As a writer, I have a natural curiosity for words, and I love discovering new ones that catch my eye. Recently I came across the word defixione.
Defixione! I mean, who doesn’t want to know what a defixione is?
So, what is it? Well, apparently it’s an ancient Greek or Roman curse tablet made of lead, or sometimes pewter. I found this intriguing, and digging deeper, I discovered that a defixione carries a similar vibe to a voodoo doll. Defixiones are weaponised artefacts designed to impart brutal revenge to a thief or similar criminal who has wronged the user.
Instructions for retribution were inscribed in fine text and would include the target’s name, if known. Sometimes, the tablets would be pierced with nails to emphasise the vengeance part.
Defixiones provide a tidy means for the common person to deliver a spiritual justice. Back in ancient times, when police funding was minimal, you might want to use one to recover a stolen goat, take revenge on an unfaithful spouse, or even murder that doofus trampling on your prize dahlias. They could be used to cheat in competitive sports, forcing charioteers off the track or striking down gladiators in the arena. Sometimes, they were created to invoke gods, spirit entities, or the dead.
Bath Magic Curse Tablets
These days, defixiones are typically uncovered in ancient wells or graves during archaeological digs. They give us valuable insight into everyday Latin speech, as well as Roman magical practices. In the late 1970s, a famous set of 130 such curse tablets was uncovered in Bath (original Roman name: Aquae Sulis). Bath is in Somerset, a county I’ve visited often, but I’m yet to visit Bath, so named – it might surprise you to know – after the Roman Baths. Nowadays, they’re a major tourist attraction. (Bath also has a Jane Austen museum if you prefer Regency era historical culture.)
The defixiones discovered in Bath were made from a lead/tin alloy. Each would have been ceremonially cast by the victim in the ‘Sacred Spring’ together with a fee in silver coins that, for cases of theft, matched the amount pilfered. (This kind of strikes me as a bit self-defeating!) Personally inscribed instructions would entreat the goddess Sulis Minerva (see below) to right the wrongs perpetrated against the victim.
The instructions could be quite sadistic, too. One of my favourites is: ‘Docimedis has lost two gloves and asks that the thief responsible should lose their minds [sic] and eyes in the goddess’ temple.’
Nothing like keeping the punishment proportionate to the crime, eh?
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