Episode 6 | Did Commodus Actually Fight in the Colosseum Like in Gladiator?
Games on a scale never before seen, hosted by an emperor unlike any other. But who was Commodus really? Let’s find out in this week’s instalment of History vs. Hollywood
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The Film Narrative
The games continue, and our knight of Rome wins glory after glory. The sands of the arena, his podium and the crowd his orchestra as he plays his bloody tune of vengeance.
His name now known to Commodus and the world, Maximus, our knight, seeks to restore justice to the people. Friends he gathers, and a plan is set in motion. The conspiracy is joined by one close to Commodus, his sister Lucilla, for whom he has always held unnatural feelings
A mistake is made, and the word slips out, the plot discovers, Lucillas' love for her son is stronger than her love of liberty. The noose tightens around our Knight of Rome.
Death it shall be, but in front of the crowds where he made his name. Commodus, his need for the love of the people so great, will kill Maximus in the arena, proving his might. He fights not fair, and our Knight steps onto the sand mortally wounded.
The flash of blades, the ring of steel, together clash the emperor and the knight. Wounded he may be, but he is more warrior than Commodus. Abandoned by his men, the knight closes on the emperor and finishes him. An unceremonious death for a man unfit to wear the purple.
His duty done, our knight can rest. He hands the power back to the senate, and slips into the Elysian fields where his family awaits him.
The Real Historical Narrative
Hello and welcome back! This is the final instalment of a three-part series on Ridley Scott’s fantastic Gladiator. If you missed the previous episode, you can catch up here. In this final instalment, we’ll return to the narrative of Gladiator and its climactic finale, focusing on the emperor Commodus. His reign was not only peculiar but genuinely involved his participation in gladiatorial combat in the Colosseum. Yes, that’s right —Commodus found time to fight as a gladiator while ruling the Roman Empire. I hope you enjoy following along as I lay out a strong case for truth being stranger than fiction.
Before we delve into that, I want to give a big shout-out to one of the key sources for this episode: The Day Commodus Killed a Rhino by Jerry Toner. This book provides incredible detail and insight into who Commodus really was. While I’m not affiliated with the author, I highly recommend picking up a copy if you're interested—you can find it here.
In part one of this series we had discussed Maximus, our hero and Knight of Rome, bested by Commodus in their brief but decisive struggle for power. Following this, Commodus has returned from Germania, ascended to his father’s throne, and gotten on with celebrating by throwing some lavish games. It might not be spot on to the history, but one thing Gladiator gets very right is Commodus’ obsession with the games. Before we dive into that, however, let’s explore the early years of his reign.
Commodus was the only surviving son of Marcus Aurelius. He was born a twin, but lost his brother at a young age. Commodus was the first emperor to be ‘born in the purple,’ meaning he was born into the imperial family, which gave him a unique status, as all emperors up to that point had been adopted by their predecessors. At just 15, Marcus Aurelius made Commodus co-emperor, a decision that signalled his intention for Commodus to succeed him—despite early signs of Commodus’ unsuitability for the role.
In part one, we covered Commodus' complex relationship with his father and how it differed from their relationship as portrayed in Gladiator. To summarise it quickly, Marcus, well aware of his son's shortcomings, tried his very best to make him fit to rule. He provided his son with the finest education, brought him to the frontlines to teach him the art of war, and surrounded him with wise men, hoping they would guide him after his death. Marcus Aurelius, on his deathbed, had begged his companions to look after and guide his son, a sign that he felt he had not yet done enough to fix Commodus. This being said, he took every step possible to make sure that Commodus’ rule would be unchallenged.
At the tender age of 18, Commodus was left to rule the empire alone after Marcus’ death from the plague. The crown of empire sits heavily on the head of those who wear it, and it seems that almost immediately it began to unearth Commodus’ worst qualities. His reign would not only play out very badly for himself, but also for: his sister, many mistresses, supposed friends, a host of wild beasts, including giraffes and rhinoceroses, the Senate and arguably the whole Roman Empire.
Commodus would prove singularly unsuited to governing the Roman Empire. Our best contemporary source for his reign is the historian and senator Cassius Dio, who witnessed many of the major events first-hand. Dio, although clearly not fond of Commodus, in some of his writing you can almost hear Dio’s eyes rolling, didn’t believe he was evil by nature. Instead, Dio described him as guileless, easily influenced by bad actors, and desperate for attention. Judging by how his reign unfolded, it seems Dio’s assessment was spot on.
In looking for reasons why Commodus was like this, perhaps we should start close to home. As mentioned earlier, Commodus lost his twin at a very young age, and with his father away at war most of the time, it’s possible he was short a hug or two as a child. This could explain a life marked by an almost desperate hunt for attention. His upbringing, however, was not unusual for Roman nobility—Roman parents often left their children to be raised by wet nurses to avoid the grief of losing them young—and they didn’t all turn out like Commodus did. No, something about Commodus was wrong from the very start.
His contemporaries called him 'degraded, shameless, cruel, lewd, foul-mouthed, and debauched,' and they weren’t exaggerating. Commodus excelled in all the wrong areas: dancing, singing, whistling, acting the fool, and pretending to be a gladiator. Nothing gets a Roman conservative more upset than dancing for some reason. Cicero, the famous orator of the late republican period was for some reason convinced that an uptick in dance parties in Rome heralded the collapse of the Republic. Considering that it did go ahead and collapse in his lifetime, perhaps he was right.
If Commodus’ father was anyone else, maybe these qualities wouldn’t have been so frowned upon, but when you are the son of arguably history’s most famous stoic, it would have been hard not to draw comparison. Above all else, the Romans lauded a leader who showed the frugal, spartan qualities that they felt represented Rome in its early, hardiest of days. Commodus was about as far from that as one could imagine.
He reminds me of the son of a stern businessman who doesn’t want to join the family business, preferring instead to be an actor. If not for his cruelty, you might even feel sympathy for him. Ironically however, the truth is, Commodus did want to join the family business—he just wanted all the power and glory without the responsibility.
Many are still perplexed by Marcus Aurelius' decision to make Commodus his heir, but as we’ve discussed in previous episodes, he didn’t have much choice. When Commodus assumed power, he had little interest in the complex responsibilities of running the world’s largest empire. Instead, he spent his time indulging in excesses—drinking, carousing, and generally indulging his every whim. He left the actual running of the empire to a series of favourites, while he enjoyed a raucous good time.
Before we delve further into Commodus' failures as emperor, it’s worth noting that it wasn’t all bad. He seems to have had genuine affection for the Roman people. He even went so far as to change the fabled Roman motto, SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus), to PSQR (Populus Senatusque Romanus), signalling his desire to shift the balance of power. Numerous coins from his reign depict this generosity towards the common people and the army—much of it financed by taxing the Senate, which surely stung for Rome’s elite.
Despite betraying his father's request to bring the Germanic war to a successful conclusion, Commodus’ decision to sue for peace—while controversial—brought about 70 years of stability to the region. Perhaps the Senate's anger about this stemmed from missing out on the spoils of war. Commodus also made a strategic military withdrawal, pulling Roman legions back from the difficult-to-defend Antonine Wall in Scotland to the more secure Hadrian’s Wall. This suggests he may not have been as dim-witted as Cassius Dio portrayed him.
It’s important to remember that most contemporary sources were written by Senators, and they weren’t exactly fond of Commodus. So perhaps he wasn’t entirely bad—just a bit eccentric, and maybe more of a sad, lonely boy who never quite got the attention he craved. In fact, the scene in Gladiator where Commodus accuses his father of not loving him enough before killing him captures some of this tragic loneliness. Now, let’s return to the narrative and explore the more negative aspects of his reign.
Commodus had no patience for the Senate, viewing them as a pointless obstacle that slowed down the autocracy he believed Rome should be. However, ignoring the ancient social elite was dangerous, as they held significant power. To counter the Senate’s influence, Commodus worked to cultivate support among the people and, most importantly, the army. But this strategy would quickly backfire, as alienating the Senate ruffled some feathers.
As mentioned earlier, Commodus wasn’t particularly interested in running the empire himself. He left the running of the empire to a succession of military leaders, notably early in his reign a chap named Paternus, one of the Commanders of the Praetorian guard, the emperor's personal bodyguard. It seems that throughout the history of their Praetorian guard, if their favourite pastime was protecting emperors, their second favourite thing was instigating palace coups.
One of the problems with letting proxies manage the state is that it leaves you vulnerable, as they are open to external influence. This seems to be what happened with Paternus. Commodus' sister, Lucilla, much like in Gladiator, supposedly conspired against her brother, as she felt hard done by that Marcus Aurelius had not considered her and her husband Lucius Verus as suitable heirs. Leaning on Paternus and the senate for support, they formed a conspiracy.
The plan seemed simple enough: gather a group of conspirators, wait until Commodus visited one of his favourite spots—the Colosseum—and send in an assassin with cat-like reflexes to eliminate the emperor. Claudius Pompeianus Quintianus, a senator, was chosen as the knife man. It was a simple, elegant plan—one seemingly hard to cock up. However, when the time came, Quintianus loudly announced his intentions and took so long that a member of the Praetorian Guard had ample time to subdue him before he could even approach Commodus.
The failed attempt comes across deeply embarrassing. To make matters worse, Quintianus reportedly shouted something along the lines of 'The Senate sends its regards' during the assassination attempt, presumably making the next meeting between the Senate and the emperor incredibly awkward. Commodus swiftly rounded up the conspirators and had them executed. Lucilla was exiled but later quietly done away with.
This botched assassination was only the first of many attempts on Commodus' life, marking the beginning of a frosty relationship with the Senate, whom Commodus was already convinced were an unnecessary obstacle to his rule.
After a brief burst of energy, where he took command in doing away with the conspirators, Commodus began again to retreat from public life and immerse himself in his hobbies. This time, he would hand over the majority of his executive power to another Praetorian, Tigidius Perennis.
His withdrawal not only made him vulnerable again, but it also created a vacuum filled with gossip and rumours about his alleged depravity. Some stories claimed he cut open the stomachs of fat men just to watch the entrails spill out, kept sex slaves with penises larger than a horse, and appointed them to important religious positions, or even mixed human excrement into his food to freak out the squares at parties. Unfortunately we will never be able to know if these rumours are true or not, but it’s more fun to imagine they are.
Into this vacuum stepped Perennis. Wormtongue-like, he got closer to Commodus and began to amass enormous amounts of wealth and power. He cracked down brutally on any who opposed him and made sure to isolate the emperor as much as he could by surrounding him with personally selected sycophants. As this plan of his was going so well, Perennis began to imagine himself as the true emperor and made plans to bump off Commodus and assume the purple. Luckily for Commodus, he still had the odd true friend here and there. A former slave of the imperial household, a chap named Cleander, leaked the news to Commodus about the plot, and Commodus, presumably kicking himself for being fooled again, had Perennis executed.
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We could carry on looking at the various plots and coups against Commodus throughout his reign, bloody as they may be, but to quote directly from Dio himself, “I should render my narrative very tedious were I to give a detailed report of all persons put to death by Commodus”. So, let's move on.
Whatever the rumours, for the most part, Commodus' reign could probably be described as negligent and indifferent rather than outright depraved—at least until the final two years. That’s when things really started to get wacky.
Perhaps Commodus’ faculties had begun to decline, or maybe his insecurities drove him to the brink, but sometime in the last few years of his life he began cosplaying as Hercules. He gave it the full monty and began strutting around with a club and wearing a lion’s skin. It seems that he actually began to believe he was the reincarnation of the hero. Soon, he was referring to himself exclusively as the demi-god and demanded that everyone else follow suit. Imagine, you show up to work one day and your boss is dressed like a superhero, insisting you call him Superman— and if you refuse, you’ll more than likely be murdered.
So began his descent into megalomania. Commodus did megalomania with style though. He went on to rename all the calendar months in his honour, rechristened Rome as 'Commodiana,' and even renamed the Roman legions Commodianiae. It’s hard not to see parallels with the absurdity in The Dictator, by Sacha Baron Cohen.
It seems things began to unravel after a major event in 191 CE, when a great fire swept through Rome. Commodus seized this opportunity to cleanse the city of its past and refound it in his own name. He even took on a new title—‘Founder’. Unsurprisingly, this caused many to believe that Commodus had started the fire himself. He very well could have, it seems a pretty Commodus thing to do.
By this point, the Senate were likely terrified of him. Commodus had a pretty flippant attitude towards murdering dissenters, and probably because of this, the Senate seemed to be enabling his growing delusions. They even went so far as formally acknowledging his name change to Hercules and declaring him a living god—an honour usually reserved for deceased emperors. It all came to a head for the Senate when Commodus began fighting in the arena as a gladiator. This was a deeply humiliating move in their eyes, as the emperor was now equating himself with legally inferior slaves.
Commodus didn’t seem to mind though. By this point, he had been practising gladiatorial combat for some time, usually behind closed doors at his estate near Rome. But around the 190s, th new Commodus—sorry, I mean Hercules—was ready to step out of the practice ring and into the arena. He began to see himself as an emperor/gladiator, and was even considering having his title changed to reflect as much.
It was enough to just become a Gladiator, he had to make sure everyone knew things had changed. Not one for finesse, Commodus removed the head of the great Colossus, built by Nero, that stood outside the Colosseum, and replaced it with his own. For the cherry on top, he had it renamed something like 'Best Gladiator/Emperor/Guy Ever!' just in case anyone didn’t get the message.
Presumably Commodus fought in many games over his career as a gladiator, however, the extravagant games of 192 CE will be our focus as not only were they typical of his excess, but they would end up getting him killed. The games lasted 14 days and were intended to be the height of spectacle. Every morning, Commodus would kill animals more exotic and colourful than ever before, and each afternoon, he’d fight in a bout of gladiatorial combat before stepping aside for the main events. For the first time in Rome’s 900-year history, an emperor would fight in the arena.
The games began with extraordinary spectacle. Commodus led a parade of musicians, performers, and gladiators into the arena, all dressed in purple and gold. The crowd cheered as they pranced around, and Commodus must have felt that every cheer was for him. Maybe this was what it felt like to finally hear Daddy say he was proud of him.
For some reason, Commodus wanted to kill a tiger, an elephant, a hippopotamus, and a rhino. Perhaps he felt he had something to prove. Killing a rhino is no easy feat, even with a high-powered rifle—let alone ancient weapons—so he spent months training with experts from across the empire, learning the most efficient ways to dispatch these poor animals. When the time came, he was ready to put on a show.
Commodus reportedly became so skilled at killing wild beasts that he never missed with a javelin or arrow. At one point during the games, 100 lions were supposedly released into the arena, and from a safe perch on a walkway across the centre, Commodus killed them all with 100 arrows. Oh, you didn’t think Commodus put himself in harm's way, did you? No, whether he was fighting man or beast, Commodus was never in any real danger.
A platform was built that criss-crossed the arena, herding the animals into manageable spaces so Commodus could rain down death to the roar and applause of the crowd. Some animals, like the rhino and elephant, were impressive—others, less so. To warm up, he apparently had dogs in stuck in nets brought out for target practice. Oh, what a brave, fierce hunter he was…
After lunch, Commodus would then emerge, leaving his Hercules outfit on his gilded throne, dressed only in a tunic, his hair cropped short like a gladiator. His opponent, carefully selected and instructed not to let things get out of hand, would face him with a wooden sword and shield. After a few convincing lunges to make the fight look real, the opponent would graciously drop his guard, throw himself to the floor, and beg for mercy. Commodus, of course, always granted it. How magnanimous of our brave Hercules.
But his mercy didn’t extend very far. A gladiator named Lefty once rejected Commodus’ offer to fight with blunted weapons, demanding real ones instead. Terrified by the defiance, Commodus immediately ordered him killed. Not quite as magnanimous as he liked to portray himself.
On another occasion, presumably to further his image as Hercules, Commodus had all the footless men he could find in Rome rounded up. He attached makeshift snakes to their legs and dressed them as giants. He then proceeded to have them clubbed to death in front of the crowd, supposedly imitating Hercules’ mythical defeat of the giants.
Whether the fights were real or not, most Romans couldn’t pass up the chance to see an emperor in the arena. It was a once in a lifetime spectacle, though perhaps not as Commodus intended—it seems more of a laugh-at than a laugh-with situation. No one could have been able to overlook how hard Commodus was trying. On top of that, rumour has it that Commodus wasn’t as athletic as his statues portrayed him. He supposedly had a strange growth on his groin, which inspired mean rhymes, though sadly those have been lost to time.
To make matters worse, the audience was expected to sing 'Commodus, you’re the boss, you’re number one, you’re the luckiest man alive! You’re the champion!' over and over again. I am sure the Romans were just as sensitive to cringe as we are today.
For the Senate, the whole spectacle was a disgrace, though they were far too afraid not to attend. It is interesting, given Commodus’ well-known daddy issues, that he never got along with the Senate, a group of men who sometimes referred to themselves as the Fathers. His animosity toward them was put on grim display at the end of the great games in 192 CE. After besting what we can only assume was a very scared ostrich by shooting its head off with a sickle-shaped arrow, Commodus picked up the head, walked over to where the Senate sat, and held it up to them with a menacing grin. Dio, who was in the crowd, found the whole thing so hilarious that he had to stuff laurel leaves into his mouth to stop from laughing. The last thing anyone wanted was to be caught laughing at Commodus.
This, it turned out, was a step too far for the Senate. Following the ostrich incident, a rumour began to spread that on the final day of the games, Commodus planned to march into the arena and murder both consuls—the Senate’s elected leaders—before the entire crowd. This would symbolically do away with the Senate and give Commodus absolute power. When a list of people Commodus intended to kill—including some of his closest allies—was also discovered, they decided they had had enough.
A plan was hatched, and this time there would be no loud announcements to give the whole thing away. The night before the supposed plan to murder the two consuls, Commodus was lounging in the bath, drinking his usual glass of wine—only this time, it had been poisoned by his mistress, whose name supposedly appeared on the discovered kill list. When the poison didn’t seem to be doing the trick, Narcissus, Commodus’ wrestling coach, was sent in to strangle him, and he made short work of the gladiator/emperor. Thus ended the reign of Commodus. Strangled in a bath by the very man he had hired to train him for his appearances in the arena. Oh the irony.
The Senate, now free of their oppressor, wasted no time punishing Commodus in death. His statues were torn down, his memory officially erased, and all his changes reversed. He was viciously mocked and, in the eyes of Rome, ended up as nothing more than a dead gladiator, buried in a place no one would care to remember. Perhaps, though, there was some justice in that: Commodus would be remembered as he had once tried to present himself—as a gladiator.
So, to wrap things up I will return to the words of Cassius Dio, our star witness to the life and times of Commodus: Although Commodus believed he was ushering in a new Golden Age for Rome, Dio felt rather differently and wrote that what he in fact left behind was not gold, but an empire of 'Iron and Rust.'
Under Commodus the economy had suffered from his endless spending on games and luxury. Politically, his reign’s instability undermined the foundations of the Empire’s governance system. His neglect of the military weakened Rome’s defences, while his conspicuous consumption shifted Roman values away from their traditional, stoic origins towards a hubristic decadence. Finally, his assassination, which triggered the 'Year of the Five Emperors,' significantly weakened the unity of the Empire.
The empire would limp on for centuries yet, but that is a story for another time.
And that wraps up this series on Gladiator. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next week, we’ll kick off a three-part series on Braveheart and William Wallace! If that sounds interesting, subscribe, like the post, share it far and wide, and join us for another instalment of History vs. Hollywood.
Well, actually…
In this part of the newsletter we dig up some interesting bits that have not made it into the main story.
In Gladiator, Lucilla has a son, Lucius Verus, who is fond of Maximus, to his uncle's great unhappiness. Lucilla’s husband is said to have died before the beginning of the story, but that simply isn’t true, as Lucilla and her husband, Lucius Verus, not son, are involved in a palace coup to do away with Commodus after he had taken power. So confusingly, this real life power grabber, Lucius Verus, was portrayed as an innocent boy in Gladiator, and from what I can tell, he will be the protagonist in Gladiator 2. All rather confusing if you ask me, but let’s wait and see.
Conclusion
And that’s it for this series on Gladiator. Join us in our next series on William Wallace and Braveheart, as we delve into the film, whether it is historically accurate and of course give you the real historical narrative. We will also, as always, dig out some entertaining anecdotes for you.
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That is a lot of writing, sir! I studied this movie. The words of Derek Jacobi about the games have been ringing in my ears for years. He played Claudius. I'd say I studied in front of a screen I, Claudius more than 100 hours. What was wrong with the Romans? the Coliseum? What is wrong with sports in America today? Many people think everything is mosh-skosh. It ain't! How about the woman who wears the school colors at her son's games? Her 16 year old boy had broken ribs, two concussions, and had his broken jaw reset some months later . . . playing football. Why? Because Mom is an idiot. And the kids are the foundation of a corrupt American institution that is collapsing as I speak. They talk now about giving money to kids. It won't work.
This was such a great read. I am entertained!!
I never knew they changed Lucille’s husband into a son in the movie!