Ancient History Fangirl: A Day at the Gladiatorial Games
41:15 Share

Every day, our world gets a little more connected, but a little further apart. But then, there are moments that remind us to be more human. Thank you for calling Amica Insurance. Hey, I was just in an accident. Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of. At Amica, we understand that looking out for each other isn't new or groundbreaking. It's human. Amica. Empathy is our best policy.

from festive performances and great gift ideas to tips for the perfect holiday feast. Join us every morning on NBC and make today your home for the holidays.

And I'll see you next time.

and deals to make your budget bright. Find the perfect shoes for you and yours at a DSW store near you or DSW.com.

Straight from Oneshi Press, publisher of progressive indie comics and graphic novels, comes Mr. Guy, Zombie Hunter. This is a deliciously ridiculous graphic novel about the zombie apocalypse, in which our hero, Mr. Guy, must do battle with the various tropes of the zombie apocalypse while searching for the cure for zombie-ness. Zombie-ness?

Zombiness. Each chapter is paired with a different illustrator, giving this ongoing story rich variations and new looks to keep the reader turning the pages. The powerhouse duo behind Oneshi Press, writer Lindsay Gee and illustrator J.L. Draco, are phenomenally talented and special friends of our podcast. If you love our merch designs and website illustrations, you'll love what they do, and we hope you'll check them out.

Oneshi Press is kick-starting Mr. Guy from July 1st to the 31st, along with its 10th comics anthology, Origins. Check out mrguycomic.com for more info.

This episode is brought to you by our Patreon members. Thank you so much. And if you're not a member, consider joining. Members get extra episodes just for Patreon subscribers and all our episodes ad-free. Membership starts at just $2 a month. Go to patreon.com slash ancienthistoryfangirl for more info. And as always, thanks for listening. The crowd loves an early death.

I'm Jen McMenemy. And I'm Jenny Williamson. And this is Ancient History Fangirl. So today we're going to do things a little differently. We're going to take you back in time and show you what a day at the gladiatorial games would have looked like from the point of view of an average person living during the Roman Republic, during Spartacus's time, let's say. And we wanted to do this for a couple of reasons. As much as we love our normal episodes, we

There's something rich and evocative about giving you an extended cold open that lets the listener be a part of the ceremonies, that allows the listener to go back in time and follow the games as they unfold, event by event. So we made some choices in this episode that might not be for all listeners.

There are a lot of descriptions of Goran violence because it's the gladiatorial games and you kind of can't talk about it without having that in there. No, and far more importantly, we show the horrible and systematic violence against enslaved people in ancient Rome.

And we thought for a long time about not including this section of the episode because of the current events. Because thousands of years later, we are still dealing with the repercussions of slavery. Yeah, we really went back and forth on how to portray the execution section of this episode. And...

This might be hard to listen to for some people, and we get that. And we suggest that if you don't have the bandwidth to listen to it, that is totally understandable. Maybe this is one that you skip. And to be honest, it was hard to write and research. There was nothing easy about this. But...

The story that we're trying to paint for you is super important. And this is a component. We felt that it was important to tell the story the way we did because to omit this section of the story would be to erase the reality of what did happen to enslaved people in ancient Rome. So we made some choices. We chose a narrator who has a certain level of entrenched privilege, who is unaware of their privilege.

And we let that narrator show you the world as they see it. We could have chosen a narrator with less privilege, a narrator who is more in line with our modern values. But to do that would be sugarcoating the ancient world. And the ancient world was a tire fire. And we've always taken great pains in this podcast to depict that as accurately as possible. Do we have...

evidence that everything in this episode would have happened exactly the way we've told it? No, we've made some educated guesses. The reality is that enslaved people in ancient Rome were punished in any number of horrifying ways for doing things like running away or rebelling against their masters,

And those punishments could include scourging, death by gladiator in the arena, and even crucifixion. And sometimes these executions took place in the arena as a sort of halftime entertainment. And we know that punishment for one enslaved person who killed their masters could result in the entire household being executed regardless of their role in the murder or not having any role at all. This injustice was something we wanted to depict because as we move into our Spartacus arc, it paints a clearer picture

of the choices that so many enslaved people were faced with. We've also chosen to show the final execution as a mythological spectacle, one we've taken from real executions that we've read about based on Roman and Greek mythology. And we did a Patreon episode on this that went into more detail called Mythological Ways to Die in the Arena. I think that's up by now.

The reason these types of executions were carried out this way was to force the crowds to see the condemned as someone apart from society and thus not someone to feel sorry for. It was basically to other them. According to an excellent article on Ancient History Encyclopedia by Dana Murray, quote,

a sort of shared moral superiority over the individual that had been sentenced to die in order to control the population and serve as an example of what may happen to the public if they too broke the law. We felt it was very important for our upcoming arc on Spartacus that you see how callously the Romans viewed enslaved people and how deeply entrenched this belief was. Because to understand what Spartacus did and how deeply his revolt shook the mainland Roman Republic, you have to understand what he was up against.

who the people who enslaved him were and what they believed. You have to understand how cheaply they valued the lives of other people. In our last episode, we talked about what it was like to be a gladiator, both revered by the crowd and enslaved. In this episode, we wanted to show you the almost divorced beliefs of a common Roman person watching this spectacle. So now you know what you're in for if you choose to continue listening with

With all this in mind, we invite you to join us as we travel back in time to the amphitheater at Capua in the summer of 73 BC. Join us as we bear witness to the spectacle of the gladiatorial games. Part 1, At the Keystone of Dionysus

You have been waiting outside the arena since before dawn, you and your sister. Since they announced the games, you've been planning to show up early and get to the front of the line. It's summer, and your small town has swelled like an overripe lemon to take on the tourists who have filled the city with news of the games.

You clutch your counter in your hand. It tells you where your seat is located, and for the first time in your life, your seat isn't in the back. But that doesn't mean other people won't try to get there before you. You may still have to fight for those seats. The crowd is buzzing with news of their favorites who they can't wait to see take to the sand. Some of the men are placing bets, gambling as much as a week's wages on their favorite.

You are grateful for the shade of the stone pine trees. Even this early in the day, the sun is brutal. The line stretches back behind you. You stare up at the smooth stones of the Amphitheater. It's the largest arena in all of Rome.

larger than the one in Pompeii, regardless of the tails those Pompeians try to spin. With over 80 arcs along the lower three levels, you could get lost trying to find your way to your seats. That's why you've made sure to mark the entrance, the one with the keystone of Dionysus. The statue looks down on you, brightly painted eyes filled with mirth and mischief. This has always been your favorite of all the keystone statues, less stern and commanding, and more suited to the festivities.

Your sister nudges your elbow. She's 13, and she's never been to the arena before. Your parents have always made excuses, told her she was too young or that her help was needed at the bakery. She bounces on the balls of her feet, excitement leeching out of her every pore. She offers you a piece of crusty bread. Your stomach gives an appreciative growl.

Your parents will be closing up the bakery soon. They will battle their way through the crowds and join you after the first match, tired, wearing their best clothes, and smelling of flour, yeast, and honey. Not only will you have to fight for your seats, but you'll have to save places for them.

Your sister smiles. "Still hungry? Mother packed enough to feed half the arena." You shake your head. "No, and keep your voice down or you'll start a riot. You've been here before when the crowd has turned dark with hunger or drink, and you don't want to see it happen again, not this early in the day." The line finally starts to move.

People jostle into you, desperate to get a better seat, closer to the action, to the sand. You grab your sister's hand, determined not to get separated as you're funneled into the amphitheater. Your sister drags her feet,

her eyes darting across everything taking in the sights and smells the copper tang of blood that never quite fades the freshly scrubbed walls the scent of animals invisible for the moment but never far away and the smell of too many unwashed bodies in the early morning heat

You pull her forward. You don't want to risk getting separated. You promised your mother you'd watch over your sister because she has a tendency to let herself be carried away by her thoughts, her daydreams of running off with some handsome gladiator.

You are all elbows as you manage to press through the crowd and make it to your prime seats, just a few rows back from the sands. You'll be able to see everything here. You don't tell your sister, but you've never had seats this good before. You've always sat toward the back with the other apprentices, passing a skin of wine between the three of you, but not today.

Today, you'll be able to see the griffin on the thrakes' helmet or the scales on the mermilloes. You'll be able to see who draws first blood without craning your neck to see around a hundred other people.

The side of the amphitheater is filled with a mix of men and women, slaves and freedmen. The other side of the amphitheater, close to the magistrate's podium, sports men and women dripping in the latest fashion, with tunics so white they dazzle and jewels so large around the women's necks that

that they reflect the sun like tiny mirrors. But over here, on your side of the arena, there's a mixing of people from all classes. On the far side of your row sits a widow from the next street over and her three small boys, all of whom have cheap wooden gladiases that they're waving around like flags.

In the row above you, you can see your friends from the villa on the edge of town. They are dressed in their nicest tunics, and their hair is wet from the baths. What a silly thing some people do, you think, dressing as if anyone will notice them or care at the games. They are on the wrong side of the arena for that.

You scan the sands below you. There is a large stone and wooden wall that ends just below the first row of seats. This is to protect the lower rows from the wild beasts that might take part in the spectacle. You don't tell your sister, who has a tender heart, that you once saw a tiger scale up the old arena wall and nearly find its way into the stands. There are two pairs of doors, one on the far side of the arena with a large, beautifully carved arc and a sign that says, The Doors of Life.

"'That's where the gladiators will enter from,' you tell your sister. "'And that,' you point to the dark red door on the opposite side, "'is where they will exit from if they die in combat, the doors of death.' Your sister shivers. "'Are you cold? These stone seats always hold the cold in the morning, but you'll be grateful for them this afternoon.' "'No, I'm not cold,' she bristles. She adjusts her posture, shifting her body into the groove of the stone seat.'

But these are definitely the most uncomfortable seats I've ever sat in. Good thing you'll spend most of the match on your feet cheering, then. What's first, your sister asks, even though you've explained the order of the day to her a dozen times.

For many of us, the holiday season means more travel, more shopping, more time online, and more of your personal information in more places you can't control. It only takes one innocent mistake, even if it's not your mistake, to expose you to identity theft. Not to worry. LifeLock monitors hundreds of millions of data points every second and alerts you to threats you could miss by yourself.

even if you keep an eye on your bank and credit card statements. If your identity is stolen, your own U.S.-based restoration specialist will fix it, guaranteed. The last thing you want to do this holiday season is face drained accounts, fraudulent loans, or other financial losses from identity theft, always.

LifeLock, for the threats you can't control.

Homeowners, if you want to sell your house fast for all cash, stop what you are doing and listen to this because Osborne Homes wants to buy your house right now. I'm Alec from Osborne Homes and we want to buy your house. Nobody buys more homes in California than Osborne. Whether it's a total fixer-upper or in perfect condition, Osborne Homes is the easiest way to sell your house fast, all cash. Best of all, when you sell your house to Osborne Homes, they're going to be the first to buy your house.

There are zero commissions, zero fees, plus no banks, no realtors, no repairs, and no waiting to close. We buy your house as is, all cash. Just go to OsborneHomes.com right now to get your free, no obligation, all cash offer. We are here and ready to buy your house 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Just go to OsborneHomes.com. Go to OsborneHomes.com right now. Don't wait. Sell your house to Osborne Homes and put the cash in your pocket right away. Just go to OsborneHomes.com. That's OsborneHomes.com. OsborneHomes.com. OsborneHomes.com.

First comes the lesser matches, then the executions around lunchtime. And the Primus? She grins. She's heard everyone in town talking about the Primus. Yes, and then the Primus. Is it true what they say about the Thrakes? That he's dashingly handsome and terrifying? She pauses. What was his name again?

I've never been close enough to see if he's handsome, but I've seen him fight before. I wouldn't want to be on the other side of his sword. You take a drink from your wineskin and pass it to your sister. I don't remember his name. Likely it will be forgotten after this match anyway. Part 2. The God of Water vs. The God of Fire

Then the fanfare begins. The trumpets, corneau, and water organ all sound. For a moment, everyone is silent, and then a cheer erupts across the amphitheater. All eyes turn to the well-appointed section of the arena, where the magistrate and his honored guests are seated. There is a rich canopy over their block of seats to keep out the heat of the sun.

The magistrate stands to give the opening oration, to remind you of why you are here, the great man's life we honor, a great man who died over 20 years ago and whose son is now seeking political office. Not that you have a vote to give him. Once the oration is over, the music begins again. This time it is loud and triumphal.

Everyone is on their feet, standing and cheering, their eyes fixed on the doors at the far end of the arena, the doors of life. The horns blare as the doors are thrown open and a parade of gladiators takes to the sands. They are dressed in bright colors, sparkling silver and bronze helmets, breastplates adorned with griffins and gorgons, and bodies that show off the rude health of the fighters.

The stomping and shearing of the crowd are almost deafening. Your sister points to a tall, well-muscled figure in a silver helmet with a medusa on the forehead. "That's him!" she whispers, her voice small and awed. The fighters finish their lap of the arena, showing off their swords, shields, tridents, nets, smiles, abs, and biceps.

Every man looks as if they have been kissed by Venus herself. Their bodies glisten in the early morning heat, oiled and scraped, sculpted to perfection. They take another lap and you notice their strong bodies, their muscled thighs and calves, pecs that most of the aristocracy on the other side of the arena would kill for.

you raise your hand to fan your face feeling it flush and knowing it isn't the heat and then the music falls silent again everyone takes their seats as someone in the magistrate's section rises to announce the fighters

Up first are the lesser fights, gladiators the crowd has not yet heard of, desperate to win and make their mark, and destined to be forgotten long before the noon executions. Eretiarius enters the arena first. His handsome face is unlined and unscarred. He carries a trident and net. His left arm is covered in armor that glitters like the scales of a fish in the early morning sun. His loincloth leaves nothing to the imagination.

He stands before the crowd, handsome and young, and dressed for all the world like Neptune, god of the sea.

"'He is so handsome,' your sister whispers, her eyes following the upturned face of the Reptiarius. "'Don't go falling in love with the first gladiator, you see,' you warn, although you do have to admit he is handsome. Next enters the Secutor, heavily armored, his rounded helmet has no crest, the easier to keep it from getting tangled in the Reptiarius's net.'

there are tiny slits on the helmet just enough to let this acuter see his attacker but not wide enough to allow the trident to penetrate his thick neck is protected by his fishfin styled armor smooth to keep the net from catching but heavy and daunting designed to keep him safe but at the cost of speed

He carries a heavy shield with a large thundering mount on it, a sign of the god of the forge, Vulcan. His midsection is protected by a wide belt, loincloth and greaves that run up and down his left leg. He is a block of muscle with biceps bigger than your head. His thighs are the size of your waist.

He holds himself tall and sure, and even though he carries so much weight that it will make him slow and tire fast, he moves like a dancer. He lifts his heavy gladius and shield into place, protecting his midsection and groin.

"'Pity you can't see his face,' your sister whispers. "'I should like to know if he is as pretty as the retiar is.' With a helmet like that, he either has a very pretty face or a face that has taken too many beatings. But he's still standing, which under that much armor is a feat in and of itself. They have dressed him like Vulcan, god of the forge, god of fire, to see which will win. "'The god of fire or the god of water?' you whisper to your sister.'

The match begins and the Retiarius advances quickly. It is his speed that will determine this match. He is lightly armored and all he has to do to win is tire out his opponent. But the Secutor is the better fighter. He draws first blood, he ducks under the Retiarius's trident, and his Gladius finds a home in the Retiarius's left side.

It's not a deep wound, but it bleeds freely. You are on your feet and cheering with the crowd, first blood drawn. The match has truly begun. Your sister looks pale as she grasps her hands together. She has clearly made the Retiarias her favorite. You don't tell her that it's best not to get too attached to the fighters, because this early on in the day, things could go either way. They might survive their match, or they might be the first casualty of the day's celebrations.

Retiarius steps backwards, opening the gap between himself and his attacker. He might be the first one wounded, but he still has the advantage. He has the longer range weapon and the lighter armor. That's why he's called a Retiarius, you tell your sister, because his defensive strategy is to run away. Your sister glares at you. Maybe his strategy is just to wear out the big hulking brute. You laugh. That's part of it, but a true gladiator isn't afraid of an attack.

Your sister says nothing, but sulks silently as she watches the fight. The Retiarius is clever. He's able to keep up his deadly dance until the Secutor becomes too tired to dodge the net or trident anymore. The gladiators move in a blur. Trident thrusts and shield blocks, a whirling dance two steps forward for the Retiarius and one back for the Secutor.

The Retiarius seizes his moment. He swings his net, building up momentum and lets it fly through the air. It flies in a terrifying arc, landing with a weighted thud on the Secutor. The Secutor struggles for a moment, the weight of the net causing him to stumble backwards. His heavy shield weighs him down, pulls him closer to the ground. He drops his shield, leaving himself exposed as he struggles to free himself from the net.

the retiarius moves closer the secutor stumbles desperate to pull the net off to free himself to regain the advantage but his movements are slow and dazed causing him to tangle himself even further into the net

The Retiarius stabs his trident through the net. The spear breaks open the Secutor's chest, punching three large holes across it. Then the Retiarius moves the tip of the deadly three-pronged spear so it rests above the Secutor's Adam's apple. This would be a killing blow, and to enact a killing blow, he needs permission. The Retiarius looks to the magistrate podium, waiting for his orders.

The movement is almost imperceptible. You certainly couldn't tell if the sign from the podium was given or not, but the trident pierces the secutor's throat, spraying lifeblood onto the sand. It is uncommon to have a fighter sentenced to death so early in the day, but the Retiarius fought well. As one of the least respected of all gladiators, this early death will give him a higher standing amongst the fans. It will help make his name and grant him a modicum of fame in the future.

and the crowd loves an early death. Your sister is on her feet, cheering, screaming louder than anyone else in your section. You watch as the doors to the underworld at the other end of the amphitheater open. Out stalks a man dressed as Mercury, wearing his winged sandals and winged helmet. He walks over to the body of the dead Skeeter and shakes his head. The audience cheers again. Then a tall man dressed in black robes and carrying a hook enters the arena.

He is Charon, the ferryman of the underworld. In one swift movement, he stabs his secutor through his punctured chest. He nods to Mercury, who leads the way through the doors of death. Charon drags the secutor's lifeless body out of the arena, following his guide. Part 3. Ad Bestiarius.

There is scrambling as the sands are turned over and cleaned, made ready for the next fight. The Retiarius spends a few moments basking in his victory, his trident held up to the sky. In the battle of fire and water, water has won.

Your parents slip into their seats beside you. Your mother kisses the top of your head as if you were still a child, and your father grins at the sand. They have missed the first match, but the profits from this week will help see your family through the long winter. You hate the way your town swells with tourists in the summer, but you can't deny the money they spend is necessary for getting through the lean months.

Everyone who is anyone loves a day at the arena in Capua. It's the biggest arena in all of Rome, and it's in your city. You can almost forgive the tourists for their gawking. The next eight fights go by in a whirl of blood and cheers. You count four Mermillos, another Retiarius, two Thraces, and one Daimakarai, his two swords moving so fast you could barely follow the action. But the day is getting hot, and the crowd is restless.

With the exception of the first Secutor, no one else has left the amphitheater through the doors of death. Your sister has fallen in love with exactly four gladiators, all of them delicious specimens.

Your mother has broken out the wine, and she is far enough into her cups that your father has taken the wineskin and replaced it with water. Now at last comes the bloodiest part of the day. Some of the crowd has thinned out, preferring to take their midday meal at home, but most of the audience has remained, because executions can be surprising. Sometimes they're a very dull affair, with just a pair of gladiators sent to dispatch some criminals or runaway slaves. But other times...

Other times, the executions can be the highlight of the entire day. You've heard that today ten people are to be executed, but now only nine are brought into the arena. They must have reserved something special for the 10th.

The nine are chained together, six men and three women. They stare up into the crowd, their eyes huge and glazed, as if they had no idea that this would be their fate. The crowd turns angry. These are not gladiators. These are criminals, and they are not to be shown any cheers or celebrations. The women huddle together. Rotten food begins to fly onto the sand as someone from the magistrate's podium stands to recite their crimes.

We will have quiet, comes a booming voice. A fortnight ago in a villa to the west of our city, a heinous crime was committed. The crowd hisses. Everyone remembers what happened a fortnight ago. The bakery had been buzzing with gossip.

The man at the podium speaks. A fortnight ago, five people were murdered in their home. Murdered by their slaves. Murdered by the people who they had provided with a safe place to live, food, clothing, and that was their repayment. Murder. True murder.

Only one of them held the knife, and he will pay for his crimes. But all of them are just as guilty. Any one of them could have stayed his hand, could have held him back. They could have chosen to hide the children. What crime could a two-year-old child commit that necessitated murder? But these people chose not to protect their masters, so they shall all share the murderer's fate."

We'll be right back.

There are zero commissions, zero fees, plus no banks, no realtors, no repairs, and no waiting to close. We buy your house as is, all cash. Just go to OsborneHomes.com right now to get your free, no obligation, all cash offer. We are here and ready to buy your house 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Just go to OsborneHomes.com. Go to OsborneHomes.com right now. Don't wait. Sell your house to Osborne Homes and put the cash in your pocket right away. Just go to OsborneHomes.com. That's OsborneHomes.com. OsborneHomes.com. OsborneHomes.com.

Hey everyone, it's John, also known as Dr. John Paul. And I'm Jordan, or Joe Ho. And we are the Black Fat Femme Podcast. A podcast where all the intersections of identity are celebrated. Ooh, chat, this year we have had some of our favorite people on, including Kid Fury, T.S. Madison, Amber Ruffin from the Amber and Lacey Show, Angelica Ross, and more.

Make sure you listen to the Black Fat Femme Podcast on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts, girl. Ooh, I know that's right.

The crowd cheers, and the slaves all group together, looking around the arena, not sure where their death will come from. When the floor opens and a dazed tiger is raised into the arena on a platform, one of the women begins frantically pulling on her chain. Her face is filled with panic, but there's nowhere to flee, because a few moments later, another door opens in the floor, and this time a bear is raised up on a platform.

He is a poor, starving creature. His fur is shaggy and bald in places. When the third door opens, one of the men faints. This time, a wolf is raised up on a platform. The wolf is lanky and lean, his mouth already filled with saliva. Two more doors open, the second tiger and another wolf. The prisoners draw closer to each other. And then, there is silence. The animals begin to circle.

The tigers pounce first, and then the wolves and the bear. They rip and tear. The prisoners try their best to fight back, but they are no match for jaws and claws. The tiger swipes one massive paw at one of the women. The bear pulls one of the men from the group. The strength of his paws causing the chain on the prisoners to the right and left of him to tighten. They fall to the sands as the bear makes a meal of their companion. The sands are stained red as the animals feast.

The crowd cheers. Your father looks away. He has no taste for executions. Your mother takes a large drink, one hand clasped around the wineskin and the other tightly holding onto your father's knee. Your sister stares down at the animals and people below. Her eyes are filled with tears. "Why do you cry? They deserve their fate," you say. "The animals all look so hungry." Well, they've had a good feast now.

But your sister won't meet your gaze. Her eyes are locked on the hunched-over mountainous figure of the bear who is chewing on the innards of the man who fainted. Your mother's voice is soft and slurred, almost imperceptible. You care so much for the animals, Julia, but those are people down there, too. People who did nothing wrong. They didn't betray their master. They murdered no one. They don't deserve this.

They're slaves, you say. You heard what the magistrate said. They could have stopped the murder, but they didn't. I was a slave once, your mother says softly. Am I any less of a person? You have always been the best sort of person, your father says, putting an arm around your mother's shoulders. Put thoughts of that old life aside and enjoy this beautiful day, he smiles and pulls his arm tighter. Your mother turns her face into his shoulder and is silent.

Part 4. The Flight of Icarus Once the animals have feasted, a band of unlucky slaves are sent onto the sands to corral them back onto their platforms and into cages. The process is disorganized, with many of the slaves running for their lives as the tigers, bear, and wolves chase them around the arena. Large hooks and nooses are used to steer the tiger, bear, and wolf back onto their platform and the cages that wait underneath.

but one of the tigers refuses to leave and it takes four men a matter of minutes to pierce the beautiful beast and send it into the next life of the twenty slaves who enter the arena only fifteen make it through the doors of life five slaves and a tiger exit through the doors of death your sister cries for the tiger your mother takes another drink

Then the voice from the podium returns. The sands are still filled with blood, bits of innards, rotten food, peach pits, and apple cores, but they do not need to be clean and pristine for what happens next. The man on the podium speaks, and now we have saved one of our favorite punishments for last.

Feast your eyes on the slave who murdered his masters. This man thought he could fly away, that he could escape Roman justice, that he could murder his masters and escape into the night. We will give him exactly what he wanted, because we are not a cruel people. We are not barbarians. If this man would be an Icarus, let us see how well he can fly.

You look up. Directly above the podium is a man. He is suspended above the magistrate's box, hanging by a pair of wings. He's naked except for a loincloth. His arms are strapped to two boards that are coated with a mess of feathers. He appears to be flying, although his arms don't move. His screams echo through the arena, a high-pitched wail of terror. He starts to move.

Slowly at first, and then faster, he flies a full circle around the arena. A door opens in the floor and another bear, larger and angrier than the first, is raised into the arena. His eyes follow the flying man. The man flies another two rings around the arena, descending slightly as he goes until he hovers just above the bear, his toes almost close enough for the bear to grab.

He screams again, and the rope suddenly goes slack. He plummets to the ground before the bear. The snap of a breaking bone rings out across the arena. Then the bear attacks. This time you look away, because you've seen enough death by beast for one day, and maybe your mother is right. Maybe there is something a little cruel about this. Part 5. Sine Missone

After the execution and the recapture of the bear, the sands are turned over and cleaned. Another four more matches take place. The crowd is growing restless, their backs aching from the seats and their tempers high with drink. Your mother is drunk. Your father is getting surly. And your sister is tapping her feet with impatience. She cannot wait for the primus. For the match everyone has been talking about for a month. The Thrakes versus the Provocateur. The water organ is back.

The water-powered pipe organ casts a mournful and haunting song across the arena. The final match is here. The Munis, the memorial that is the reason you've all been gathered today.

And then the horn sound, triumphant and bright. Everyone stands up as the voice from the podium rings out for what will be the final time today. The booming voice explains that the next match will be fought sine missone, to the death. The crowd cheers. They have not yet had their fill of blood and sport. The battle is meant to honor a brave general, 20 years dead and largely forgotten. Some would say the best thing he ever did was to die so that these games could be held.

The provocateur enters first. He has been hired to act out the part of the dead general, although you're certain that the general never looked so handsome as this gladiator in his life. The provocateur is dressed in the uniform of a Roman legionnaire and will fight in their style as is traditional in these types of matches. The crowd cheers so loudly the sound of the water organ and horns are drowned out.

The Provocador is a rudiarious, one of the few seasoned gladiators who has earned his freedom. You heard talk that the cost of getting him back into the amphitheater for this fight could feed an entire family for two years. Your father leans close to you, his voice low. Before I met your mother, I dreamed of fighting a Provocator.

"'Truly? Yes. In my dream, we fought to the death, and I won. And the next day, your mother walked into my bakery, and I knew she was the woman I would marry. You know what they say a dream like that means, don't you?' You shake your head. "'A dream like that means you'll marry a wife who is beautiful, graceful, and a wanton flirt.' Your father laughs, and your mother snorts. "'Dream on. Maybe you'll have better luck with your second wife,' she says, and your father kisses her swiftly.'

The provocateur is handsome. His body gleams, shining and hard, as if carved from a block of marble. His breastplate features an owl, and his round helmet has plumes of rich red feathers. His arm guards and leg briefs shine with bronze and silver, reflecting the late afternoon light. He carries a small square shield and his gladius. The crowd drinks him in as if they are dying of thirst. Next enters the Thrakes.

He is a tall mountain of a man, maybe the tallest man you've ever seen in your life. Easily seven feet tall, his bronze skin shines in the late afternoon light, making him look like Mars come down from Olympus.

He holds his sicca, a wicked curved blade high above his head, flashing his biceps and trim waist. He is meant to stand for some barbarian that was defeated by the long-dead and little-remembered general. The Thrakes' entrance is greeted with some hisses and boos and loud and dissonant blurts of the horn.

He is not the match favorite, but your sister's eyes follow his every movement, and so do yours. He moves like a lion, all lanky and lazy grace belying his deadly pounce. If he dies, do you think they'll sell some of his blood or sweat? Your sister whispers. Julia, you hiss.

What? When I'm married, I want a sword dipped in his blood to part my hair and bless the union. And maybe some of the sweat from my husband's wine cup. You know what they say about gladiator sweat. She grins. You shake your head. You do know what they say, and you don't want to encourage her.

The Thrakes is handsome. You can tell it even through his helmet. He lifts the grill for a moment and you catch sight of the firm set of his strong jaw and his piercing blue eyes. You cannot look away. When he drops the grill on his helmet, you feel as if you have been bewitched. His griffon helmet is glorious with dark feathers flowing behind him. The griffon, companion of the goddess Nemesis, is a powerful omen.

The Thrakes carries a wicked curved blade, a large square shield decorated with a red snake. His leg greaves are made to look like two twining olive branches, and the belt at his waist only emphasizes how handsome a figure he cuts.

it's a shame he has to die. You would have very much looked forward to watching him fight another day. But the history of this battle has already been written, and the provocateur, the stand-in for the long-dead general, must be the victor.

The Thrakes might not know the outcome, but the crowd does. It's why so much money has been spent to engage the services of the Provocateur, a man far more experienced and guaranteed to win. Because it would be very embarrassing to have history rewritten in front of the entire city.

The fight begins with a fanfare. The Provocator lives up to his name, getting in a quick series of blows which make the Thrakes unsteady on his feet. No blood is drawn, but the Thrakes wobbles as he regains his footing. The Provocator takes a moment to pander to the crowd. He can't kill the Thrakes too quickly. It would be a poor ending to the game. He has to draw out the battle just long enough so the crowd will feel satisfied.

He waits a few moments and then begins his attack again, quickly slashing and striking at the Thrakes. The Thrakes uses his heavy shield to protect himself, and the clash of shield on shield sounds like thunder rolling down from the mountains. The crowd is thrilled, hurling abuse at the Thrakes and praise for the Provocator. And then it happens.

It's so quick that you almost miss it. The Thrakes' curved Sika manages to find a weak spot in the Provocator's attack, and the Provocator turns his back ever so slightly. It is all the opportunity the Thrakes needs. His curved sword was meant for this. The first slash of the Sika causes the Provocator to stumble backwards, and the Thrakes'

presses forward. His Seekah flashes in the sunlight as it arcs down again, grazing the Provocator's right side. The Provocator pulls backward and then uses his shield to press forward, catching the Thrakes off guard and pressing the heavy shield into his chest, making the Thrakes' shield a useless burden as he escorts down to the ground.

The Thrakes is buried under the weight of two shields. His right arm, his sword arm, is uselessly pinned. The Thrakes rolls under the weight of the shields. Suddenly his Sika is in his left hand. And what happens next never should have happened, but it does. The curved blade stabs the Provocator high in the thigh. The Provocator clutches his leg in shock. He topples backward.

blood spurting on the sand. As the Thrakes rises, standing over him, the Thrakes delivers one final blow, and then there is nothing left of the Provocator, nothing but blood and bones for Charon. You are on your feet in an instant, your sister and parents cheering and screaming, half in shock, half in triumph. This is not how the battle should go.

The Thrakes should not be standing over the body of the Provocator. The crowd should not be chanting his name he was supposed to lose. It should be his blood steaming the sands. The Thrakes whips off his helmet so the crowd can see his handsome face, so they can take in the figure of the man who has rewritten their own history today. There should be outrage, but there is none. There is only the sound of the crowd chanting his name.

Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus! Every day, our world gets a little more connected, but a little further apart. But then, there are moments that remind us to be more human. Thank you for calling Amica Insurance. Hey, uh, I was just in an accident. Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of. At Amica, we understand that looking out for each other isn't new or groundbreaking.

It's human. Amica. Empathy is our best policy.

Welcome to the Criminalia Podcast. I'm Maria Tremarcki. And I'm Holly Frey. Together, we invite you into the dark and winding corridors of historical true crime. Each season, we explore a new theme from poisoners to art thieves. We uncover the secrets of history's most interesting figures, from legal injustices to body snatching. And tune in at the end of each episode as we indulge in cocktails and mocktails inspired by each story.

Listen to Criminalia on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, everyone. It's John, also known as Dr. John Paul. And I'm Jordan, or Joe Ho. And we are the Black Fat Femme Podcast. A podcast where all the intersections of identity are celebrated. Ooh, chat. This year, we have had some of our favorite people on, including Kid Fury, T.S. Madison, Amber Ruffin from the Amber and Lacey Show, Angelica Ross, and more.

Make sure you listen to the Black Fat Femme Podcast on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts, girl. Ooh, I know that's right. ♪