You should never underestimate the power of bread and circuses. Hundreds of gladiators have risen to the fight knowing they were mere pawns in a politician’s bid for higher office. The Republic was a bad time for that sort of thing. These days, we perform at the emperor’s command, and on as few as 10 days a year. Combat days, you see, are special. Gladiators are special. There was one, a chap from Syria, who managed a staggering 34 contests, but most gladiators will only ever fight a couple of times in their life.
There is nothing quite like the drama of a fight day. The build-up is so feverish and protracted – you’ll have seen the posters around town – that the crowds are barely sated by the pre-match feast. It is human blood they bay for. We like to whet their appetites. The first duels we put before them are relatively friendly. Dummy swords, no deaths. We essentially bring the school to the arena. Only when these duels are done do we bring out the sharps.
Suddenly, the trumpet blares, the musicians assemble. Let the games begin! A crowd favourite has been lassoed in a net. Mitte! cry the spectators, “Set him free!” Match two: another has fallen, habet, hoc habet! – “He’s had it!” The entire front row leans forward, practically bent double, to witness his fate. It is Marcus, one of our strongest, and he is exhaling blood. Slowly, he raises his finger – an act of submission that, by the rules, the referee ought to heed so the fight is paused. All eyes turn to the emperor. Will he save him? Our imperator watches the crowd. He is easily swayed by their response. The people adore Marcus because he typifies Roman virtus. He is manly, he is brave, he will boldly accept his fate either way. Thumbs are turned. Marcus is spared. Other gladiators will be less fortunate today.
It fills me with pride to see triumphant men from my school being awarded crowns, palms and cash. There’s pride, too, on the faces of the successful damnati ad ludos who find themselves freed. We insist that fights to the death should be rare. An expensive business, training gladiators. The hardest part is watching those I have raised being led off if they’re obviously too weak to fight again. Oh, and seeing the bodies being dragged away, of course. Hades, have mercy on their souls!
Daisy Dunn’s The Missing Thread: A Women’s History of the Ancient World (W&N, £25) is out now; Gladiator II will be released in cinemas on November 15