Gamble Like Augustus

Joseph Pett
Ostraka
Published in
6 min readSep 15, 2020

Whilst organising the 2019 Saturnalia Classics Ball with my colleague (and now Co-President), I thought, to spice things up a bit, I would add a little dice game to each table as a small extra. This game was based on the game played by Augustus in Suetonius’ The Twelve Caesars (Divus Augustus 71), with some of the gaps filled in. However, I did receive some queries about the nature of the game — so what better place to explain my machinations than an article for Ostraka?

As you will be able to tell in but one short minute, this Saturnalia Ball version is substantially, and unnecessarily, more confusing than the later variants.

Saying I based it purely on the text is a slight exaggeration of course — James Rives’ notes (Penguin Classics Edition of Suetonius’ The Twelve Caesars) pointed out that this game used four-sided dice, which I would likely have missed otherwise, given the text explicitly refers to rolling a six! I also found this website (http://web.archive.org/web/20070205171123/http:/www.personal.psu.edu/wxk116/roma/tali.html) very helpful, although the rules range from simple to slightly over-complex, depending on version, I feel. Furthermore, there does not always seem to be much riding on the game at points — Suetonius quotes a letter of Augustus saying he lost 20,000 sesterces, but should have been 50,000 up had he played less magnanimously. Given a sesterce could (very roughly, as these things are not really compatible) be worth about £2.50 today, these are not insubstantial amounts of money, and such stakes should be replicated (if not specifically in money).

So, here are my rules, designed to use modern D4 dice (four per person), since it was remarkably hard to get my hands on the 64 dice (four dice and a ruleset per 6 people) with facings 1, 3, 4 and 6 required for the event. For those of you horrified by the mysterious appearance of this ruleset at Saturnalia, fear not — these are the updated, far more accurate and streamlined rules, with more than 30 seconds of me v myself testing!

As you can probably work out, the original 1, 3, 4, 6 facing correspond, shockingly, with the modern 1, 2, 3, 4.

For some unknown reason, many people find these hard to read. I wonder which number is the correct — and legible — way up on each die?

The basic rules of play are simple: each player takes turns rolling all four dice, in an order determined by your choice of rock-paper-scissors, general sportsmanship, gladiatorial combat, coin tosses, etc.

Anyone who throws a ‘dog’ or ‘six’ (canem or senio to use the Roman terminology) adds a counter to the pot, per die. These counters can be anything from pounds to genuine Roman denarii (for that authentic feel) to Skittles to human teeth. The pot can be anything from a pot, to a space on the table, equating an imaginary pot.

But what do the dice rolls mean? Well, patiently read on, and be informed:

  • Dog — any die that lands on a 1. Add a counter to the pot. Say goodbye to your money/ tooth collection.
  • ‘Six’ — A result of a 4. As you can guess, this used to be the six on the four-sided die, called senio in Latin. Also put a counter into the pot per 4 you roll. Don’t blame me, blame Divus Augustus. Yes, this is cumulative with any ‘dogs’ you have roller, and vice versa.

So, if someone rolled 1, 2, 4, 4, they would have a ‘dog’ and two ‘sixes’, so forfeiting three counters. But how do you actually win anything?

  • Venus — you want this one. This is when all the die show different results. Empty the pot into your wallet, you lucky person you (this overrides the ‘dog’ and ‘six’ rolls above). The round starts anew from the next person.

Remember, this was originally played with real money — so, if you are out of counters, consider yourself out of the game, unless you particularly enjoy bankruptcy.

And so, the game begins!
Player 2 adds 2 counters to the pot due to two ones (my go, wherein I lost three counters, oddly missing from the photographic record…).
Player 3, who may or may not be my Dad, loses no tokens!
Player 4 cedes a statistically-unremarkable 4 tokens to the pot (remember your chances of winning are about 0.004).
After another round not worthy of record, Player 2 — my dastardly sister — makes off with the spoils after a lucky Venus!

Now, there are many other dice combinations that you could roll, but as far as I can tell, they mean nothing. At least you’re not losing money. So, here, I propose extra rules with which to spice things up a bit — note that the previous version is the more textually accurate version however; all of my upcoming additions are conjectures and additions.

  • Venus is the highest roll.
  • Otherwise, simply add up the scores. If there is a tie, triples beat doubles, and higher-numbered triples beat those, as higher doubles beat lower ones. For example, 1, 2, 2, 3 (a score of 8 with double 2’s) would beat 1,1, 2, 4 (a score of 8 with double 1’s), much as 2, 2, 2, 1 (a score of 7 with triple 2's) would beat 1, 1, 1, 4 (a score of 7 with triple 1’s).
  • The lowest scorer of this round puts a counter into the pot, unless they rolled ‘dogs’ (you may need lots of counters). The winner, however, may take 2 counters out — unless they rolled Venus, when they have already cleared out the lot.
An average roll from yours truly.
Our previous, and hopefully to-be-defeated vanquisher losing a below average amount of currency.
Player 3, my lucky father, escapes with the improbable result of no losses! There was a reason this was only played at festivals…
An average role from Player 4.
A greedy daemon takes the prize.

Gambling was not a particularly acceptable pastime in Ancient Rome, but it was at Saturnalia! Given the simplicity of the rules, and possibility of hefty financial damage, it makes sense that this would be the favoured game of slightly-over-merry celebrants on special occasions — so feel free to replicate the experience with miscellaneous family members next Christmas!

Despite Augustus not being a particularly big drinker (Divus Augustus 77), did love his gambling, playing even in March (Divus Augustus 71). Coming from the same man who hosted ‘The Feast of the Twelve Gods’, a Barnard Castle level political scandal (extravagant feasts during famines always go down well), it would suggest the Augustan traditional morals were not always as firm as portrayed.

May the dice be with you!

(Maths and probability checked by Freya Connor).

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