How gay was Ancient Rome?

The perceived homoeroticism of Gladiator II has caused much comment, but is it really such a distortion of the truth?

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Gladiator II is now in cinemas, and Ridley Scott’s epic, a sequel to his 2000 Oscar winner, has yielded much comment about its homoeroticism. Certainly there is a strong sense of feminisation. Take Denzel Washington’s Macrinus with his leopard print and earrings, not to mention a gay kiss which Washington says was expunged from the film’s final cut. There is also Marcus Acacius (played by Pedro Pascal), a fierce warrior general who sometimes displays a sensitivity which could best be described as metrosexual.
Of course, when we think of ancient Rome we always think of sex, and popular culture has been largely responsible. From Robert Graves’s Claudius novels to Tinto Brass’s notorious 1979 sex fest, Caligula, we always think of wine-fuelled orgies, dancing girls and general dissolution.
“If we are to understand the Romans’ concept of sex, we have to totally recalibrate our mental framework,” says Professor John R Clarke, the world’s leading authority on sexuality in the Roman Empire and the author of a book, Roman Sex, 100BC to AD250. “It was fundamentally different to our own. The rules of engagement were entirely different.”
Nowhere is this better illustrated than with same-sex carnal activity between men, which may suggest that Gladiator 2 is not such a far-fetched proposition after all. The Romans had no real concept of homosexuality and heterosexuality and indeed there were no words in Latin to differentiate the two. What counted was who was doing the penetrating and who was being penetrated. There was no issue with a high-born Roman man having sex with another man or an adolescent as long as he took the active role of penetrator.
“The Romans’ framework was not heterosexual and homosexual. It was active versus passive.  If men took a passive role, that was seen as effeminate,” says Honor Cargill-Martin, the British historian and author of Messalina, The Life and Times of Rome’s Most Scandalous Empress.
Clarke echoes that analysis. “There was zero distinction between homosexual and heterosexual, the words did not exist for those concepts. Elite, free born men were expected to have sex with boys and men as long as they were not also of the elite class.” The differentiation between gay and straight sex would have been as alien to a Roman as space travel or telephones, he says.
“All males were considered bisexual. Sex with a partner, either male or female, was considered to be a gift from the gods, a gift from Venus. There was absolutely no guilt associated with sex. It was considered something very special.”
Certainly Roman history suggests that many notable figures such as Hadrian and Julius Caesar had gay affairs. Indeed Hadrian’s relationship with the Greek youth Antinous was so keenly felt that when the latter drowned, aged just 20, Hadrian had him deified and a cult across the Roman Empire emerged.
While men from a certain echelon enjoyed sexual freedoms, it was very different for women who were expected to be modest and chaste. Lesbian relationships weren’t, in fact, prohibited, but they were certainly frowned upon, particularly if the relationship was with one of their peers. In the meantime, women of a lower social order – slaves, freed slaves and courtesans – were subjugated to the sexual desires of high-born men.
Of course, Roman culture, particularly in the later years of the Empire, was beholden to the Greeks and this could be seen in art, music, literature and, yes, sex. Similar attitudes towards homosexuality applied, with the focus very much on a phallocentric society.
Recently, I visited the ‘Gabinetto Segreto’ or ‘Secret Room’ in the National Archaeological Museum of Naples. Tucked away on the first floor of the sprawling museum, it is guarded by a pair of metal gates. Visitors are greeted at the entrance by two giant phalluses that are carved out of stone. Inside are frescoes depicting the god Priapus with his outsized member, bronze amulets in the shape of penises adorned with bells and wings, strange dwarf-like figures blessed with enormous phalluses.
“Phalluses were symbols of fertility. They were bringers of good fortune. For the Romans, it would not have been embarrassing to have seen a phallus symbol on a wall or on a pavement,” says Dr Floriana Miele, the archaeologist in charge of the secret room.
The remarkable collection was for decades considered too scandalous to show to the general public. Only academics and well-connected local gentry were allowed to view it. It was not until the year 2000 that it was permanently opened to visitors, although even now the museum advises that children under the age of 18 should not be allowed to venture inside. The explicit nature of the collection gives the impression that the Romans were sex-crazed degenerates, but Miele says this is far from the truth.
“Images like these may seem explicit to us but to the Romans they represented concepts such as fertility and health. They decorated not just private spaces like bedrooms but also public spaces like gardens.” 
Indeed, phallus shapes were carved in stone outside shops and homes to ward off the ill will of others and to bring good luck. There are also phalluses carved into Hadrian’s Wall.
Excavations constantly remind us of ancient Roman sexuality. Recently, in Pompeii, several beautifully preserved frescoes were uncovered. One depicts a brawny male figure – a satyr – clasping from behind a lily-white female, a nymph. Her expression is hard to read – it is not clear whether she is giddy with anticipation or fearful of what he is about to do to her. 
Decoding the work is ambiguous. Says Cargill-Martin: “We assume that the intention is to arouse. But for the Romans, that was not necessarily the intention. Wall paintings of the sexual act were not just found in private places like bedrooms, they were also found in public spaces. They were seen as status symbols, symbols of a life of leisure and luxury and pleasure.”
Satyrs have a very specific place in Roman and Greek mythology, a sign of unrestrained lustfulness that was decidedly unsexy. 
“Satyrs were key comedic characters in Greek dreams, known for their endless lustfulness,” explains Cargill-Martin. “It was a long-standing cultural joke. They were an image of what not to be – someone without control, beholden to their sexual desires. In the Victorian era, the Romans were thought of as shocking. But it’s just that their restraints in terms of sexuality were different to ours.”
The attitude to satyrs proves that Roman concepts of sexuality were not simply a Carry On Cleo style free for all – there was judgment and there was nuance.Which of course is not something you can say about Gladiator II, particularly when you consider the way the camera lingers on Paul Mescal’s beefed-up body as he engages in mortal combat as Lucius at the Colosseum. There are plenty of shots which focus fetishise Mescal’s commitment to the gym. It’s a deification which feels not so far removed from Emperor Hadrian’s worship of his young male lover.
Gladiator II is out now
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