Author's Note: There is archeological and written historical evidence to confirm that women fought as gladiators. While many were slaves from conquered territories, women from all classes of Roman society fought in the Coliseum and just about every arena in the Roman Empire.
A carved relief from the 1st century AD depicts two female gladiators with shields, swords, helmets and dressed similarly to their male counterparts.
Written evidence, though limited, suggests that female gladiatorial combat was a very popular form of entertainment rivaling that of the men. Pairs fighting in the arena were scheduled during afternoon or early evening, an indicator of their high importance to the games. It is interesting to note that the women always fought before the men.
While segregated from the men, women trained at the same schools, in the same types of combat disciplines and enjoyed the same rights and privileges. They were accorded the same type of hero worship by the Roman citizenry and were the super star athlete's of their day.
Gladiators of both sexes were a highly valued and expensive commodity to their owners. They were treated well with the fortunate few winning their freedom.
The two main protagonists in the story are from the conquered Roman provinces of Gaul and Ethiopia. Captured female warriors from Gaul were prized for their strength and ferocity. The use of Ethiopian women in the games is first mentioned in writings dating from the time of Nero, approx. 60 AD.
Tarentum:
As we stood in the sweltering heat of the equipment room in the arena at Tarentum, number eight appeared highly agitated.
"The matron just told me that a very wealthy Senator wanted only the best gladiators for a festival in honor of his forefathers'. He specified that the gladiators are to fight to the death and paid a vast sum of money to the school for the privilege," number eight said with loathing to our group.
A pervasive feeling of gloom descended on us from number eights sobering news. The gladiatorial school that owned us was wise to keep this information secret until we were about to step foot in the arena.
As I laced up my leather fighting sandals and leggings, the pairings for the afternoons combat were announced. I had grown to despise killing, an affliction seriously detrimental to the well being of a gladiator.
"...Number eleven and number twenty three..." the school director barked.
I froze dead in my tracks.
"No, this can't be," I said quietly trying to hide my distress.
"I told you this day might come," twenty three said resignedly and stood still as her manica or arm guard was fitted into place.
Twenty three had her game face on but I could see that she was shaken by the news.
The glow of the oil lamps cast eerie shadows on the brick walls as twelve gladiators prepared for the combat that would end the life of six.
"I won't fight," I said to twenty three in a voice bordering on hysteria.
"Then I will kill you," she replied in a chilling voice.
I stared at her, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. We were the best female gladiators at our school. It made no sense to pair us in a fight to the death when the availability of well trained women was scarce.
Fights to the death were uncommon. Occasionally, a gladiator was severely injured during combat and died as a result. If a gladiator disgraced themselves or showed cowardice the spectators could demand his or her death.
The thought of fighting the woman I cherished above all others to the death, had me in the depths of despair. My mind searched vainly for a way out of this awful predicament but there was none.
On the journey to Tarentum, I had seen several tiny towns that reminded me of my home and in an attempt to ease my growing panic, I tried to remember what my village looked like and...
Gaul 90 AD
My village was in the region the Romans referred to as Gaul. In my mind I saw the huts, the green fields and the smell of roasting meat on the spit; usually a fresh kill my father made in the surrounding hills.
We were a warrior people, made so by the conquest of the Roman legions. Our tribes had withstood the attacks from before I was born or so my father said. But, our numbers had declined dramatically, especially among the fighting men.
With the shortage, many able bodied young women fought alongside their fathers, brothers, cousins and neighbors. Some women were more powerful than their male kin and fought with a ferocity that frightened the enemy. I was tall and lanky for a girl of fifteen but also quite strong.
The Roman broadswords that were taken from the vanquished after skirmishes, was our main weapon for fighting. Even at my young age, I handled it with a two fisted grip that impressed my father.
"Daughter, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were a boy," he would say to me with admiration.
But, head on confrontation with the Romans was suicide. There seemed to be an endless supply of Roman soldiers and far too few of my people. Our chief strategy was to lie in wait and ambush patrols or cohorts that were lost or separated from the main force.
It was during one such skirmish that I made my first kill with an upward thrust through the neck that nearly severed it. My foe lay at my feet, blood spurting in all directions but it didn't last long. In a matter of moments he was dead.
Carefully, I examined his still face and thought that he was probably no older than my brother. His was a handsome face, a youthful face only a short time ago filled with the promise victory.
"Daughter, we must make haste. The enemy will regroup and fall upon us in greater numbers," my father bellowed at me.
During the forced march back to our village, I couldn't shake the image of the dead young man from my mind. My earliest recollections are of the elders teaching us not only to hate the Romans but to fear them as well.
Although I hated the Romans, I had no fear or hatred for the fallen soldier.
"Why do the Romans hunt us down like animals?" I asked my father one evening by the fire.
"They are an evil people who enslave all they don't kill. Many of our kinsmen have been captured and only a handful escaped to tell the tale of their ordeal," he answered forcefully and with disgust.
My father thought I was too young and stupid to hear the grisly details. He thought that all women were dim-witted and foolish but I was smarter than my brothers. I was as skilled a fighter and just as savage.
Even though I fought side by side with the men in my village, I was not treated as an equal. I always had to wait for my father and brothers to eat first just like my mother and sisters who stayed at home.
At tribal festivals during the year, acts of bravery, fearlessness and courage during battle were told but rarely about a fighting woman. Many rounds and toasts of strong drink were hoisted in honor of the heroic but only by the men.
At one such festival when I was sixteen, I was promised to my oldest brother's friend Etr as his betrothed. I disliked him intensely but I had no say in the matter. The men in my village made all the important decisions.
Our union was turbulent because I didn't fear him or respect him as a man. I believed he lacked the sound judgment and strength of character that a man should have when making important decisions.
