struggled, a cheetah would sink his dewclaws into her shoulders and grabbing her by the neck with his jaws, shake her into submission. Carpophorus used up several women before he got the animals properly trained—with a bull or a giraffe the woman usually didn't survive the ordeal—but he was always able to get more broken-down old bags from the provinces who didn't fully realize what their job involved until too late.
Carpophorus produced a sensation with his new technique. No one had ever dreamed of having lions, leopards, wild boars and zebra rape women. The Romans were especially fond of acting out mythological scenes in the shows and as Zeus, the king of the gods, often raped young girls in the form of various animals, these scenes could be re-enacted in the arena. Under Carpophorus' direction, a bull raped a young girl representing Europa to great applause.
Apuleius had left us an animated account of one of these scenes. A woman who had poisoned five people in order to get their property was sentenced to be thrown to the wild beasts in the arena but first, as an additional punishment and disgrace, she was to be raped by a jackass. A bed was set up in the middle of the arena, inlaid with tortoise shell and provided with a feather mattress and an embroidered Chinese bedspread. The woman was tied spread-eagle on the bed. The jackass had been trained to kneel on the bed, otherwise the business could not have been concluded successfully. When the show was over, wild beasts were turned loose in the arena and quickly put an end to the wretched woman's suffering.
Carpophorus kept his method for training the animals a profound secret, pretending it was all due to a special amulet which he invariable hung around the animal's neck before letting it go into the arena. Although he was offered fabulous prices for the amulet, he refused to sell it. At last, he gave it to his master at the school in return for cancelling his remaining years as a slave. Somehow, the amulet never worked for his master.
The old-time bestiarii were very contemptuous of Carpophorus. They claimed that he had degraded his noble profession by putting on filthy exhibitions. They forgot that in their day they had been criticized by the still earlier bestiarii for training man-eaters to devour helpless men and women. Actually both groups were right. The shows were growing progressively more and more corrupt. What once had been real exhibitions of courage and skill, even though brutal, were gradually becoming merely excuses for cruelty and perverted sexual exhibitions.
Although Carpophorus boasted that he didn't give a hoot for what the old-timers said, their contempt bothered him. So he continued to fight in the arena as a venator, once killing twenty wild beats in one day, presumably with his bare hands. What the beasts were, the accounts don't say. At this savage and dangerous work, Carpophorus was un-equaled. As a result, he was the only bestiarius whose name has come down to us.
CHAPTER SIX
Borrowing heavily from Martial, Suetonius and other Roman writers, let's picture a day at the Colosseum at the time of the Emperor Domitian during the heyday of the games when Carpophorus was top bestiarius.
For weeks before the show, tickets have been distributed by wardheelers, thrown to the crowds by the editor giving the games, and sold by speculators. People not fortunate enough to get a ticket have started to line up before the various entrances to the great building days in advance hoping to find standing room. They have brought their food with them and are amused by tumblers, musicians and dancers who hope that the crowd will toss them a few copper coins. The ticket holders are shown to their seats by ushers called locarii: that is, men who show you the right location. Then the soldiers guarding the entrances step aside and there is a frenzied dash for seats in the aisles and standing room in the top tier. It's every man for himself. Women are knocked aside, children trampled, and fights break out in the tangle of passageways and ramps leading to the packed tiers. In one such rush, forty people were killed. At last the gigantic building is filled, people crowding so close around the masts holding the awning that the sailors have hard work to handle the rigging.
The whole amphitheatre is diffused by a red glow from the light shining through the awning covering the stadium. With this awning for protection, the signs advertising the games need no longer read: 'Weather permitting55 or 'Will go on rain or shine' as they formerly did.
Perfumed fountains shoot coloured water into the air, cooling the vast circus and sweetening the atmosphere. Marble statues of various gods and goddesses clasp urns, dolphins and so on from which, scented water gushes. The statues could also apparently be made to 'sweat' perfumes by some mechanism. The atmosphere takes some sweetening as already it stinks of sweat, leather, garlic and the odour of beasts in the pens below the arena. Later, it will smell a great deal worse.
The moat is filled with water constantly circulating and cooled with snows brought down from the mountains, for by noon the stadium will be like a roasting oven. Summers in Rome are hot and this is one of the summer shows. Without the awning to protect the crowd from the sun, it would be torture to sit in the stadium. Caligula, to punish the mob for criticizing one of his shows, had the awning removed and kept the people in the stadium under the direct rays of the sun for several hours. Many people died of sunstroke. Most of the crowd have brought fans and are wearing their lightest togas or simply sleeveless tunics.
Hawkers selling programmes, cool drinks, sweetmeats and cushions to cover the hard marble seats, force their way through the packed aisles as best they can. From the cages below the arena come the roars of lions, the howling of wolves and the trumpeting of elephants. People are busy making bets with each other or with the bookies who crawl from one seat level to another, shouting the current odds on the gladiators. The sound of the crowd is like the noise of 'surf in a storm,' wrote a Roman poet.
As the awning flaps in the wind, the colours in the stadium change constantly. The awning is made of wool—canvas proves too heavy for the great span—and although it was dyed red over most of its length, there were apparently other colours too, for the Latin poets describe how the waves of light from the swaying awning would tint the white marble of the statues now red, now yellow and now cerulean.
The amphitheatre is so high that it makes your head swim to look down from the upper tiers. The wooden planks of the arena are covered with freshly laid, pure white sand especially imported from Egypt for the purpose, and sparkles in the subdued light, for semi-precious stones have been sprinkled on it. Nero actually had the arena floor covered with gold dust. This however, was simply an extravagant gesture. Sand is the best material as it absorbs blood easily— in fact, the word arena means 'sand' Around a marble altar in the middle of the arena, priests are conducting a sacrifice. The altar is to Jupiter Latista to whom in the old days human sacrifices were offered. The priests are dressed in white robes with red scarves. They lead out a white bull and two rams wearing gold headdresses. A fire is already burning on the altar and other priests are sprinkling wine and incense on it. After the animals have been sacrificed with much ceremony, the priests examine their entrails to see if the gods wish the games to proceed. With the stadium packed to the bursting point, the gods had better wish it and the pattern of entrails shows that they do. The priests file out, swinging incense burners and chanting hymns, while slaves remove the altar and the carcasses of the animals.
There is a distinguished audience in the podium and the first thirty-six rows of seats reserved for the upper classes. The emperor has not yet arrived, but visiting rulers with their courts are already seated. Blond, bearded Gauls sit staring at the wonders around them. There are Sygambrians with their long tresses tied in knots and Ethiopians with their woolly hair. There are Persians in red, blue and cloth-of-gold gowns, Britons in sleeved coats and loose trousers, Scythians from the Russian steppes, and Greeks in white robes. All these peoples are subject to Rome and the crowd knows it. They make rude comments about the barbarians and even ruder about the lords and ladies in the lower tiers. Many of the patricians have led scandalous private lives which are well known to the mob. They shout, 'Hey, Italicus, are you still your mother's bed-companion?' 'Ah, there, Antonia, if the gladiators survive this fight, they'll have a harder time satisfying you.' 'Greetings, Gaius, have you managed to make your boy friend in the Praetorian Guard a tribune as yet?' The patricians pay no attention to the cries although the taunts sting them. It is beneath their dignity to retort.
From outside the stadium comes the sound of music and a cheer goes up. The procession is coming. Led by slaves in golden armour blowing long trumpets, it files through the Gate of Life. The editor giving the games is riding in a chariot drawn by zebras (the Romans call them 'tiger horses') in magnificent harness. He is a sickly young man with a weak face, the son of an influential old patrician woman who is determined to have the inane youngster elected to public office. He looks exhausted already from the long ride through the streets while standing
