Think of ancient Rome, and one of the most immediately recognisable (and often romanticised) images is that of the gladiator: the battle-scarred brawler in the blood-spattered arena, relying on their own martial skill and the whim of a baying crowd of spectators to live another day, ultimately striving to win fame and – if they survived long enough – their freedom. Such figures retain a powerful hold on the popular imagination (not to mention Hollywood), but images of gladiators were clearly just as evocative in the Roman period. Despite the fighters’ low social status (many entered the arena as slaves, prisoners of war, or condemned criminals), depictions proliferate in the archaeological record. They are incorporated into the fabric of high-status houses, whether in the colourful frescoes found at Pompeii or, closer to home in West Sussex, in the mosaic floors of Bignor Roman villa – and they decorate a wide range of objects, from oil lamps and ceramic pots to glass vessels, and a very characterful penknife from Piddington in Northamptonshire (see CA 182). Some of these artefacts even preserve the name of their subject, suggesting that they might have been created as souvenirs of fan favourites.
We also know about some of the venues in which gladiators may have fought, but physical remains of the individuals themselves are much harder to identify. In London, a number of skulls found in a pit near the River Walbrook were interpreted as possible candidates. Due to their apparently indifferent interment and the brutal injuries that had been inflicted on them using both blunt force and bladed weapons, it was suggested that these men could have lost their lives in Londinium’s amphitheatre, whose foundations were discovered in 1988 and are now preserved beneath the Guildhall in the City (CA 109 and 137). On the Continent, a handful of potential gladiator burials have been highlighted at sites including Pompeii, Trier, Patras, and Ephesus, but in Britain perhaps the most persuasive finds were uncovered almost 200 miles to the north of the Walbrook pit, in York.
Excavating an enigma
The story of the Driffield Terrace skeletons begins almost 20 years ago, with York Archaeological Trust’s excavations beneath two back gardens on the eponymous street. The site lies about 600m south-west of York’s city walls, and between 2004 and 2005 YAT uncovered 82 Roman skeletons there, as well as a further 14 cremation burials. These represented just a portion of a much larger cemetery which, in accordance with Roman custom, lay outside the settlement’s bounds, flanking a road running south-west towards Tadcaster on the line of the modern A1036. The burial ground was long-lived, spanning much of the Roman period from the 1st to the late 4th centuries, and was strikingly disorganised: its graves were not arranged in neat rows, but densely clustered and intercutting on a range of different orientations.
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