Those About to Die

by Daniel Pratt Mannix

  A horse that had won over one hundred races was called a Centenarius and wore a special harness. Diocles owned nine Centenarii, all of which he had trained himself. He had one horse that had won over two hundred races. This horse, named Passerinus, was so revered that soldiers patroled the streets when he was sleeping to keep people from making any noise. The best horse in the team was always on the near hand (left side) of the hitch and never yoked—only held by traces. On the turns, this horse was nearest to the Spine and his speed and sure-footedness meant the difference between life and death to the driver. The second best horse was on the offside (right) of the hitch and was usually not yoked either. On the turns, he had to jerk the chariot around while the Centenarius on the inside pivoted close to the cones. The two centre horses were yoked on either side of the shaft and were mainly for pulling power although the whole team had to know their jobs.

  As today, there were unending arguments about the best breeds and best farms. The horses were not shod, so the condition of their feet was crucial. The Sicilian horses were very fast but unreliable, the Iberians good only for a short course (feet too soft), and the Libyan best for a long drag. There were several breeds we do not have today; among them the Orynx, which was striped like a zebra but was apparently a domestic breed of horse.

  Although there are innumerable statues of Roman charioteers in museums and although we have plenty of old records of the sport such as "Scorpus of the White Faction got first place seven times, second place twenty-nine times and third place sixty times," I haven't been able to find a detailed description of any single race. However, there are many scattered references to incidents in the races, and it is possible to imagine what a race was like. Let's picture a race during the Ludi Magni (great games) with Diocles one of the drivers.

  For weeks, virtually the only topic of conversation in Rome had been the race and the betting odds. People paid huge sums for hot tips, which were usually unreliable. Seneca, the great Roman philosopher, exclaimed: "The art of con­versation is dead. Can no one today talk of anything except the skill of various charioteers and the quality of their teams?" Diocles was such a heavy favourite that a senator remarked, "If Diocles loses, it will do more to upset the national economy than a major military defeat" But a few days before the race, the betting odds suddenly altered. All sorts of rumours were sweeping the city. A man had it on the authority of one of the conditores who kept the chariots greased that Diocles had been heavily bribed to throw the race. A tavern keeper had overheard two members of the Praetorian guard say that the emperor, who was backing another team, had arranged with the sponsor of the games to start the race again if Diocles was ahead. The madam of a brothel had it from one of her girls who had entertained the valet of a prominent politician that two of the opposing charioteers had sworn a sacred oath to get Diocles by catching his chariot between them and wrecking it. A man who had a cousin who knew a vet had been told that Diocles' Centenarius, Passerinus, had been doped. People hurried to the stable to taste Passerinua' dung to see if the story was true. So the odds went up and down according to the latest rumour, many of them deliberately spread by heavy bettors who were speculating on the event.

  The four corporations who controlled the races were known as the White, Red, Green, and Blue, and the charioteers wore tunics of their corporation's colour like a jockey's racing silks. All Rome was divided into these four factions—in fact, our word faction originally meant a group supporting a chariot team. People wore coloured flowers, ribbons or scarfs to show which team they were backing. So devoted were the people to their faction that they often had it engraved on their tombstones: "Memmius Regulus was a good man, a devoted husband and a staunch supporter of the Reds." Nero, who always backed the Greens, had the arena sand dyed green to honour them and the Emperor Vitellius had fifty people killed because they booed the Blues.

  On the day of the race, the city was almost deserted, nearly everyone being at the Circus Maximus. Troops had to patrol the empty streets to prevent looting by thieves. The races began at dawn and lasted until sunset. First there was a procession around the arena, led by the editor (the man giving the games), who was usually a politician running for office and needed votes. The editor rode in a chariot dressed in a purple toga as though he were a member of the nobility. Only as an editor of games could an ordinary man wear the purple. Around the chariot walked the editor's ward-heelers in white robes carrying palm branches, and after him rode a group of young aristocrats to show that men of wealth and breeding were also supporting the editor. Then came a long procession of priests carrying images of the gods on litters, swinging incense burners and chanting hymns. The crowd had been given handkerchiefs or placards with the editor's political slogan stamped on them ("Vote for Eprius Marcellus, the people's friend") and claques had been organised under cheer leaders to shout a slogan together. As the editor made the rounds, bowing and smiling, the claques all gave their cheers and the rest of the crowd stood up and waved the handkerchiefs or placards and shouted.

  When the procession was over, the crowd sat down to study their racing forms and made last-minute bets with the bookies who ran up and down the aisles. Some of the forms, engraved on ivory or brass for the use of the nobility, are still in existence. They look like this:

  1st Race

  Racing Stable Team Colour of Horse Charioteer Stall Green Passerinus Grey Diocles III

  Pomperanus Grey Tigris Chestnut

  Raptore Black

  And so on for all four teams in the first race.

  Although the stalls from which the chariots started were all equidistant from a point midway between the stands and the end of the Spine, the charioteers who had the left-hand stall had an advantage, being able to go straight to the Spine and thus gaining the inside track. The stalls were numbered from one to four and charioteers picked their number out of a bowl. Diocles drew the third stall from the left.

  Slaves were out watering the track to keep down dust, raking the sand and making sure no one had thrown any empty wine skins or gnawed bones on the track. A trumpet was blown and the track was hurriedly cleared. Meanwhile in the paddock behind the stalls the charioteers were getting their teams ready. The men wore short tunics that left their arms bare, heavy leather caps like crash-helmets, and each carried a knife in his belt so that in case of an accident he could cut himself free of the reins tied around his waist. Most of the drivers had coated themselves with boar's dung in the belief that the odour kept the horses from stepping on a man if he was thrown from his chariot.

  The racing chariots were very light, made of wood with bronze fittings. They were lower and had a wider wheel base than the ordinary chariot. When the trumpet sounded to clear the track, teams were led out by their handlers and hitched up. There were several types of hitch used. Although the most usual was to have the two centre horses on either side of the shaft yoked together and the two outside horses on traces, sometimes a driver would have only his left-hand horse on traces. On rare occasions the entire team might be on traces to give them greater manoeuvrability. The horses' tails were always tied up so they wouldn't foul the reins.

  The bitching-up must have been quite a sight—the horses pawing the ground and snorting, their manes studded with pearls and semi-precious stones. They wore breastplates hung with gold and silver amulets, and each horse had a broad ribbon the colour of his racing stable around his neck. The Romans claimed that chariot racing improved the breed of horses, but actually these animals were so inbred and tempera­mental that they were unfitted for anything except this breakneck dash around the arena at top speed.

  Another trumpet sounded, the drivers took their places in the gleaming chariots and the grooms led the teams into the stalls, entering them from the rear. Then the grooms got out of the way—fast. A moment's pause. The editor of the games rose in his box and dropped a handkerchief. The gates of the four stalls were thrown open at the same instant and the chariots were off.

  Every driver tried to reac
h the inside track around the Spine. As a result, there were usually so many crack-ups in this first wild rush that a special gate had to be constructed under the stands near the starting point where the arena attendants could drag out the smashed chariots, dead men and horses so they wouldn't block the course when the rest had circled the Spine and started the second lap. Sometimes the race never got going at all—all the chariots ending up in a pile at this point.

  To solve this problem, a white rope called the Alba Linea was stretched from the Spine to the stands, just high enough to trip a galloping team of horses. A judge who was stationed in a box could drop this rope if he decided that it was a fair start. If the chariots didn't get away together or if there was too much jostling and fouling at the start, he left the rope up and then the race had to start over again.

  This rope posed a very critical decision for the charioteers. If a driver went all out to reach the preferred inside track around the Spine and the rope wasn't dropped in time, he and his chariot went wheels over shaft. If he held back too much and the rope was dropped at the last instant, some other driver got ahead of him. It helped to know the judge's prejudices. If he was a secret supporter of the Blues and the Blue chariot was left at the post, he'd keep the rope up. If Blue was ahead, he'd drop the rope no matter what.

  In this race, we'll suppose that all the chariots got away to an even start and the rope was dropped as the foremost chariot approached it. We can be pretty sure that this fore­most chariot wasn't Diocles. He was famous for holding his team back until the last lap and then coming from behind to win. Diocles might even have been running last as the four chariots swept around the cones at the far end of the Spine on their first turn.

  The basic strategy of all charioteering was to take the turns as tight as possible, but there were many other tricks. If ahead, you tried to block the others so they couldn't pass. If you were in the middle, you cut in front of the other chariots on the turns to force the drivers to rein in. If you got the chance, you hooked your wheel inside the wheel of an opposing chariot and then suddenly swung your team out.

  If properly done, it could jerk your opponent's wheel off the axle and put him out of the race.

  We'll suppose that by the end of the fifth lap, Orestes, a Greek driving for the Reds, is ahead of Diocles, driving for the Greens, just behind. Diocles is using his whip only on three of the horses, controlling Passerinus, his inside horse, by voice alone. Orestes is a skilful driver and as they go into the sixth lap, he manages to block Diocles on the turns so the Spaniard can't pass him. Then the two chariots level out for the rush down the lefthand side of the Spine. In spite of everything Orestes can do, Diocles pulls up alongside of him—but on the outside. They still have one more turn around the end of the Spine, and Orestes cuts it as close as he dares—Diocles turning with him.

  As they spin around, Orestes slackens his reins too much while his team is making the swing. His axelrod hits one of the cones and breaks. Orestes is thrown out and as he falls, he tries to jerk out the knife in his belt to cut himself free of the reins. He can't get it free in time. Diocles has had to throw all his weight back on his reins to keep from being entangled in the wreck ahead for the pull of the dragging axle-bar has swung Orestes' team in front of him. Orestes is dragged along by his frantic horses; one moment he's half standing and then he's feet uppermost. The other two chariots following the leaders see their chance and try to pass, but Diocles shouts to his team and gives them their heads. They plow through the wreckage of Orestes' chariot, trampling the Greek underfoot. Passerinus trips and almost falls but Diocles grabs the stallion's reins in both hands and keeps his head up. Now they're through the wreckage and in the clear. One final burst of speed and they cross the finish line while the crowd goes wild. Orestes' corpse is so trampled that, as a contemporary writer remarked after the race, "His best friend couldn't have identified the body."

  Diocles retired at forty-two with a fortune of 35 million sesterces (about Ј600,000). We know so much about him because he published a book of memoirs, ghost-written by a contemporary sports writer. Diocles claims to have been the greatest charioteer of all time (he was undoubtedly the most successful financially) although he admits some other drivers won more races than he did. "But what kind of races?" he asks. "On some provincial track running against a lot of plugs. Now, I was always in the big-time events at the Circus Maximus, running against stiff competition. No other driver won over a thousand races under those con­ditions."

  Very few charioteers were as lucky as Diocles. Fuscus Was killed at twenty-four after only fifty-seven wins. Aurelius Mollicus, judging from his double name a freeman, not a slave, was killed at twenty after a hundred and twenty-five wins. However, all these men had statues made in their honour with glowing inscriptions which were intended to, and have, made them immortal. The inscriptions read: “Never lost the lead at the Ludi Plebi!" "Came from behind to win at the Ludi Apollinares." "An unknown who really fooled the wise ones." And so on. There they stand in museums for the benefit of tourists, good-looking men most of them, with powerful forearms and tremendous shoulders. They lived high, wide and handsome, and their end generally came under the flashing hoofs of horses while the crowd yelled with excitement or thought: "There go my ten sesterces."

  It was often said: "The great spectacle at the circus is not the games but the spectators." The games were the great emo­tional outlet for the mob and they made the most of it. During a race the crowd literally went mad. Women collapsed or had sexual orgasms. Men bit themselves, tore their clothes, did mad dances, bet until they ran out of money, and then bet themselves to a slave dealer to raise more. One man fainted when the White team fell behind. When the Whites came forward to win in the last lap, the man had to be revived to be told of his good luck. Travellers approaching Rome could hear the roar of triumph when the race was over before they could see the city towers. If a faction thought that its team had got a raw deal, they staged a riot—on one occasion setting fire to the Circus Maximus and burning it to the ground. It was after that a law was passed saying that all amphitheatres had to be built of stone, although the upper tiers were still frequently made of wood.

  This mania even had a name—it was called Hippomania: horse-madness. When Felix, a famous charioteer for the Reds, was killed in a race and his body burned on a funeral pyre, a man threw himself into the flames so he could perish with his idol. A nobleman's little boy, when asked what of all things on earth he wished as a gift, asked for the tunic worn by a famous charioteer for the Greens. When the Germans were attacking Carthage, the people refused to defend the walls—they were busy watching a chariot race. When Treves was burned by the barbarian hordes, the city council pointed out that the disaster had its good side. "Now we'll have room to build a really fine chariot course in the middle of the city," the governor pointed out.

  To show how the passion for chariot racing grew: in 169 b.c. there was one race a day during the games, held late in the afternoon as a climax to the sport. Under Augustus Caesar at the time of Christ, there were twelve races a day. Under Caligula forty years later, there were twenty-four races a day. Two more racing corporations were formed so that six chariots competed instead of the usual four. Later, the number was increased to twelve and even sixteen chariots, but by then the mob had lost all interest in real driving and only wanted to see a lot of smash-ups.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the early days when the games were merely athletic contests there were no gladiatorial combats. Gladiators were intro­duced by accident. Two brothers named Marcus and Decimus Brutus wanted to give their dead father a real bang-up funeral. The brothers were wealthy patricians, the ruling class in Rome, and provided outstanding funeral rites for a dead parent was an important social obligation. The usual processions, sacrificial animals and prayers weren't enough for the brothers, but Marcus came up with an idea.

  "There was an old custom, dating back to prehistoric times, of having a few slaves fight to the death over the
grave of some great leader," he reminded his brother. "Why not revive it to show how much we revere the memory of the old man?"

  Decimus turned the suggestion over in his mind. Origi­nally this ceremony had been a sort of a human sacrifice, and the souls of the dead slaves were supposed to serve the chieftain in the next world. The fighting was to make sure that only brave men capable of being good followers would follow the dead leader. Educated Romans like the Brutus brothers didn't believe this old superstition, but the dead man had been a great soldier and fond of rough sports.

  "Nothing would please father more" he admitted. "If the priests agree, we'll do it Our social position will be definitely established."

  The priests had no objections and half of Rome turned out to watch the fight. Three pairs of slaves fought and the crowd loved it. The brothers became the most popular men in Rome for having put on such a good show. Politicians, eager to be elected, decided to put on similar exhibitions. The following statistics will show how fast the idea caught on:

  264—b.c. 3 pairs of slaves.

  216—b.c. 22 pairs of slaves.

  183—b.c. 60 pairs of slaves.

  145—b.c. 90 pairs fought for three days.

  Soon it was taken for granted that anyone running for office had to put on slave fights—the bigger the better.

  Promoters began to buy up able-bodied slaves, criminals and prisoners of war especially for these fights. The promo­ters would then rent the men out at so much per head to any ambitious politician. These professional slave-fighters became known as "gladiators," meaning "swordsmen."