Go Feedback: Attention warrior wannabes – strap on your sword and sandals for a Roman holiday, writes Amy Laughinghouse
‘I’M GOING TO dress you up in silly costumes, give you weapons, and allow you to beat the nonsense out of each other,” announces Alex Mariotti, greeting students at Gruppo Storico Romano gladiator school.
Mariotti, a fight trainer whose charges have included the cast of Rome, takes a moment to size us up, assessing our physical fitness and possibly looking for signs of latent homicidal tendencies.
Over the next two hours, he will face the unenviable task of transforming this motley crew of soft civilians into hardened warriors, or some farcical semblance thereof, without anyone losing an eye or making a trip to casualty.
Satisfied by what he sees – or at least, not visibly deflated – Mariotti escorts us down a dirt path flanked by wooden fencing towards the gladiatorial compound, complete with a collection of weapons and armour fashioned under the direction of archeologists from Pompeii, a dirt arena, and even a few rows of stadium seating for the madding masses, which are conspicuously absent to witness our embarrassment this afternoon.
For me, this moment has been a long time coming. My husband has often quoted a line from Monty Python's Life of Brian– "You will find yourself in gwadiator school wery quickly with wotten behaviour like that" – as a light-hearted means of defusing our arguments. Now, having met Mariotti, a dark-eyed actor and former stuntman of the bulging muscles variety, I only wish my hubby had made good on his threat much sooner.
We begin with a short history lesson in the armoury. “Traditionally, we think of gladiators as slaves who were thrown into the arena to die,” Mariotti begins, admitting that this did sometimes happen with criminals. “But professional gladiators actually survived – a lot of the time.”
They underwent intensive training, and their fights were typically choreographed, even incorporating sausage skins filled with animal blood and chicken fat, placed in their armor to simulate injury. Much to the wonder of the crowds, a “slain” gladiator might therefore “rise from the dead” for another battle.
“They were like gods. Gladiator life was awesome. Women loved you – big oiled-up Chippendales with swords. Gladiator sweat was considered an aphrodisiac,” Mariotti says.
Having primed us for battle, Mariotti leads his warrior wannabes to the arena, where we don shapeless mauve tunics that would make potato sacks seem fashionable. But before training begins in earnest, he offers us a civilised espresso. After all, we’re not barbarians (they didn’t arrive until around AD 400).
Once we’re suited up and suitably caffeinated, Mariotti instructs us to “assume ready positions, and I shall teach you an elegant way of smashing someone in the head. As with all new recruits, you have to start with wooden swords” and hands us weapons before demonstrating a series of moves – aiming for the head, throat, knees and gut of our opponent. “It’s the same principles as boxing. You jab and you punch. You stab and you stun. If you hear a good ‘swoosh’, you know you’re doing it right.”
Clearly, it’s time to unleash our pent-up aggression. So as a grand finale, Mariotti pairs us off in the ring with a couple of foam bats, which we use to playfully pummel the stuffing out of each other, complete with light sabre sound effects.
MARIOTTI AWARDS POINTSfor each hit, and the winner swaggers off with bragging rights. Everyone else walks away with a diploma penned in impenetrable Latin (which, for all I know, certifies me as a licensed brain surgeon or twiddle sticks champion) and some gloriously goofy pictures in gladiatorial regalia for our Facebook profiles.
Having whetted my bloodlust, I head to the Colosseum to see where my buff forbears wowed the crowds. Approaching it along the Via dei Fori Imperiali, I stroll past the Forum. Once the centre of Roman life, with its government buildings and temples, the Forum is now an impressive pile of rubble, with only the hardiest of arches and redwood-like columns presiding over an intriguing puzzle of stone and bricks. (Really, the Romans ought to take better care of their buildings).
But the Colosseum, built nearly 2,000 years ago, remains relatively intact, having endured fire, earthquake, pillaging and countless primary school groups. Although much of the uppermost levels have crumbled and the white marble that once sheathed it was quarried centuries ago, multi-tiered rows of massive arches still comprise the imposing exterior.
Inside, lost-looking visitors mill about a vast barrel-vaulted hall from which steep brick stairs lead to an upper level that is open to the sky. From here, I have a perfect view into the oval arena where gladiators fought and where bears, lions, and tigers were slain for the “amusement” of the masses.
A maze of stone hallways has been excavated below the arena, revealing cages that once housed the beasts. Slaves operated pulleys to raise them through trap doors in the sand-coated wooden floor, allowing them to “magically” appear in the pit. But today, only a few felines of the domestic variety inhabit the labyrinth, dozing in the sun.
A gladiator exhibit, running until the start of October, features remains of some of the animals which were excavated here, including the skulls of a horse and a bear, and bones from wolves, giraffes, ostrich and . . . chickens? (Woe to the unfortunate soul forced to face off against the fearsome fighting bantam!) Alongside ancient helmets and weapons, the exhibit showcases recreations of gleaming breastplates, feathered headgear, fur capes and chain mail chicly cinched with a figure-slimming gold belt, lending credence to Mariotti’s portrait of gladiator as superhero. I still can’t swing a sword, but now I know how to properly accessorise this season’s lace-up gladiator sandals.
- Gruppo Storico Romano gladiator school. 00-39-06-516-07951, gsr-roma.com. €20 per person, minimum 10 people for two-hour course