When the crowd's interest in the swarming, fighting animals began to lag, foxes with firebrands tied to their ails were set loose. The foxes darted through the packed mass, causing terror wherever they went, while the mob screamed with delight. Domitian, his sluggish nature titivated by the sight of struggling, helpless beasts, shouted for his bow. The fat emperor was an excellent shot and used to practice his markmanship on captive animals on his Alban estate. He was handed a powerful sinew-backed bow from Persia, so flexible that when the bow was unstrung, the curve of the bow was the reverse of that taken up when the string was attached. A slave strung the bow while the podgy ruler danced with impatience and another slave held out a quiver filled with arrows feathered with peacock trains. Domitian began to shoot into the packed animals while the crowd cheered him on. Often he was able to send one arrow through an animal and hit another on the other side. To exhibit his skill, he would shoot two arrows into an animal's head so they resembled horns. After shooting over a hundred of the animals, he ordered a slave to jump into the arena, run to the middle, and hold out his hand with the fingers spread. Domitian sent arrows between the fingers while the crowd yelled with delighted surprise and the patricians politely applauded. As the arena was still full of frantic animals, the slave had quite a job avoiding their wild rushes, and between watching out for the animals and keeping an eye on Domitian, he had a lively time. The crowd thought the slave's antics were excruciatingly funny and laughed until they cried. Suddenly a bull charged the man from behind and tossed him. The slave came down between two bears who instantly seized him and began pulling their victim apart. His cries sounded above the lowing of the cattle and the screams of the wild horses who were kicking on the sand with arrows sticking in them.
Domitian waited with an arrow on the string and a broad smile on his face until the slave was dead. Then with two expert shots, he killed both of the bears and sat down wiping his plump face to thunderous applause.
Now was the turn of the professional venatores, among them Carpophorus. These men entered the arena from the same openings that had emitted the animals. Each group of venatores could be instantly identified by the crowd from their equipment. Some men carried only a veil and a long dagger for the bears. Others were in full armour, like gladiators, to receive the charge of the bulls. Others carried spears with a round metal disc halfway up the haft. These would fight the wild boars, the disc being to prevent the boar forcing himself along the spear and killing the man. Other men were on horseback with spears to dispatch the deer. Carpophorus wore only a loose smock that left his powerful arms bare and a few amulets hung around his neck for good luck.
At a signal from the young editor, the trumpet sounded, and while the band played wildly, the venatores rushed into the pass. The next instant the arena was full of screams, brays, howls, bellows, curses, and the noise of the conflict. The crowd loved this spectacle. Being high up and their view of the arena largely obscured by the central ring of masts supporting the awning, they had difficulty watching the individual gladiatorial contests which the nobility in the front row especially enjoyed, but in these venationes there was so much doing that no matter where you sat you could see plenty of action. Everyone was on his feet, shouting encouragement to the venatores although the tumult in the arena was so great that no one could hear his own voice.
Carpophorus worked fast. Leaping from antelope to antelope, he grabbed the wretched creature by the horns, gave the neck one expert twist, and dropping the dying animal seized another. He killed five antelopes in rapid succession... then fifteen . . . then twenty. He killed at least one leopard so Martial says. As each animal dropped, there was a bellow of applause from the stands—and not only from the upper tiers, for the patricians were watching Carpophorus also. The shouts came in a regular rhythm like surf as Carpophorus killed animal after animal. Such a feat of strength had seldom been seen in the arena. Carpophorus, according to Martial, was definitely the star of the show.
By now the crowd of animals was thinning out and it was hard for Carpophorus to catch his victims. He adopted a new technique. Putting his hands behind him, he went after the exhausted foxes and frightened jackals that were crouching against the barricade, too terrified to move. Using his teeth alone, Carpophorus caught them by the back of the neck, gave one quick shake, and killed them. Sometimes the animals would turn on the man and sink their teeth into the venator's chin or cheeks. Carpophorus refused to use his hands to pull them off. He shook the animal loose or dislodged it by rolling on the sand and then returned to the attack. The crowd was hysterical by now, Domitian sat with his mouth open and his eyes bulging with delight and even the young editor, sweating and miserable in his heavy toga, took an interest in the proceedings.
The first lot of animals was almost gone, and slaves with shovels, baskets, and rakes were hurriedly cleaning the arena. The grating in front of the chutes began to creak and then slide upwards. Carpophorus shouted a warning to his fellow venatores and took up a position with his back to the inner barrier.
New animals were being driven into the arena and the air was heavy with the odour of burning straw and the stench of singed hair as the slaves used hot irons to force some reluctant beast to move. These new arrivals were not deer, foxes or antelope. They were lions, a few tigers, many leopards, wild dogs and wolves. Without daring to take his eyes from the arena. Carpophorus raised his hands toward the top of the barrier. Instantly his personal slaves handed him a shield and short sword. The slaves of the other venatores also handed their masters new weapons: capes like those used by a modern bullfighter, pikes, javelins, and daggers.
It was not to be expected that these animals would attack the men of their own free will. Freshly captured, bewildered, cramped from long confinement, their only idea was to escape. But there was nowhere for them to go. When they tried to seek refuge along the barrier, slaves with red-hot irons drove them away. Carpophorus selected a young male lion near him and moved forward, covering himself with his shield.
The lion paid no attention to the advancing man. He had got into a snarling argument with another lion. Carpophorus reached his side and then, shortening his sword, struck for the shoulder. At the last instant the lion leaped back to avoid a blow from the other lion and the sword thrust went through the loose skin on his back. The wounded animal spun around and struck at Carpophorus with his forepaws—left, right, like a boxer. Carpophorus took the blows on his shield and the lion backed away, snarling and "looking around for some way of escape.
Carpophorus came on. The lion had its back to the barricade now and Carpophorus shouted to the slaves to let him stay there. If the Hon was burned suddenly he would make a wild dash across the arena and be impossible to stop. The lion was no longer snarling and was watching the venator intently. Carpophorus shouted and waved his shield, trying to provoke a charge but the lion would not move. Carpophorus moved back and forth before the animal, but the lion still refused to charge. The venator did not dare to engage the animal against the barrier as he would have no room to dodge. At last, exasperated, he shouted to the slaves, "All right, give him the fire!55
He saw a quick motion through the slit in the barrier. Then the lion gave a roar of pain and shot forward. Carpophorus braced himself, swaying slightly backward to give his forward thrust more power, but the desperate animal jumped straight over his head and vanished into the mass of animals.
Carpophorus cursed and turned to find another victim. He saw a leopard crouching on the sand and approached him. The leopard watched him with unblinking eyes and then the venator saw the big cat gather himself together for the spring. Carpophorus hated leopards; they were much too quick. A lion was far easier to handle, but this leopard had been the animal nearest to him and he didn't want the crowd to see him avoid it. He watched carefully from the side of his shield waiting for that lightning-like charge.
As always with leopards, no matter how cautious he was, the charge caught him unexpectedly. One moment the cat had been crouching on the sand. The next instant it was on his shield biting at the boss and trying to get a hold on the smooth bronze with its hind legs. Fortunately an animal could not distinguish between a man and his shield and would continue attacking the shield for some seconds without trying to reach the man. Carpophorus plunged his sword into the leopard's body three times before the mortally wounded cat fell back on the sand, kicking in its death throes.
Carpophorus swung around to find his next quarry. Near him, one of the other venatores had succeeded in blinding a lion by throwing a cape over his head and was giving him the death stroke. Another man had a wolf pinned to the sand with his pike and was leaning on the haft to press the spearhead home, avoiding the snapping jaws of the dying animal. Two of the armoured venatores were slowly approaching a tiger from opposite sides, the tiger whirling around in an effort to watch both men at the same time.
A young venator, wild with excitement, flung his javelin and pierced the tiger through the body. Under the circumstances, it was an utterly foolhardy thing to do and Carpophorus, even while the javelin was in the air, knew what would happen. He sprang forward but before he could reach the combatants, the tiger had given a great bound and landed on one of the two armed venatores. The great cat weighed over five-hundred pounds and the man went down as though hit by a poleaxe. Instantly the tiger grabbed the man's head in his jaws and crunched the skull, the venator's bronze helmet cracking like tin as the long fangs went through it.
"Spearmen! spearmen!" shouted Carpophorus at the top of his lungs while trying to distract the tiger's attention. A venator armed with a spear ran up and tried to drive it through the tiger's shoulder but the cat sprang back, striking at the spearhead with his paw. Then he spun around in a circle, biting at the javelin in his body.
Carpophorus shouted to the armed venator, "Take him on the other side while I move in from here!" The venator nodded and circled the tiger. Carpophorus snapped to the spearman, "All right, we'll keep him busy until you get a chance to use your spear but don't take all day about it" Settling his shield, he came in toward the tiger.
The tiger had stopped biting at the javelin and was facing Carpophorus. His hindquarters were slightly raised so he could bring his rear legs under him and get the maximum spring for his bound. Carpophorus moved slightly to the right to give the spearman a better chance. The tiger's eyes followed him but the cat did not change its position.
Then, without any more intimation than the leopard had shown, the tiger charged. Carpophorus dropped to one knee to receive the shock, covering himself with his big shield. The tiger hit the shield like a battering ram, knocking it out of the man's hand. Then he grabbed Carpophorus' right shoulder with his teeth and started to drag him across the arena.
Carpophorus stabbed upwards into the tiger's belly. As he did so, he saw the spearman's blade flash past him and plunge deep into the tiger's chest. The armed venator came in and with one terrible stroke split the tiger's skull open with his sword. The dead animal fell across Carpophorus.
The other venatores pulled him from under the striped carcass. Carpophorus was streaming blood but could still stand. Around him other fights were raging. A venator had a leopard by the throat and was trying to strangle it although the cat's slashing hind legs had already disemboweled him. Four wild dogs, huge, yellow Molossians from the mountains of Greece, had got another venator down and were stretching him out on the sand, two pulling him by the face and shoulder and two holding him by the legs. A fifth dog rushed in and attacked the helpless man's genitals. Another venator was trying to get his pike out of a wolf's body while being attacked by other members of the pack. A young venator had grabbed a lioness by the tail and was holding her while two of his companions stabbed the animal with their pikes.
"You'd better leave the arena," said the armed venator to Carpophorus. "The crowd will let you go." The crowd had been watching Carpophorus' feat and were giving him a big hand.
Carpophorus hardly heard him. He was blind with rage and had a sudden savage hatred of the beasts. He stooped and tried to pick up his sword but his side was numb where the tiger had been shaking him. He cursed and the spearman picked up the sword for him. By an effort, Carpophorus made his fingers close over the hilt although he could feel nothing.
He started forward toward the melee, blood from his wounded side filling up the footprints made by his right foot as he staggered on. The armed venator and the spearman exchanged looks, shook their heads, and followed him. The crowd were shouting, "No, Carpophorus, no!" and waving their handkerchiefs but Carpophorus paid no attention to them. He was going to get himself another tiger or die trying.
Domitian turned and gave an order to a courtier behind him. The man shouted to the trumpeter who gave a single blast on his long horn. From the Gate of Life marched a detachment of heavily armed soldiers armed with spears. These men formed a line across the far end of the arena and then locked their shields together, each shield fitting into a bracket on the shield next to it until there was a solid shield wall stretching across the arena. The great rectangular shield covered a man from the bridge of his nose to his knees. Before the shields was a solid line of spears held in such perfect alignment that from the side it seemed as though there were only one weapon. At an order from the centurian in command, the line moved forward at the regulation legion step, so perfectly timed that it could be used to measure distances. A thousand (milla) such steps measured exactly 5,280 feet, or what has later become known as a mile.
Behind the line of troops came bestiarii with their lead-tipped cat-o'-nine-tails in case any of the beasts broke through the soldiers. Behind them came gladiators called andabatae, men wearing helmets without a visor so they could not see. As soon as they reached the arena, these andabatae began to swing widely around trying by chance to hit one another. The andabatae were necessary for the hunt was now over and even while the arena was being cleared, there had to be something going on.
As soon as he heard the trumpet signal the end of the hunt the Master of the Games, who functioned as ringmaster, gave orders to open the doors of the chutes. The order was immediately obeyed and slaves hurriedly put out basins of water to help lure the exhausted animals inside. Before the steadily advancing line of spears, the remaining animals gave back. Most of them eventually found the open doors of the chutes and rushed in, drinking feverishly from the basins. A few charged the soldiers and died under the spears. Two lions and a leopard managed to force their way through the serried ranks; the lions leaping over the men and the leopard fighting his way through. The animals were promptly driven out through the Gate of Life by the bestiarii with their flails.
Carpophorus, still in a daze, did not at first understand what was happening. He continued to stride toward the remaining beasts looking for another tiger. The spearman pulled at the bloody sleeve of his tunic.
"The hunt's over, Carpophorus," he said softly. "The soldiers are clearing the arena for the next act. Come on, let's get out of here."
Carpophorus shrugged him off. A wolf trying to escape from the spears ran past him and Carpophorus kicked at the animal irritably. There were no tigers left.
The crowd had forgotten about the hunt by now and were watching the andabatae, roaring with laughter at the men's clumsy swings. Slaves followed the andabatae, pushing them together with long forked poles. Carpophorus saw a lion and plunged toward the animal. Martial says that rather than face him, the lion rushed on the spears and was killed.
The line of soldiers was almost up to Carpophorus now. The centurian was yelling, "Get that crazy bastard out of here."
A venator with a cape stepped up quietly behind Carpophorus and threw the cape over his head. Instantiy the armed venator and the spearman grabbing the raging bes-tiarius. They dragged him out of the arena while Carpophorus fought like a madman. Under the stands, the arena doctors were waiting.
"All right, boys, bring him in here," said one of the doctors taking command. Carpophorus was pulled into a small room where several of the venatores were under treatment. The doctor shouted and four giant Negroes hurried over. Instantly grasping the situation, they seized the raging venator and pulled him to a wooden bed with shackles at the top and bottom. For a gladiator or a venator to go mad with wounds or bloodlust—berserk, the Norsemen used to call it—was a common occurrence. Carpophorus struggled with superhuman strength, but the Negroes were expert manhandlers and he had no chance. They flung him down on the heavy wooden frame and shackled his arms and legs.
“You'll feel better in a few minutes, my boy," said the doctor soothingly as he prepared a potion containing opium. "Some fight you put up. Those tigers are hell, aren't they? Now some people think that lions are worse because they roar and put on a big show, but any good venator can handle a lion. Drink this." He grabbed the raving man's cheek, taking care not to be bitten, pulled it away from the gums, and skilfully poured the draught down Carpophorus' throat. "I'll- never forget the ludi sollemnes that old Vitellius gave to get the people's minds off the Pannonian mutiny. Fifty tigers in the arena at one time. That was a day! Blood all over the place. Does this man have to fight again today?" he shouted to the Master of the Games who was hurrying past.
"No, but he will tomorrow afternoon," said the Master as he went by.
"You'll be all right by then," the doctor assured Carpophorus, who was now sobbing in great heaving gasps. "I'll have the slaves squeeze some blood out of those dead cats and you can drink that. You've lost plenty of blood but that will restore it as well as feed your spirit. Now let's sew up that cut in your shoulder."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Outside in the arena while the andabatae were slugging it out, slaves were busy rolling out a model of a mountain through the Gate of Death up to the inner barrier. On it were live trees, flowers, flowering shrubs, and even streams of running water, kept flowing by pumps worked by slaves in the interior. Set designers scurried over the mountain making last-minute changes and carpenters checked to be sure that everything was in working order.
The Master of the Games was watching anxiously as the wretched andabates slashed each other with wild blows, seldom inflicting a mortal wound. The real gladiators who were known to the mob and had a chance of putting up a good fight might be given the thumbs-up signal but these miserable creatures, always condemned criminals of the lowest order, were unknown and could show no skill. Their only hope was to exhibit such a desperate courage that the mob might be kind enough to have one or two spared for another day. So they fought with the mad bravery of desperation. As a man fell, an arena servant, dressed as Charon who ferried souls across the River Styx, motioned to slaves who followed him with a brazier full of hot coals in which irons were constantly being heated. With a hot iron, he tested the man to see if he were still alive. If the fallen man twitched when the hot iron was applied, another arena servant dressed as Hermes, a god of the underworld, motioned his slaves to cut the rawhide straps that kept the andabate's helmet in place. Then he hit the prostrate man over the head with a hammer. Instantly the regular arena slaves stuck hooks in the corpse and dragged it out through the Gate of Death to the spoliarium where slaves stripped off the armour. The body was then turned over to butchers who cut it up to feed the wild animals.
Although the patricians in the lower tier of seats regarded the pointless struggles of the andabates with contempt, the crowd loved them. They pretended to shout advice to the fighters, yelling, "He's on your left! No now, he's on your right!" deliberately fooling the blindfolded men to see them whirl around in terror and frantically slice the air. But with the help of the slaves using the long forked poles, the re-remaining andabates were pushed together and the end was near. The Master of the Games turned to shout to the crews on the mountain: "Get off it, or by the gods, I'll leave you up there! All right, slaves, strike the set!"
At the beginning of the andabates' fight, slaves had taken their positions behind the inner barricade. A slave with a long pole was standing by each of the elephants tusks supporting the overhand net. Others stood ready with their hands on the planks running between the masts which supported the awning. At the Master of the Games' cry, the slaves with the poles lifted the net off hooks set in the tusks so the whole net came to the ground, like a great tennis net a hundred yards long. At the same time, the other slaves were slipping the planks out of their brackets on the sides of the masts. As the planks came loose, still other slaves seized them and rushed them out of the arena. As the last planks were removed, the net was grabbed and pulled back between the masts to be hurried after the planks. The spectators now had a much better view of the arena although the central ring of masts still remained.
Meanwhile, the construction and planning crews on the artificial mountain leaped to the group while gangs of slaves, possibly assisted by trained elephants pushing with their foreheads, moved the great mass forward on rollers. There were two empty spaces in the central ring of masts holding the overhead awning; one in front of the Gate of Life (over which was the imperial podium) and the other before the Gate of Death . . . the sag in the awning being supported by overhead guy ropes at these points. The mountain was rolled into the arena from the Gate of Death through one of these gaps.
The fight between the andabates was now just about over. Only two couples were left. These men had thrown away their shields, joined their left hands so as not to be parted, and were stabbing at each other with their swords. In one couple, the men killed each other. The arena slaves were rapidly and efficiently clearing out the remaining corpses and spreading fresh sand on the arena floor. At last, one of the two remaining andabates killed the other. A shout of "Peractum est!" went up and the surviving andabate was led from the arena. Now he had at least a few days' respite until another exhibition of andabates was forthcoming.
As the slaves raced from the arena carrying the last of the corpses, pipes set in the podium wall were turned on and began to flood the arena. The Master of the Games appeared on the podium and shouted that he had an important announcement to make. Actually, this announcement should have been made by the young editor but he had been drinking huge quantities of cold wine and could hardly stand, let alone address the crowd. The Master of the Games shouted:
"Romans, it has been said that we are not a cultural people.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Simply because we are a strong, virile race and enjoy manly sports does not mean that we don't appreciate the finer things in life." He was interrupted by boos, catcalls, and unpleasant noises made by placing the tongue between the lips and blowing hard. Someone threw a wine skin which he dodged.“Yes, looking at your noble, intelligent faces, my friends, I know that the next act will deeply appeal to the artistic nature for which Romans are famous. We have with us today the distinguished Greek singer, Mezentius, who will sing that beautiful ode 'The Death of Orpheus' while accompanying himself on the lyre. As you know, Orpheus was the famous musician in Greek legend who could charm even wild animals with his music. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the great Mezentius!"
Amid bellows of indignant rage from the crowd, an artificial rock on the summit of the mountain swung open and out stepped Mezentius, draped in a white gown and carrying a golden lyre. While the furious crowd screamed: "We've been swindled! Back to Athens, you damn fruit! What is this, the games or a musical? Wreck the joint!" the musician bowed to right and left and then struck the opening chords of the song. There were now a couple of feet of water in the arena and the Master of the Games, who had been anxiously watching the plumb marks on the podium wall, gave a signal. A flat-bottomed barge covered with beautiful girls and hung with garlands of flowers floated out, the girls singing an accompaniment to the song. As the girls were naked except for tiny gauze aprons which the motion of the barge kept blowing aside or pressing against their plum young thighs, the crowd stopped booing and began to take an interest in the proceedings. Now that he could be heard, the musician redoubled his efforts and the girls sang for all they were worth, waving their arms in time to the music and keeping their shoulders well back so that their breasts with the nipples carefully rouged would stand out. Meanwhile, a new novelty was introduced. From crates and cages, slaves were slipping crocodiles and six hippopotami into the rapidly rising waters. The crowd began to applaud.