Douglas Jackson: Caligula

'When will we see the gladiators?' he asked, his voice betraying his excitement. Fronto turned to him, and Rufus was surprised at the intensity of his gaze.

'You will see them in the arena and not before. Men — and women — pay good money to share their quarters with them before they enter the theatre of combat. There is an atmosphere, a tension, in that room, Rufus, unknown in any other place on this earth. I have seen couples with some of the finest bloodlines in Rome so overpowered by the stink of raw fear and excitement that they rutted on the earth floor before them.'

He breathed heavily from his nose, as if he had just finished some hard physical labour.

'Do you know what those men on the verge of their deaths did? They turned their eyes away and looked at the walls. There is more dignity and honour in the meanest condemned slave than in such socalled nobles.'

They took a stairway leading upwards and came to a door that opened directly on to the killing ground. Rufus gazed across a flat earth-covered surface ringed with smooth planks to twice the height of a man. Whoever entered this trap would not escape by climbing its walls.

'What you see here is nothing,' Fronto whispered, his voice suddenly cold, and Rufus felt a faint shiver run down his spine. 'This is an appetizer for the poor and the bored who have no money or nothing better to do. Remember. It is nothing.'

From behind them came the distinctive clank of metal upon metal. Rufus turned to see three terrifying figures.

At first glance, they did not appear human. The leader wore a bronze helmet which covered his entire head, with slits for eyes and mouth, and strands of hair delicately woven in metal across the scalp. Otherwise he was clad only in a loincloth and a wide belt which cut diagonally across his left shoulder before running round his waist. In his right hand he carried a short-handled, wide-bladed axe, with a second in a loop attached to the belt.

Behind him stood a giant, bigger than any man Rufus had seen. His features were hidden behind a full-face visor dotted with a pattern of small holes. His wide-brimmed iron helmet was crowned with a knife-edged comb, as if he were some kind of enormous fighting cock. Mesh armour protected his left side from shoulder to waist and he was armed with a trident in one hand and a net the size of a small blanket in the other.

The third gladiator was the smallest of the three, but his presence outshone his companions. His face was also hidden, but this time by a golden helmet moulded in the handsome features of a young god, and the magnificence of the mask was mirrored in the immaculately sculpted torso of the man who wore it. The oiled muscles of his biceps bulged and the veins stood out upon them like a pattern of tree roots.

He fought without armour, the better to allow the crowd to feast on his beauty, and he carried a long straight sword comfortably in his left hand. His right held a small, rounded shield with an intricate gilt boss decorated with the image of the war god Mars.

Fronto and Rufus stepped aside to allow the gladiators access to the doorway. They stood silently, waiting, but each seemed to have a pattern of small movements designed to keep their bodies from tightening. They swayed from one foot to the other, stretching first one set of muscles then the next, or rolled their heads in an arc, working neck and shoulder joints. Their bodies gleamed and Rufus could smell the not unpleasant scent of some sort of oil or balm that coated their flesh.

From within the arena he heard a murmur as the crowd noticed movement which was hidden from the group in the doorway. Rufus sidled forward, keeping as far from the intimidating figures of the gladiators as he could in the narrow passageway. Through a crack in the doors he saw a mixed herd of antelope and deer erupt from the centre of the arena floor, driven from the pens below.

As they emerged from the darkness, the terrified beasts were met with a solid wall of light and sound which drove them to panic and made them instinctively seek any avenue of escape. They charged round the walls in a group, eyes white with fear, nostrils flaring, and the sound of their flashing hooves, magnified by the wooden boards beneath the few inches of packed earth, echoed like thunder around the arena. The larger animals used their bulk to force their way past the smaller and weaker, but their efforts gained them nothing. There was no way out.

Eventually, the panic-stricken gallop slowed to a trot, then a walk. Finally the herd halted, confused and exhausted. A panting, nervous mass, their flanks gleamed with sweat and steam rose from their bodies in clouds.

Rufus too was panting, caught up in the excitement and terror of the animals. The noise in the arena had softened, but the very air seemed to crackle with the pent-up energy of a gathering storm.

Suddenly a roar erupted, and the animals exploded into movement. Rufus saw a light brown blur flash across the arena. A lion leapt on to the back of one of the smaller antelopes and hooked its claws into the squealing beast's flanks. From the far corner of the ring came the roar of another lion, and then Rufus felt a thrill of excitement shiver down his spine as he heard the unmistakable harsh, sawing cough of the leopard. His leopard.

The slaughter had begun.

In the wild, antelope use their speed, agility and numbers to outwit their hunters. In the arena their instincts counted for nothing. The big cats killed at leisure, each attack drawing louder cheers from the crowd as claws sank into flesh and then teeth closed on windpipes, bringing death by slow suffocation.

The smell of blood drove the antelope and deer into an ever greater frenzy. Some now ran awkwardly, having smashed their legs as they tried to climb and even leap the amphitheatre walls in their desperation to survive. The audience bayed for more.

But Fronto knew it would not last. He had seen it before. The lions and the leopard would become bored with killing and would settle down to feast on the carcasses of their victims. The antelope would reach a point where they could run no further, lungs bursting and hearts close to exploding in their chests. So the promoters of the arena had found an answer.

The hunters would become the hunted.

Rufus had watched with pride as Circe had killed first one and then a second antelope. He had become so engrossed in the entertainment that he was surprised when the double doors opened in front of him and the three gladiators marched past him into the centre of the arena, raising the noise of the crowd to an even greater pitch.

The two lions raised their heads from their prey and roared defiance at the threat. The leopard flattened herself down behind her last victim and waited. Only now, as each gladiator lined himself up with one of the big cats, did Rufus fully understand what was about to happen.

'Lesson number two, Rufus,' Fronto whispered into his ear. 'Never get too close to your work. The leopard could have made me a lot of money, but you ruined it. You turned it into a pet. Pets don't fight well in the ring. Look at it. It's confused and fearful. It doesn't know what's happening. But the lions have learned that man is a danger to them. Watch them. They will fight. The leopard will only die.'

But Fronto was wrong. The two lions did fight, but so did Circe.

The first move was made by the huge gladiator in the cockscomb helmet.

'He is known as Sabatis,' explained Fronto. 'And he is a veteran of the arena. He will be the first of the venatores, the hunters.'

Sabatis raised his trident to acknowledge the crowd's acclaim before he approached his lion, the big spear held steadily in front of him. At first, his chosen victim only snarled her defiance and tried to protect her feast. She had learned to fear humans, but hoped this one would go away and leave her in peace. As the armoured figure came closer the lion was forced into a decision. She charged.