As we shall see, normally in games/combats of this kind every effort was made to ensure that the fighters would meet one another on equal terms. Not so, however, on this occasion. On the Philistine side there was Goliath, six cubits and a span tall.
And he had a helmet of brass upon his head and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders. And the staff of his spear was like a weaver’s beam; and his spear’s head weighed six hundred shekels of iron; and one bearing a shield went before him.
His opponent was young and lightly armed – he had tried on Saul’s arms, but not being used to them he decided to do without them. All he had was a staff, a sling, and five pebbles. So great was the disparity between the two that the expression “David versus Goliath” has become proverbial.
In fact, appearances were deceptive. Admittedly David was greatly inferior in strength and the power of the weapons he carried. Nor did he wear any defensive armor. However, in terms of mobility and range he was clearly superior. While the Bible provides few details, obviously there was sufficient space between the opposing armies to allow David to develop a strategy that exploited these advantages to the full. Having “run” until he was within range of his opponent, he halted, put a pebble in his sling, whirled it around, aimed and fired. Had he missed, then of course he could still have run away, taken up some other position, and repeated the attempt. There simply was no way Goliath could have chased him and caught up with him. In the event he hit his enemy on the forehead, causing him to fall, unconscious. Next, using the giant’s own sword, he cut off his head. In all the records of single combat a more asymmetrical fight is hard to find. The preliminary exchange of taunts and curses apart, so limited was the interplay between the two that it hardly deserves to be called a fight at all.
When issuing his challenge, Goliath suggested that the fight, however it turned out, would bring the war to an end. Should he himself be defeated, then the Philistines would agree to become the Israelites’ “servants”; if things turned out differently, then the relationship would be inverted. The text does not tell us whether Saul, when he agreed to allow David to try his luck, accepted those conditions. As it turned out, the Philistines, having watched their mighty champion fall and die, fled the field. The Israelites went in pursuit and wounded many (the text does not say explicitly that they were killed). They ended by plundering the enemy’s camp. The clear implication is that if hostilities were resumed and further bloodshed took place, it was the Philistines’ fault.
The next book of the Old Testament, 2 Samuel, also contains a description of a combat of champions. This time it was not individuals but two groups which met and fought. Following Saul’s defeat and death at the Philistines’ hands, civil war broke out between the forces of his son and putative heir, Ish-bosheth, and those of his son-in-law, the pretender David. The former were commanded by Abner, the latter by Joab, who also happened to be David’s nephew. The armies met on two sides of a pool at Gibeon, a few miles north of Jerusalem.89 The two men knew one another well. Abner, who was older and more experienced, suggested “let the young men now arise, and play before us.” Joab immediately agreed. The extremely terse language – much more so in the original Hebrew than any English translation can reproduce – may suggest that they were not volunteers but acted under orders. “Then there arose,” the text proceeds, “and went over by number twelve . . . which pertained to Ish-bosheth . . . and twelve of the servants of David. And they caught every one his fellow by the head, and thrust his sword in his fellow’s side; so they fell down together.” Whereupon the war was resumed, many were killed, and Abner’s forces were badly beaten.
Starting as long ago as the fourth century AD, rabbis and scholars have often commented on this text.90 Some things seem clear enough. First, there were no speeches and apparently no attempt to negotiate an agreement concerning what would happen in case one side won and the other lost. Judging by the use of the term “play,” the only goal Abner had in mind seems to have been pure entertainment. Perhaps the word, which like the English “sport” is closely linked with “fun” and “laughter,” was deliberately chosen to bring out this aspect of the matter. Some rabbis, indeed, have condemned Abner, claiming that his death, which took place soon afterwards, was a divine punishment for making light with men’s blood. Second, evidently what took place was a series of one-on-one fights, not a struggle between two organized teams; each fight involved both wrestling and weapons play. Just such a fight, dating to approximately the same period and involving two men holding one another by the beard and stabbing one another, is shown on some reliefs from Tel Halaf in northern Syria.91
Third, as is normal in combats of this kind, there were no rules to limit the amount of violence the combatants might use and no attempt to prevent a deadly outcome. To the contrary, the death of at least one combatant was expected. Though the text does not explicitly say so, clearly what made this possible was the fact that they fought in a location specially set aside for the purpose. Some modern archeologists even believe that they may have discovered it. Finally, since the forces on both sides were perfectly symmetrical, the fight was much more typical of the genre of single combat and combat of champions than the one between David and Goliath.
We are told in 2 Samuel that several of David’s “heroes” also killed their opponents in single combat, but too few details are provided for these episodes to be worth commenting on.92 Whether they involve gods or men, one thing all these encounters have in common is their mythological or semi-mythological character. This even applies to the one built around the Egyptian hero Sinuhe. Determined attempts have been made to show that the one between David and Goliath could not have taken place in the form the Bible describes it. First, it turns out that Goliath’s equipment, strongly reminiscent of that described by Homer though it is, fails to match what various contemporary sources reveal about that used by the Philistines during the period in question. Second, it is claimed that the account of the fight was written many centuries later. By this view, the consciously held objective was to demonstrate the superiority of Jewish over Hellenistic culture.93 Similar questions have been raised concerning three other combats to which we must now turn. They are described in the Iliad, an eighth-century BC epic whose relationship to “what really happened” is by no means clear.
Modern scholars place the Trojan War, if it ever took place, about two centuries before the reign of King David. The first combat took place after the Trojan hero Hector called his brother Paris, whose abduction of the beautiful Helen from her husband Menelaus had caused the war, a coward. Thus challenged, Paris admitted that he was a better man in bed than on the battlefield. However, he also said that he was prepared to meet Menelaus in a duel for Helen’s hand and treasure, thus ending the conflict his deed had initiated. Hector, whose heart was full of forebodings concerning the eventual fate of his city, leapt at the proposal of saving it. Stepping between the lines, he stopped the fighting and repeated Paris’ consent for the enemy forces to hear. Menelaus having agreed – after ten years of hostilities everybody had grown sick and tired – some sheep were slaughtered, and both armies swore a solemn oath that whoever won the fight would be allowed to keep Helen, together with all her treasure. A piece of ground was staked out; on both sides, the warriors sat down in orderly rows to watch the proceedings.
As in many a modern pistol duel, lots were drawn to see which of the combatants would be the first to cast his spear. Paris won, but his spear failed to penetrate Menelaus’ shield. Next Menelaus, a much better warrior than his rival, cast his spear. It penetrated and tore Paris’ shirt, though the text does not explicitly say that he was wounded. Reaching for his sword, Menelaus sought to kill his opponent, but it broke. He thereupon seized Paris by his helmet’s strap, and would have overcome him if the strap too had not broken. Paris’ life was only saved by the intervention of hi
s patroness, the love-goddess Aphrodite. Having enveloped him in a cloud, she spirited him away from the battlefield back to his house in Troy where she ordered Helen to sleep with him. Meanwhile a mystified Menelaus searched for Paris all over the battlefield. Since he could not be found, King Agamemnon proclaimed that Menelaus had won the fight and called on the Trojans to keep their oath and return Helen. This might indeed have happened. However, Athene, who hated Troy and wanted to bring about its destruction, persuaded a Trojan hero, Pandaros, to fire an arrow at Menelaus, which wounded him. The oath having been treacherously broken, hostilities were resumed.94
The second fight was instigated by Paris’ brother Helenos. Acting on the advice of Athena and Apollo, he persuaded Hector, who was also his brother, to call a halt to the fighting. Obeying Hector’s call, the Trojans sat down on the ground, whereupon the Greeks, on the order of Agamemnon, did the same. Addressing both armies, Hector suggested a combat between himself, as the most powerful Trojan warrior by far, and a Greek champion. This time, though, the text does not say anything about any conditions that may have been attached to the outcome of the anticipated fight.
At first Menelaus wanted to answer the challenge. However, he was prevented from doing so by his brother, King Agamemnon, who argued, with good reason, that Hector was much the greater warrior and that the outcome of such a fight would be a foregone conclusion. After some hesitation no fewer than nine Greek heroes volunteered to take his place. A lottery was held, and it fell on the giant Ajax. Following some mutual taunting, he and Hector went after one another with spear and heavy rock. It looked as if Ajax might win, but as the day ended and darkness approached the heralds on both sides called a halt to the fight. At this point one “wise” Trojan leader, Antenor, suggested that Paris return Helen with all her treasure so as to put an end to the war. Paris on his part was prepared to return the treasure but not Helen. His father Priam, King of Troy, agreed to have that proposal submitted to the Greeks. When the latter had heard it, they understandably decided that the war should go on.95
The Iliad also describes a third encounter of the same kind. This time the objective was not to end a war but to observe religion and provide entertainment; the combatants, though they were rivals, were not enemies and did not represent anybody except themselves. After Patroclos had been killed and buried, his friend Achilles held funeral games in his honor. The highlight was formed by single combat between two great heroes, Diomedes and the above-mentioned Ajax. Three times the antagonists clashed, only to separate again. Ajax struck hard but did not penetrate Diomedes’ armor. Diomedes on his part was directing his “glittering spear” at Ajax’ throat when the Greeks, “worried about Ajax,” called an end to the fight, leaving Diomedes to carry the prize. Like some of the rest, the story is not as clear as it should have been. Before the fight began, Achilles announced that the first combatant to “dip his spear in his opponent’s blood” would be pronounced the victor. Yet he also promised that after everything was over he would invite both fighters to feast in his tent. Clearly, then, though injury was expected, there was no intention of having the two men fight to the death.96
The poet has arranged the fights in a definite order. Menelaus did defeat Paris, but he was no match for Hector who was much stronger than him. Hector was injured by the gigantic Ajax and, had nightfall not interrupted the fight, might very well have been left dead in the field. Ajax in turn was overcome by the great warrior Diomedes, who as it happened was the favorite of the war-goddess Athena and took on the war-god Ares himself. Thus it is the greatest heroes who are made to fight one another last.
Tactically speaking, these three encounters were all but indistinguishable from countless other fights described in the Iliad.97 First two heroes, often known to each other by name (and sometimes related, which causes them to part peacefully) met on the battlefield. Sometimes they exchanged speeches, sometimes not. The fight opened with the casting of spears – naturally there could be no question of throwing lots to see who would do so first. The spear having failed to kill the opponent, they followed up with swords and heavy rocks. Two principal differences distinguished the Homeric duels from “real” combat. First, they were pre-arranged. In the one between Paris and Menelaus explicit conditions were agreed on concerning what would happen in case it turned out this way or that. Though the poet does not say so, presumably that was also true in the one between Hector and Ajax. Second, and even more important, and as Hector reminded his opponent in his pre-battle speech,98 the use of cunning and dirty tricks was prohibited. Responsibility for making sure that the proceedings would be fair rested with the spectators on both sides, acting as witnesses. All three duels bore a solemn, even festive, character. In this they differed sharply from the confused, often anything but fair and even-handed, reality of war so well described elsewhere in the Iliad.99
Taking all the above-mentioned seven encounters, between them they encompass almost every type of duel known to man. Mostly the combatants were volunteers, but if I interpret 2 Samuel correctly they might also be ordered to participate. Now individuals met, now groups. Sometimes explicit conditions concerning what would happen if one side won and the other lost were set, sometimes not. Usually care was taken to provide a certain symmetry on both sides, or else presumably one or the other would have refused to fight, but this was not always the case. Normally the combatants fought with short-range weapons, presumably because they were considered fit for heroes because they did not endanger the spectators; but we have also noted cases when bow and arrows and even the sling were used. Many duels were fought to the death, others stopped before they got that far. All are clearly wargames as we have defined the term. The difficulty is that none of the sources even comes close to historical objectivity as we understand it today. Not only do historians question Goliath’s equipment, but it is not at all certain that the Greeks ever fought in the way described in the Iliad. The fact that later vase paintings often show the combats, complete with the protagonists’ names, does nothing to resolve the issue. The question is whether the protagonists ever existed and whether the fights did take place.
Subsequent Greek authors, notably the seventh-century BC poet Hesiod, the fifth-century BC playwright Euripides, and the first- and second-century AD geographers Strabo and Pausanias also tell us of single combats between champions.100 However, in every case the events they describe took place centuries before their own time, either shortly before the Trojan War or not long after it. As a result, though Strabo and Pausanias both claim to have seen monuments erected to the heroes in question (and though there is no reason to question their veracity in this respect), neither their accounts nor those of the others can be authenticated any more than the Iliad can. The same is true of Herodotus’ story concerning a fight that took place at the Isthmus between a Heraclid (Dorian) champion and a Tegean one. This, incidentally, is one of the few cases when the conditions surrounding the fight, assuming it did in fact take place, were actually observed; the outcome was said to have been fifty years of peace.101 As with Homer, all one can surmise is that there is nothing intrinsically impossible about these accounts: even if the specific champions whose names have come down to us never existed; even if the specific combats mentioned never took place; and even if some of the stories are clearly intended to provide an explanation for certain strange facts and proceedings whose origins were obscure.
Ancient historians dealing with the seventh and sixth centuries BC mention several cases of combat by champions, the last of which supposedly took place in 512 BC. Supposedly on this occasion the people of the two kings concerned, Perinthis and Paeonia (both on the Hellespont), matched not only man against man but horse against horse and dog against dog.102 Roman history also provides several examples of combat of champions and single combat, but none appears to be historical. The poet Virgil in the Aeneid has the Trojan hero Aeneas challenge his enemy Turnus. At stake was the hand of Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus, and with her rule over Latium. Condit
ions were agreed on and everything made ready for the fight; however, Turnus’ allies violated the truce. The war, which had been going on for some time, was resumed and Turnus was killed. The historian Livy tells of an episode that supposedly took place around 650 BC when three Roman volunteers, the Horatii, agreed to meet with, and defeated, their three opponents, the Curiatii of Alba Longa, settling the war between the two cities in Rome’s favor.103 Both authors lived many centuries after the events they describe. Neither invented their stories out of thin air, and both are known to have utilized, and elaborated on, much older sources. Yet no more than Paris, Menelaus, and the rest can the existence and deeds of Aeneas, Turnus, and the Horatii be verified.
One of the consuls for 202, BC, Marcus Servillius Pulex Geminus, claimed to have challenged and fought individual enemies no fewer than twenty-three times.104 Another uniquely Roman institution was the famous spolia opima. Physically it consisted of the equipment of an enemy commander whom a Roman commander had slain in single combat. More important, though, was the right to carry it in triumph and dedicate it to the gods, a right only the Senate could grant. According to Plutarch, the first to win the spolia was none other than Romulus. The text, which Plutarch derived from much older sources, is as explicit as anyone could wish for: “when they [Romulus and the Caeninensian king, Acron] were face to face and had surveyed each other, they challenged mutually to single combat before battle, while their armies remained quiet under arms.” As also happened in the encounter between David and Goliath, Romulus’ victory was followed by a battle in which the Romans routed their enemies.105
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