There are, of course, quite a few options out there that we can look at, but I'm going to discuss my particular favorite example, although I hope you'll excuse me for going beyond just Ancient Rome, as much of what makes it so fascinating is the historical legacy.

Anyways, in 218 CE Elagabalus was elevated to the imperial throne at the age of 14. His name comes down to us more than anything for the reputation he garnered for debauchery of every kind, rivaled perhaps only by Caligula. The breadth of his excesses are fodder for another day.^1 What I specifically would note here is his absolute favorite past time. A popular game with children in that period was Ludo Iactī, where children would stand on opposite sides of a small wall, set up small objects and toss pebbles over it blindly hoping to knock down the opposing side's objects. Specific styles and rule sets varied as it spread through the Empire, and many businesses sprouted up to cater to players, making 'official' versions of the targets, often in some sort of themed set, such as toy soldiers, and different sizes which would offer different point values when hit. These themselves became quite coveted, with many versions of the game being played for keeps!^2

I'm starting to digress though. Elagabalus, again as noted, was a true terror and the court officials - or at least those able to survive for a time in their roles - continually tried to find ways to subtly distract him to at least minimize the results of his indulgences.^3 Many different things were tried, and they all failed, often with the person suggesting it paying for it with his life in the Emperor's wrath. Enter Naviculus Metus, a minor official from Ostia Antica. As a boy, he had been a fanatic for Ludo Iactī, particularly the nautically themed version that had developed in that port city, and decided that it was worth a try.^4 Naviculus knew that he needed to go big though, or else he risked his life in failure, so after several months of preparation, he arranged for Elagabalus to come to Lake Nemu, south of Rome, in late 219.^5

What greeted the Emperor was certainly unlike any version of Ludo Iactī ever seen. Drawn across the lake, and strung up on the masts of several ships, the body of water was divided in half by a gigantic cloth. Dotting the surface were a variety of boats, ranging from a small dinghy, right up to several hemiolia and trihemiolia. At opposite sides were two raised platforms, placed next to a catapult. It was Ludo Iactī writ large. Of course, no one was willing to play against Elagabalus - they knew what might happen if they won - so Naviculus was the one who took his place at one side of the lake, while Elagabalus gleefully mounted the other platform.^6

Well aware of the precarious danger he faced, Naviculus had planned out his approach to the game, as well as adding in several new rules.^7 He knew that he had to make it competitive enough for the Emperor to feel he had earned it, but not close enough that mere chance could cause Naviculus to *win. As such, the most important addition was the placement of larger towers placed behind the two players to allow for communication, via semaphore, with hits, misses, and their approximate location as per a detailed, gridded map of the lake. While as explained to the Emperor, this would be the extent of it, Naviculus had well drilled the signalmen to ensure that they knew to communicate to him exactly where the Emperor's boats were to ensure he could pace the game properly, and to accidentally drop more information than they ought to to Elagabalus at times to help lead him to the target quicker.^8

Needless to say, as I'm sure you are already imagining how delightful this game might be, it was a smashing success. Naviculus, having had months to plan, executed the game perfectly, giving Elagabalus a stirring triumph, and destroying just enough of the Emperor's boats in return to ensure he could delight in the destruction without fearing losing the game. After insisting on several replays over the next few days, Naviculus was elevated to the rank of Admiral on the spot and given command of a large fleet in the western Mediterranean.^9

For several months, the Imperial court experienced the most calm it had yet enjoyed under Elagabalus' reign, but as you might suspect, this could only last for so long, and his obsession with the game became more and more dangerous in a number of ways, but we'll focus on the three most impactful.^10

Tiring of the cheap facsimiles that had been constructed, and were often simply salvaged and patched up for subsequent games Elagabalus quickly began insisting on more and more authenticity to the game, and within a year, had redirected a significant portion of the military budget to the navy... but exclusively for the construction of ships to play Ludo Iactī with, which of course were very quickly rendered in operable.^11 Not only did the ships need to be real, but they also needed to be bigger. Triremes soon became a bedrock component of the game, enough that by decree Elagabalus required it to be referred to as Trireme from then on out, but even larger ships too were included at times.^12 For his birthday celebration of 220, it is recorded that no less than seven Quinqueremes and four Hexaremes sunk in one day... for a festival that saw nearly a dozen more games played over the next two weeks.^13

Although he had never played Ludo Iactī as a youth, he was now as much a fanatic as Roman child by this point, but the impact that would have couldn't have been predicted by Naviculus. Insisting that his version (following Naviculus' death, Elagabalus quickly claimed credit for creating it, of course) was obviously superior, only Trireme, with small toy ships, could now be played throughout the Roman world, and enforcement of the edict was quite brutal, with offenders - usually small children of course - imprisoned for long stretches of time if caught playing Ludo Iactī instead. Repeat offenses would include having their throwing hand cut off.^14 Not only was the measure of course greatly unpopular with the populace, but it wrecked havoc on the economy too, putting a great number of businesses which had catered to Ludo Iactī out of business, a serious hit to small manufacturers unable to quickly pivot to the new market.^15

It also began to feel cheaper and cheaper to Elagabalus that only ships were being sunk, and he began insisting that small crews begin to man them during the game, which eventually expanded to fully, properly staffed ships, and the Emperor's fleet allowed to move during the game even.^16 As you might expect, initially this was done with slaves, but the sheer destruction of the game, played piteously by the Emperor, began to have such a negative impact on the slave markets that several towns outside Rome began refusing to pay taxes, the estate owners of the regions all decrying their inability to maintain their Latifundium without the ability to purchase new people to toil away till death. Combined with the increased military spending, not to mention misappropriation, and the serious decline in the small manufacturing sector, the Roman economy was visibly shaken, and began to enter a recession in mid-221.^17

Elagabalus didn't particularly care, but it did allow him to look magnanimous while at the same time being his own, horrible self when he instead began requiring Senators to provide members of their household to man some of the ships.^18 Signalmen involved in the game quickly became quite wealthy due to the bribes paid them by Senators whose sons or daughters were on a potentially doomed ship to ensure it was not targeted, and it was only due to the fact the Emperor couldn't see the other side that many survived, as they would often sabotage the ship itself and jump off to allow it to sink without being hit.^19

In any case, this growing trend was perhaps the last straw. In 221, at the insistence of his grandmother, he had his cousin Severus Alexander named as his heir and co-consul. Quickly growing displeased with the arrangement though, Elagabalus stripped him of the honors and planned to have him "captain" a ship in the next game of Trireme to be played.^20 A court official loyal to Severus caught wind however and informed him of the plan, and in response, knowing his life was at stake, Severus and a cabal of Senators whose families were in the next day's lineup bribed a contingent of Praetorians who, following through the next morning, assassinated Elagabalus.^21

The aftermath was quick. Learning from the mistakes of his cousin, Severus Alexander led a decently well managed reign for over a decade, perhaps the most authoritarian edict being the banning of the game in any form, whether Trireme or Ludo Iactī.^22

If that was the end of this, it of course would make for an interesting story in of itself, but there are several threads which really are worth following here. The game languished in obscurity for centuries, no doubt played here and there by children in remote backwaters, and with the end of the Western Empire it was all but forgotten, a small footnote in Cassius Dio, and fleeting mentions in some obscure poetry.^23 But in early 16th century, as the new appreciation for all things Ancient Roman became one hallmark of the Renaissance period in Italy, there was a brief resurgence to the game.