Baths of Trajan: Sweating, Stealing, and Cursing

Marcus Valerius

Watch your step on these wet tiles, my friend-- yes, yes, pull your toga up a bit, the puddle of- of- well, we'll call it water, is rather deep right here near the entrance. You are standing on the Oppian Hill, right in the beating, steaming heart of the Baths of Trajan, brand new, built just a few years ago under our great Emperor. And let me tell you, the sheer, mad scale of this place... it-it-it is built right over the top of Nero's old Golden House, literally burying his private luxury under a monument of brick and marble for the rest of us, the ordinary citizens of Rome. But, oh, the noise! Can you hear that? That dull, booming thud is some thick-necked Spaniard lifting lead weights in the palaestra, grunt-- grunting with every lift like a pig in the mud. And right next to him, listen, that rhythmic *thwack-thwack-thwack*... that is the flat-palm slap of a masseur working over some fat merchant's shoulders, throwing his whole weight into it. Oh, and-- and hear that shrill, piercing shriek? No, nobody is being murdered, I assure you. That is just the local hair-plucker, screaming at the top of his lungs to drum up business, only stopping his racket when he's actually squeezing some poor devil's armpit and making *them* shriek instead!

Marcus Valerius

It is a complete sensory assault, a-a-a beautiful, humid chaos of sweat, cheap olive oil, and the sweet smell of baking bread from the vendors by the door. Now, let us head into the *apodyterium*-- the changing room-- to strip down before we hit the hot rooms. Ah, look, there is my old friend Decimus. Look at him, arguing with the *capsarius*, the slave who guards the clothes-niches. Decimus, you absolute miser! He is actually refusing to pay the single copper *quadrans*-- the smallest coin we have!-- to let the slave watch his tunic. He tells me, "Marcus, why should I throw away a coin when I can just tuck my things behind this loose brick?" I told him, I-I-I said, "Decimus, you fool, the thieves in this city can smell an unguarded tunic from a mile away." But no, he is too stubborn, too cheap. He is going to leave his clothes there, completely bare to the world, while we go get boiled like cabbages in the *caldarium*.

Marcus Valerius

Ah... nothing quite compares to that final cold plunge in the *frigidarium* to wake the senses. But now, back to the changing room, and-- oh. Oh, dear. There is Decimus. He is standing by the wall, absolutely stark naked, shivering like a wet dog on a winter morning. The space behind his "secure" loose brick is completely empty. Not a thread left. Some clever *fur balnearius*-- a bath thief, the lowest of the low-- must have watched him hide it, waited till we were in the steam rooms, and just... walked off with his entire life's wardrobe. And you have to understand, in Rome, there are no police to call, no watchmen who are going to go hunting for a second-hand wool tunic in the Subura. If you get robbed at the baths, you have exactly one recourse, and it is not a legal one. Look at him now, his teeth chattering as he kneels in the dirt, scratching frantically with a nail onto a thin, gray sheet of lead he bought from a street vendor. He is making a *defixio*-- a curse tablet.

Marcus Valerius

Listen to what he is scratching into the metal: "To the gods of the underworld, I give the thief who stole my tunic. May his blood turn to water, may his mind rot, may his eyes melt in his head until he brings my clothes back to this temple!" He will roll that lead sheet up, nail it flat, and toss it down into the dark of the bath drains, hoping the dark gods of the earth do his dirty work. I-I-I mean, it is a magnificent bit of theater, but it does not do much for his immediate shivering. Here, Decimus, take half of my cloak before you catch a lung-fever. It is a long, cold walk back to your tenement, my friend. Let that be a lesson to you, and to anyone who walks the wet tiles of Rome: never begrudge a slave his single copper coin, or you will find yourself walking the streets of the world's greatest empire with nothing but a lead curse to cover your backside. Come on, let us get out of this damp heat and find some hot wine.