good effect. But apparently the Romans always put their faith in the legions manoeuvring on foot. It was a great mistake.
By the time the Equestres had finished their jousting, it was dark, but the games still continued. The catapults flung figs, dates, nuts, cakes and plums to the crowd. Free wine was distributed. Torches sprinkled with incense were lighted. The incense was of different kinds so the torches burned red, yellow, blue and green. Silver stars were hung from the awning. In the arena, cavalry fought against chariots and heavily armoured Hoplomachi fought equally well-armed Provocatores, the varicoloured lights dancing on the sword blades and shields. At the end, the arena was flooded again for a fight between African natives in war canoes, while barges full of beautiful nude girls floated around the podium wall, chanting songs and throwing favours into the stands.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marcus Aurelius, the great Roman emperor and philosopher, remarked: "I wouldn't mind the games being brutal and degrading if only they weren't so damned monotonous."
Although the Romans devoted an enormous amount of ingenuity to ringing the variations, there is no doubt that Marcus was right. But the mob had developed a morbid taste for the spectacles which had to be gratified. Nietzsche believes that the great driving power which had made the Romans masters of the world had to be given a vent. With no worlds left to conquer, their force was dissipated in watching these holocausts.