The Gladiator School (Scuola di Gladiotori) in Rome is nestled very appropriately off the ancient Roman road of the Appia Antica, where cars and buses still roar over the original paving stones that make up this ancient via. The school is like a genuine little fortress, complete with its wooden ramparts constructed from sharpened wooden logs.
When I first arrived at The Gladiator School, I wandered gingerly into the fort and found myself in a sand-covered courtyard. The place had the distinct vibe of a training ground. In one corner little sacks tied to ropes were hanging from a wooden pole. I couldn’t imagine what their use was but thought—ah, gladiator training equipment!
At that moment a man dressed like a senator wandered past me hurriedly, he greeted two ladies dressed in the evening dresses of ancient Rome, helping each other adjust their earrings. Not long after another character appeared—this time in full Centurion battle dress, chain mail included. I had arrived early and wondered what was taking place—it was full of Italians immaculately dressed in the various ranks of the ancient citizens of Rome. They looked so “at home” in their ancient dress that it became clear that this was more than just a costume party.
Sledge Hammers in the Name of Mercy
A lady looking a bit rougher than the rest (with frightening black paint over her face—it turned out to she was a barbarian) came up to me. I explained I was early for my training and she apologized, explaining that it was a little chaotic that day as a whole group of them were preparing to attend some kind of political demonstration. She said there would be a small delay and offered to take me on a tour of the little museum at the back of the training ground.
What followed was a lively explanation of life and war as a Centurion, as half the museum is dedicated to life as a Roman soldier. Then we moved onto life as a gladiator. She explained that there were two levels of gladiator—the professionals and the slaves. The fundamental difference between the two? As a professional you stopped after the first “blood wound”; as a slave you were destined to fight to the death, slave against slave.
Apparently dying takes some time. So once one of the slaves was bloodied and struggling, a special executioner was called to dispatch the defeated. He had a creepy leather hat and would crack the losers head open with a large sledge hammer (in the name of mercy, of course). There is a full-size model of the executioner and his hammer in the museum.
The Gladiators Assemble
Soon more trainee gladiators arrived, an American family and two retired ex-US Navy men, with their wives and friends as spectators. Each of us are handed a beautifully pressed red tunic and told to change. Our trainer is Alex, dressed in period costume including some great Roman sandals. From the beginning we are drilled with cool military precision.
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