I am weird. Give me an exhibition of things I’ve seen (from the MAN) or I’m planning to eventually see (from the Roman Museum in Mérida), and – even if it is nearby – I won’t feel like coming. Add a thirty-minute historical recreation, limited-time only and I’ll be all in. The archaeological museum Museo Arqueológico y Paleontológico de la Comunidad de Madrid MARPA, in Alcalá de Henares, was running an exhibition on gladiators from Hispania called ¡Hispano! Gladiadores en el Imperio Romano (“Hispanian! Gladiators in the Roman Empire”. I have no clue what the exclamation mark is doing there). It’s not like I was not interested, it was just… not really drawn to it.

However, I did hear about the historical recreation just about it was going to end. And you know how I am with “now or never” feelings. The way it was organised made it a bit of a challenge though – tickets were free but handed over at 15:00 for three sessions: 16:00, 17:00 and 18:00, and I had no idea when people would queue or whatever. I arrived at the museum around 13:30, and asked at reception. They told me that people usually started queueing around 14:30, and thus I decided to head there around 14:15 to secure entry.

Meanwhile, I checked the exhibition out. The majority of the pieces were reproductions, but there were a few originals. The most important real artefacts came from the Mérida Roman Museum, which as far as I know is closed at the moment. There was a guided visit going on, and I reasoned that a bunch of those people would also want to see the recreation.

The collection included reliefs, mosaics, and some sculptures. There was also a copy of the Roman Law from the MAN. In glass cases, helmets and weapons – most of them real – were displayed. In the centre there was a round amphitheatre where the recreation would take place. It was a small exhibition.

Afterwards, I wandered the rest of the museum for a bit, and around 14:15 I went to queue, displeasing the security guard who said that lining started at 14:30. That was not what I had been told. I offered to move, but he muttered “never mind”. What is with security suddenly going weird when there is queueing involved? I’d never had any kind of problem with the MARPA staff before.

At 14:55, I got my free ticket and headed outside the museum for a quick bite. I had planned to try a typical pastry, but all the patisseries close from 14:00 to 16:00, which was inconvenient. I ended up having yoghurt ice-cream instead. I had never seen the main street Calle Mayor or square Plaza de Cervantes so empty, but I guess that was because of the heat. Afterwards, I walked towards Puerta de Madrid, an 18th-century monumental gate that took the place of the actual wall gate. Coincidentally, the structure shows up in the 1960 gladiator film Spartacus.

I went back to the museum and we were soon admitted into the “theatre” that doubled as arena. The recreation was carried out by the historical recreation group Antiqva Clio. There were three actors: the lanista, and two gladiators. There was a kid running around too, but he was sort of the mascot, and a lady in plain clothes helping out.

The recreation started introducing the concept of ludus (plural ludi): a gladiatorial school, where the gladiators were housed (kept) and trained. The owner or lanista selected the fighters – slaves, criminals or free men – and assigned them to a category, either heavy-weight or light-weight.

The lanista was the owner of the school. He invested in the gladiators and their training. Gladiators who were slaves or criminals could eventually buy their freedom if they won enough fights. Once the gladiator entered the ludus, they took the “Gladiatorial oath”, which was akin to “we accept to be hit, burnt, chained and killed by the sword”. Which… was not the expected one, right? To get it out of the way from the get-go, apparently the whole Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant (Hail, Caesar, those who will die salute you), was popularised in the 19th century, and there is only evidence that it was said in real life as Avē Imperātor, moritūrī tē salūtant, once. It was in the year 52 CE on Lake Fucinus (not even a circus), where a group of criminal and prisoners sentenced to death were to fight on a naumachia (mock naval encounter) until there were no survivors.

Anyway, back to what I learnt. After swearing the oath, gladiators chose a fighting name, and got right into the fray. They trained together and became a sort of family, even taking care of each other and their relatives. Gladiators tended to specialise, as there were different classes with styles and weapons, and the ones who fought each others were different from those trained to hunt beasts. Fighters trained with weighed weapons so the fight would seem much smoother on the show. They were well-fed and even a little chubby so there could be wounds and blood without jeopardising their lives too much. As a matter of fact, when a gladiator died, his lanista had the right to monetary compensation for “loss of investment”.

The standard Roman circus games, ludi circenses, were sponsored by an editor, a sort of promoter who paid for everything. He hired the gladiator schools ludi to offer free entertainment to the people around him. The games started with Wild Beast Hunts (a fighter who was trained in this was called a venator or a bestiarii), then came executions, then the gladiatorial fights (munera) happened.

The gladiators who fought each other were paired: a light-weight versus a heavy-weight, and each fight took about ten minutes. There were different classes of gladiators, and we had an example of a murmillo (Leandrus) and a hoplomachus (Pintaius). The murmillo was a heavy weight-gladiator, equipped with a large shield and a sword. He was the defensive party. The hoplomachus was the light-weight and thus the aggressor. He carried a spear and a small shield. In general, one was “too armed to move” and the other one was “not armed enough” to somehow balance their differences. Both wore helmets with bad visibility in order to increase the drama.

There were two more figures in the games, the rudis, sort of a referee, and the lorarius, who made sure the fighters gave everything they could using a whip to motivate them. Though there was a risk that fighters might die during the fights, it was not the common thing. The winner received a laurel crown, a palm, a purple coat, a silver tray, and a bag of money. The loser could be pardoned or killed, but the whole thumbs-up, thumbs-down thing? That is not historically accurate either. If a winner gladiator was ordered to kill a loser who came from the same ludus, he made sure to do it as quickly as possible.

When a gladiator had won 10 fights, he had enough money buy his freedom and leave the life completely, though he could continue fighting and even assume another role in the ludus, such as a trainer or doctor of sorts. There is no historical information about how a fight was refereed, but here they did a first-to-reach-three-hits scheme. The lanista divided us in two groups to cheer for each gladiator, and the one on my side lost. Apparently Antiqva Clio‘s fights are not staged. The members of the recreation group actually train (with non lethal weapons of course) to learn how to fight, and whomever wins has won. No idea, but I felt sorry for the guys, who had to do it again in 30 minutes, and they were exhausted.

Afterwards, we could take pictures with the gladiators – and they let me hold the weapons, since “my mum was not around to grant or deny permission”. In the end, I just headed home. The walk to the car was a bit scorching though… The price you have to pay for an easy parking spot is a ten-minute walk that… gets hard towards the end of July.

But there was a limited-edition activity and I had got to do it. Good job me.