Early in the fifth century BC a military tribune, Aulus Cornelius Cossus, is said to have repeated Romulus’ feat by fighting and killing an Etruscan king, Lars Tolumnius.106 Like its predecessors, though, this case is probably mythological. Switching to “real” history, during all the thousand and more years of the Roman Republic and Empire only one man actually received the award. His name was Marcus Claudius Marcellus and he was consul in 222 BC. The enemy was a “king” of the Gauls whose name is not given.107 Another man, Marcus Licinius Crassus, grandson of the former “triumvir,” should have received the spolia in 27 BC, but was denied the award by the Emperor Augustus, apparently for political reasons.108 All four encounters took place in the no-man’s-land between the assembled armies, as indeed they would have to since each commander had to part with his bodyguard and ride ahead. To that extent they answer our definition of wargames. However, only the first one was preceded by a formal challenge. The others were more a question of one general, having observed his rival exposed, taking the opportunity to charge and fight him.
Arriving in Byzantium, we seem to be on safer ground. According to Procopius, a sixth-century chronicler who wrote under Justinian, the battles of Faenza (AD 542) and Busta Gallorum (AD 552) were preceded by single mounted combats between carefully chosen champions of both sides. Both encounters were pre-arranged following a formal challenge. Both were held in full view of the assembled armies and Procopius provides us with blow-by-blow accounts of them. On the first occasion both protagonists were killed and it was the Ostrogoths under King Totila who won the battle that followed. On the second, it was the “Romans,” as the Byzantines always called themselves, who prevailed both in the single combat and in the battle.109 In so far as there was no attempt to negotiate a settlement, apparently the encounters’ purpose was not much more than entertainment. Perhaps each side also hoped that the victory of its champion would not be without some moral side-effect on its opponent.
There has never been any question but that the two battles were historical. Both were part of Justinian’s attempt to reconquer Italy and took place within Procopius’ own lifetime. On both sides, the generals in charge were well known. Both involved thousands of troops, many of whom were still alive at the time Procopius wrote. Unlike some of his predecessors, clearly he could not just invent details, including the combatants’ names, out of thin air. Adding to his credibility is the fact that, on both occasions, the Byzantines were fighting not some other ancient city, kingdom or empire but a barbarian tribe. Both before and after Procopius’ time, societies that lacked the fundamental division between the private and the public, i.e. such as were constructed either on tribal principles or on feudal ones, were especially likely to engage in the kind of wargame known as combat of champions and single combat.110
Here is another description of such an encounter, taken from the work of Liutprand of Cremona (c. 922–72). The reference is to Pavia in 773, scene of an impending battle between some Bavarian and Italian chiefs and their respective armies:
Already twenty-one days had passed while . . . neither side could harm the other, and every day one Bavarian, reproaching the lines of the Italians, shouted that they were weaklings and poor riders. To the increase of this insult he jumped amidst them and knocked the spear from one man’s hand and thus returned elated to his side’s fortification. Therefore [one] Hubald . . . desiring to avenge so great an insult against his people, having taken up his shield, soon went out to meet the aforementioned Bavarian . . . Certain of victory, that fellow advanced elated against him, and he began at times to spur on his agile horse with vigorous charges, and at other times to pull him back with tightened reins. The aforementioned Hubald began to advance straight on. When they reached the point that they struck each other with blows, in his usual way the Bavarian began to gallop in swirls with the horse taking various complicated turns, so that with these maneuvers he could trick Hubald. Instead, when according to these tactics, he turned his back so that, suddenly turning around, he could strike Hubald from behind, the horse upon which Hubald rode was vigorously urged on with spurs, and the Bavarian was pierced between his shoulders through to his heart before he could turn around . . . Once this had been done, no small fear gripped the Bavarians, and no small boldness the Italians.
After which the Bavarians were content to receive some silver and return to their own country.
Other medieval sources fairly bristle with such encounters. Gregory of Tours in his sixth-century History of the Franks, Paul the Deacon in his eighth-century History of the Lombards, Richerus of Rheims in his tenth-century Histoire de France, all refer to them. So do the historian known to us as Saxo Grammaticus in his Deeds of the Danes, William of Malmesbury in his Historia Novella, and Henry of Huntington’s History of the English People, all of which were written in the twelfth century. From the thirteenth century come the anonymous L’Histore de Guillaume le Maréchal and Joinville’s Life of Saint Louis; from the latter part of the fourteenth, Froissart’s Chronicles. All of these tell of countless combats of the kind we are interested in.111 All these were respectable works written by acknowledged scholars. But for them, our knowledge of the early Middle Ages in particular would be nearly nonexistent. Each according to his lights sought to record the most important events that took place during the period he covered. Though each had his biases, none set out to invent history as epic poets so often do. They could have elaborated and embroidered and undoubtedly did so at times; but they could not create an entire class of combats out of nothing without, at the very least, causing their readers’ eyebrows to rise.
Though obviously no two encounters were exactly alike, most of them seem to have been governed by a fairly orderly procedure. First two armies would confront each other in the field, parade-like, as was the normal practice until Napoleonic times.112 Another good time for delivering a challenge might be a siege, given that many investments were lengthy and marked by periods during which nothing much happened. A champion, either acting on his own initiative or after having received his superior’s permission, would step forward and give a speech. Having boasted about the importance of his lineage and his personal prowess in war, he would hurl insults and demand that an enemy warrior come out and meet him in mortal combat. Long-range arms such as bows and arrows do not seem to have been allowed; that apart, the same weapons were used, and the same lack of restrictions applied, as in “real” warfare. While there may have been exceptions, the normal outcome was the death of one of the parties. Finally the victor would praise God and approach his superior to receive his reward. All this applied as much in medieval Europe as it had during the Trojan War. For example, both the battles of Hastings (1066) and of Halidon Hill (1333) opened with a combat of champions; on both occasions the challenger was killed.
There were also some occasions when things worked the other way around. Instead of a game serving as a prelude to “real” war, “real” war was interrupted to allow a game to take place. The Iliad apart, just such an occasion is described by Froissart, the late fourteenth-century French chronicler whose ties to both the French and English courts enabled him to produce what is perhaps our best source for the middle decades of the Hundred Years War.113 The setting was the English siege of Limoges, the year 1370. At one moment, three French and three English knights met each other by accident. Those three against three [their names are carefully recorded] gave a masterly display of skillful fighting. The others let them fight it out . . . Presently the [English commander, the Black] Prince came that way and . . . watched them with keen interest, until at length the three Frenchmen stopped fighting with one accord and said, giving up their swords: ‘Sirs, we are yours, you have beaten us. Treat us according to the law of arms’.” “We would never dream of doing anything else,” was the answer. Quarter was granted as a matter of course; later, this fact did not prevent the city from being “pillaged and sacked without mercy, then burnt and utterly destroyed.”
Many medieval and even ea
rly modern rulers are also known to have challenged their enemies to single combat. William the Conqueror challenged Harold but was refused. Richard the Lionheart challenged Philip Augustus of France: proposals were exchanged, but nothing came of it since each side tried to bend the rules in their favor and no agreement was reached. Their successors Edward III and Philip of Valois repeatedly challenged one another to single combat for the crown of France. In 1402 Louis of Orleans, the brother of Charles VI of France, defied Henry IV of England to meet him, declaring that he wanted to revive chivalric glory by such means; Henry, of course, refused. Philip the Good of Burgundy appears to have had a passion for such contests and challenged many other lords in turn. In 1525 Emperor Charles V challenged King Francis I of France. Even as late as the 1640s, during the early years of the English Civil War, many aristocrats on both sides challenged one another as if nothing had changed and the Middle Ages still lasted.114 Repeatedly we are told that the recipients wanted to accept. Some started preparing, purchasing special equipment, going on a diet, exercising and training, only to be dissuaded by their advisers; that way, “practical” policy could prevail while honor was assuaged. In all these cases the declared objective was to spare Christian blood and obtain a settlement, but rarely did the negotiations reach the stage where specific conditions were set.
Like most others throughout history, medieval battles tended to be the province of screaming chaos as the men on both sides maneuvered, clashed, got mixed up, called on others for help, and so on. Combats of champions and single combats were no less bloody, but they were fought out in the spaces deliberately left open by both sides and were keenly observed by them. As with the kind of mock combats discussed in the previous section, surprise was set aside. All this may explain why, especially during the early Middle Ages, they often provide us with much the most detailed descriptions of tactical methods in the literature of the period.115 Nor was northwestern Europe the only region where they took place. Fredegar, presumably a Frankish monk who lived and wrote his chronicle during the first half of the seventh century, comes up with the following story. It originated, he says, with a Byzantine embassy that visited King Dagobert of Austrasia in 629.116
Following his usual practice, the Persian emperor sent an army against [the Byzantine emperor, reigned 611–40] Heraclius . . .But Heraclius came out to meet them with an army. He sent a mission to Chosroes [Kosrau II, reigned 590–627], the Persian emperor, to require him to do single combat with him . . . The Persian emperor agreed to this and promised to do single combat. Heraclius armed himself, left behind him his army drawn up in fighting array, and advanced to the fray like a second David . . . But the Persian emperor Chosroes honored their pact by sending one of his patricians, whose great valor he knew, to fight in his place . . . The patrician turned his head to see who was following him, whereupon in a flash Heraclius spurred his horse forward, drew his short sword and cut off his opponent’s head. So the Emperor Chosroes was defeated with his Persians, and all in confusion he turned in flight.
At about this time, on 17 March 624, there took place the battle of Badr. On this occasion Mohamed and his small army were trying to capture a caravan that was traveling from Syria, whereas the people of Mecca were determined to defend it. Once the two armies had met, the Meccans sent out three champions. Thereupon the Moslems in turn sent out three “assistants” (ansar) to confront them. Needless to say, the Moslems won. They also emerged victorious from the battle that followed, which at the time and later was taken as proof of Allah’s favor.117 Both later Islamic and Japanese sources also contain frequent references to the practice.118 To repeat, it was especially widespread among societies, whether tribal or feudal, that did not recognize a strict separation between the public and the private. In such societies every “public” war was ipso facto a private quarrel between rulers. No wonder they wanted to settle, or at any rate claimed their desire to settle, those quarrels by such means, either themselves challenging their opponents or sending champions to do so in their stead.
Considering themselves “realists,” many modern historians have been unkind to the kind of challenge, combat of champions and single combat just described. Some of them argue that if the challenges were issued but left unanswered, then surely this proves the “decline” of chivalry from some lofty standard set in some past period when people were more “innocent” and less “realistic.” If they were answered and resulted in actual fighting, then equally surely they were the product of “childish exhibitionism,” “a total lack of military discipline” and “stupidity.”119 Other historians take the easy way out by dismissing the entire subject as a figment of the imagination. They deny that the challenges and combats ever did take place or could have taken place.
In fact, there is little about the combats that is intrinsically impossible. The fight between Marduk and Tiamat, of course, is in a class of its own. Perhaps it was meant to be taken allegorically, as were similar tales told by other societies around the world. Yet the fact that it was reenacted on an annual basis casts a different light upon the matter; while we do not know the details, the reenactment itself represented a wargame of sorts. Elsewhere, though the protagonists may be mythological, and though a little divine help is occasionally mentioned and much appreciated, there can be hardly any question of miracles or supernatural deeds. If Goliath, Hector, Romulus, and the rest did not exist and did not engage in single combat, men like them could have existed. Pace so many historians, too, the fact that the oft-stated objective of saving blood was rarely achieved and that very few wars were brought to an end by such means does not necessarily prove that the whole thing was a “childish” exercise in futility. As Napoleon once said, in war the moral is to the physical as three to one. Psychologically speaking an unanswered challenge, if properly stage-managed and publicized, could have its uses. This was even more the case if and when it was answered, resulted in combat, and ended in the champion on one side winning and the other being killed.
However, it is also possible that the real significance of the fights, which is brought out so clearly and so often both by the terminology used and by the spectators’ reactions, should be sought in another field altogether. I am referring not to any “useful” military purpose they may have served but the entertainment they provided, the excitement they generated, and the cathartic powers they possessed. That certainly applied to the next type of wargames we must consider, i.e. the Roman gladiatorial shows.
1 Plato, Laws, London: Heinemann, Loeb Classical Library (LCL), 1926, 823b ; also Isocrates, Plataicus, LCL, 1945, 163.
2 Xenophon, On Hunting, R. D. Doty, ed., Lampeter: Mellen, 2001, 2.1, 12.1 . See, for similar views, Xenophon, Cyropaedia, 12.10–1; Plato, Republic, LCL, 1919, 549A ; Plato, Laws, 763b; Plato, Sophist, LCL, 1921, 219d−e, 222c; N. Machiavelli, The Discourses, bn Publishing, 2005 [1517], p. 511.
3 See on this J. A. Mangan and C. McKenzie, “‘Pig-Sticking is the Greatest Fun’: Martial Conditioning on the Hunting Fields of Empire,” in J. A. Mangan, ed., Militarism, Sport, Europe: War without Weapons, London: Cass, 2003, pp. 97–119.
4 See J. Castan, Der Rote Baron: Die ganze Geschichte des Manfred von Richthofen, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2007 , passim.
5 S. Harrison, “The Symbolic Construction of Aggression and War in a Sepik River Society,” Man, 24, 1989, p. 586.
6 See D. M. Carroll, An Interdisciplinary Study of Sport as a Symbolic Hunt, Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 2000, especially pp. 29–69.
7 See e.g. M. Bekoff, “Play Signals as Punctuation: The Structure of Social Play in Canids,” Behavior, 132, 5/6, May, 1995, pp. 419–29 ; V. and R. Reinhardt, “Mock Fighting in Cattle,” Behavior, 81, 1, 1982, pp. 1–13.
8 See, on the mechanisms that may be involved, “Is There an Evolutionary Biology of Play?,” in M. Bekoff and D. Jamieson, eds., Interpretation and Explanation in the Study of Animal Behavior, Boulder, CO: Westview, 1990, pp. 180–96.
9 C. Darwin, The Descent of Man, New York: Random, 1936 [
1871], p. 448.
10 O. Aldis, Play Fighting, New York: Academic Press, 1975, pp. 157, 158.
11 See A. Seitz, “Beobachtungen an handaufgezogenen Goldschakalen,” Zeitschrift fuer Tierpsychologie, 16, 1959, pp. 747–71.
12 See on these differences D. M. Watson and D. M. Croft, “Age-Related Differences in Play Fighting of Captive Male Red-Necked Wallabies,” Ethology, 102, 1996, pp. 336–46; J. H. Kaufmann, “Social Ethology of the Whiptail Wallaby,” Animal Behavior, 22, 1974, pp. 281–369; S. M. Pellis and V. C. Pellis, “Structure−Function Interface in the Analysis of Play,” in M. Bekoff et al., eds., Animal Play, Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp. 123–9; and Aldis, Play Fighting, pp. 29–31.
13 See, for the way these things work among buffaloes, for example, A. R. Lumia, “The Relationship between Dominance and Play Behavior in the American Buffalo,” Tierpsychologie, 30, 1972, pp. 416–19.
14 S. Mazer, “The Doggie Doggie World of Professional Wrestling,” Drama Review, 128, 4, Winter 1990, pp. 96–122 . The quote is from p. 97.
15 Aldis, Play Fighting, pp. 37, 196–8.
16 According to R. G. Pipes, “War, Sports and Aggression – an Empirical Test of Two Rival Theories,” American Anthropologist, 75, 1, February 1973, p. 71.
17 See, for Sumer, W. J. Baker, Sports in the Western World, Totowa, NJ: Rowman & Littlefield, 1982, p. 8; for Egypt, W. Decker, Sports and Games in Ancient Egypt, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987, pp. 71–87.
18 S. Nadel, The Nuba, Oxford University Press, 1947, pp. 136–7 , 232–4.
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