The Indian mahouts sat astride their elephants' necks while the Numidians rode sidesaddle; that is, sat sideways on the necks. The Indians used an ankus to control their mounts, a goad with a curved end like a fishhook. The Numidians' goads were shaped like the letter
There were three armed men in each howdah, or 'castle' as the Romans called them, on the elephants' backs. As the two herds rushed together the elephants used their trunks to pull the opposing mahouts off their perches. If they succeeded, the battle was won, for an elephant without his mahout would not fight and simply turn tail. When this manoeuvre was not successful, the two elephants fought with their tusks, giving angry gurgling cries and each trying to plunge a tusk into his opponent's soft belly. Meanwhile, the men in the howdahs hurled javelins at each other or tried to pick off their opponents with arrows.
One of the young African elephants was the first to flee. Buffeted and gored unmercifully by his bigger, better trained Indian adversary, the young bull could take no more. He turned and ran, pursued by the victorious Indian bull. As he dashed around the arena in terror, the howdah came loose and the occupants were flung to the sand. Directed by his mahout, the Indian bull stopped the chase and turned on the men. Each war elephant had his own special technique for killing men and once he had killed a man, he would always afterwards use the same method no matter what the circumstances. This bull grabbed the men with his trunk and then impaled them on his right-hand tusk. Other victorious elephants were kneeling on their victims, trampling them, or picking them up with their trunks and then throwing them on the sand or against the podium wall.
Meanwhile, the two companies of Samnites had broken into small groups and were following the elephants, sheltering themselves behind the great beasts to avoid the hail of javelins and arrows as modern troops often go into battie under cover of a tank. Once the attack had joined, the Samnites went into action, trying to hamstring the opposing elephants with their swords or rush under the animals and plunge spears into their vitals. The men in the howdahs protected their mounts as best they could. Sometimes they were not successful. One elephant dropped stone dead, killed by a javelin-hit in the eye. Another bull, hamstrung by the Samnites, continued to fight on his knees, grabbing the shields of the Samnites who closed in for the kill and tossing them into the air until he was surrounded by a circle of shields. The applauding mob gave the thumbs-up signal that this heroic animal might be spared, but a crippled elephant is worthless and a well-thrown javelin finished him off.
In spite of the efforts of the Numidians, the African contingent was going down to defeat. The Indian mahouts had pulled several of their elephants out of the fight, and the elephants were picking up thrown javelins from the sand with their trunks and handing them up to the men in the howdahs. The Indians re-formed and prepared to finish the battie. But here came an interruption, the first one of that long and bloody day. Domitian, after a hurried parley with the generals who shared the imperial box, instructed the young editor to stop the fight. There was no longer any question in the minds of the high brass watching the combat that the Indian elephants had proved their superiority, and there was no point in killing more of the valuable animals. The crowd, generally so blood-thirsty, applauded the decision. The Romans liked elephants. Later, Commodus would amuse himself by killing three elephants in the arena, probably by shooting them full of arrows from the safety of the royal box, but at the time of Domitian, there was still some lingering feeling of sportsmanship, especially when it involved such a huge, noble animal.
The elephant fight concluded the first day's entertainment. It was growing dark and torches had been lighted in the wall brackets. The crowd trickled out of the vast stadium, tallying up losses or winnings, arguing over the events, making plans for the morrow, and quarrelling as they tried to force their way through the packed entrances.
CHAPTER TEN
After checking to make sure that his beasts were cleaned, fed and watered, Carpophorus went to Chilo's tavern near the Via Appia to discuss the day's events and drink himself into a blind stupor before the trials of the next day.
Each of the different professions attached to the circus had a certain wineshop it frequented, and outsiders were not encouraged to intrude. Chilo's catered to the bestiarii. The shop was several paces from the main highway, up a dark alley and near the 'Wolf Den,' as the Romans called the red-light district. When Carpophorus entered, he saw to his surprise and disgust that there was a distinguished company; the Master of the Games was sitting at one table and there were also a number of wealthy patricians, each with a gladiator bodyguard. The patricians were wrapped in cloaks and were ostensibly incognito although, of course, everyone knew who they were. Many of the patricians were connoisseurs of the games and the present groups specialized in bestiarii. Although these aristocrats could make or break him, Carpophorus only gave them a surly nod as he sat down.
The walls of the inn were decorated by crude paintings, one of which was a copy of the fresco on the monument at Minturae to the eleven gladiators who had killed (and were killed by) ten bears, while another was a portrait of the famous venator, Aulus, inscribed: 'To my good friend Chilo in memory of many a pleasant evening, Aulus.' The inscription, however, had not been written by Aulus himself as he was illiterate. Another painting showed two men being thrown out of the inn, with the caption: 'Watch yourself or you'll get the same.'
Carpophorus shouted for wine. Chilo, a plump Greek, answered the summons. Chilo had been, by turns, a bandit, a fence for stolen goods, a beggar, and a cageboy at the arena. In addition to his present profession as innkeeper, he also pimped for the bestiarii and robbed travellers after slipping them a Micky Finn composed of belladonna and hemlock.
'That was a fine show you put on with that tiger,' remarked the fat Greek sociably. 'How about some good Rhodian wine to celebrate. Just got a shipment in from Greece.'
'I wouldn't use your damned resined wine to clean out a cage,' retorted the venator.
'What do you want, a hundred-year-old Falernian?' demanded the Greek, stung by this insult to his native wines.
The innkeeper was made bold by the presence of the patricians and their gladiators. Carpophorus raised his head and stared at the man.
'Give me wine,' he said slowly and distincdy. Chilo opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and pulled one of the long wine jars out of a hole in the counter top. Holding it by the two handles, he rested it on the pouring block and filled an earthenware cup. Carpophorus drained it at a draught and the innkeeper filled it again.
One of the patricians spoke up. 'My friend—er, the cobbler here,' everyone smiled for the friend was a well-known senator, 'and I were discussing which was the more dangerous antagonist—a lion or a tiger. What is your opinion ?'
Carpophorus was about to tell the man to go jump in the Tiber but restrained himself and answered the question civilly. Several other patricians entered the argument, some of them asking not too unintelligent questions. Carpophorus, after they had stood him several drinks, began to feel more friendly.
The Master of the Games remarked quietly, 'That was a brilliant job you did, getting those raw lions to kill the Jewish rebels.'
'Aw, you just have to know your lions and your Jews,' said Carpophorus, pleased with the praise.
'Still, it was a fine piece of work. We have fifty zealots who are to fight seventy bears day after tomorrow, the zealots using only their daggers. That should be a good show.'
'Haven't you got any prisoners except Jews?' demanded Carpophorus irritably. For some reason the memory of the old rabbi moving out to bring on the lions' charge bothered him.
'Thank Hercules for them,' said the Master sincerely. 'They built the Flavian amphitheatre, they were the first people to die there, and they're still our main source of supply with their constant revolt. These damn Nazarenes or Christians or whatever they call themselves are no good—die like sheep without fighting. I refuse to
