Informing ran through society from highest to lowest level. At the top, where Clodianus was little involved, were members of Domitian’s own council, senators who had been informers under Nero or advisers to Vespasian; some now claimed to have given up, yet remained as shadowy presences behind the scenes. Domitian encouraged senators to accuse one another; he liked the divisiveness. A stigma attached to great men who indulged in prosecutions against their equals. If encouraged by the Emperor, that stigma disappeared, so a star orator might put himself at Domitian’s service almost on a salaried basis. To challenge such activities would question the legitimacy of Domitian’s regime. Few attempted it. Lower down society snuck weasels who would independently lay an information in the hope of being allowed to prosecute for profit, or who even sometimes named names anonymously. These professionals came from all levels, including very baseborn profiteers. Clodianus saw their work all too often.
Sometimes an informer’s involvement was casual. Every evening the actor Latinus would drop by the imperial quarters while Domitian was relaxing, and amuse him with the day’s gossip. Names to investigate then came into the Praetorian office the next morning on chits from Domitian’s palace freedmen.
At the lowest end of society were slaves who betrayed their masters and mistresses. Strictly speaking, it was illegal for slaves to act as witnesses against their owners, but a device had always existed to get around that; they were first bought by the state, using compulsory purchase orders. Although penalties for disloyal slaves were severe, in practice they stood to gain large financial rewards, plus their freedom. One harsh word at home could make them eager for that.
Domitian used defecting slaves as a constant resource nowadays. No one was safe from hostile eyes in the dining room, hostile ears in the bedroom. Clodianus was not obliged to involve himself in domestic enquiries, the Urban Cohorts did that; but as ex-vigiles his expertise had been recognised. He could give the Urbans a steer about which doors to knock on, when the door should be kicked down instead, whether interviewing slaves in a discreet bar might work, or when the slaves should just be picked up and tortured without ceremony.
Although the moral conduct laws offered the most notorious possibilities, many other charges were made. It was not all bad news. Abuse of office had once been rife — either overseas governors who acted like bandits in their provinces or officials in Rome who took bribes. Proving bribery could be difficult because the donor had also committed an offence and if they achieved what they wanted, they kept quiet afterwards. In fact, Domitian’s reign showed a marked decline in abuses of office, due to his obsessive control over appointments.
Otherwise, the crimes Clodianus regularly looked into were usury (which was illegal but of course happened everywhere), inheritance fraud (often keeping quiet about a will in order to avoid paying tax), and religious deception; that mainly involved Jews who, for financial reasons, pretended not to be Jewish. A tax of two denarii per head was imposed on Jewish men, women, children and the elderly, and also converts; it was used to build and maintain the Capitoline Temple of Jupiter, a deliberate humiliation as it replaced a tithe previously paid by Jewish males to maintain their Temple in Jerusalem, which Titus had destroyed. Many tried to escape this tax. If there was no other solution, men’s tunics were lifted to see if they were circumcised.
There were fictitious adoptions or supposititious births (frauds for inheritance reasons, occasionally to conceal adultery, but sometimes just because a couple were childless). Absenting oneself from the Games or public feasts drew attention; maybe someone just had a reclusive nature or was easily bored, but it was viewed as a protest against the government. For a man to abstain from public office when he was qualified to stand looked similarly dubious, a subversive refusal to support Domitian — which he took personally. Publishing, or just privately writing, seditious or libellous material was inevitably fatal. Using magic (anything from witchcraft to mathematics), or possessing somebody else’s horoscope, especially that of the Emperor, was illegal and carried a scandalous frisson that enlivened a trial and generally guaranteed a conviction.
Many thought such cases involved unpalatable intrusion into domestic life. Once an informer had handed in a name to the authorities, even on a spurious excuse, investigation inevitably followed, often carried out with physical violence. Clodianus did not beat people up. He just sometimes gave the orders and occasionally had to watch.
There were risks. To make an accusation that could not be substantiated ultimately ran up big financial penalties, plus lasting disrepute. In order to be seen cleaning up the courts, Domitian made a point of being harsh with informers who laid false claims. To expose rotten prosecutors suited his austere image of himself, however guilty he was of the same evil. Danger from Domitian’s judicial rigour threatened even the highest; a potentially illustrious career could be ruined by one misjudged court case.
On the other hand, lucrative careers were made out of prosecuting malicious informers…
Vinius Clodianus thought himself dispassionate. He genuinely fought the temptation to slip over the boundary from fairness into something much blacker. It would have been easy for him to become corrupt. That threatened to happen over Flavia Lucilla’s ex-husband, the second time she and Clodianus clashed about his work. With so many victims being denounced, endless people feared they might come under suspicion after some slip-up. One, it transpired, being Nemurus.
Domitian’s annual games at Alba in honour of his patron goddess Minerva were close to his heart. That March, Statius had submitted a poem called de Bello Germanico, ‘On the German War’, a honeyed paean to the new conqueror of the Chatti and Dacians. Its author was thrilled when he won the poetry prize and received a scintillating gold wreath from Domitian’s own hand.
The Capitoline Games in Rome in October were a much grander occasion. These were a revival of ancient festivities, the famous Naples Games which had ceased to be held after the eruption of Vesuvius. Modelled by Domitian on the Greek Olympics, they were held every four years in Rome and lasted sixteen days. Competitors came from all over the Empire. Statius absolutely expected to repeat his success in the Latin poetry section, hoping to beat off scores of rivals and win international acclaim. He thought Domitian was his patron, not seeing that Domitian’s sponsorship could be capricious. For one thing, the Emperor loathed any suspicion that his actions could be predicted. Once it was assumed he favoured any individual, that person was finished.
Statius was stunned when this time he failed to win. He was so devastated, it would drive him home to Naples, abandoning the stress of competition. That caused family problems, because his wife Claudia was reluctant to leave Rome; her daughter was sixteen, a talented musician making a career, entirely the wrong age to be left alone. But once Statius felt he had lost Domitian’s patronage, retirement seemed the safe option. At least Domitian never turned on him. Statius would now quietly teach, write his intended masterpiece about Achilles, and publish poems he had previously only circulated informally.
From the moment Statius lost the prize, his friends were unsettled. Lucilla learned that some were questioning their safety. Even Nemurus thought he was vulnerable, despite the fact teachers were generally respected. Domitian, who remained childless with Domitia, had recently named two young sons of his cousin Flavia Domitilla as his heirs and made much of appointing the grammarian Quintilian to be their tutor at court. Quintilian was an advocate and rhetorician, the first to be awarded a state salary, under Vespasian. After teaching for twenty years, in a school that had brought him unusual wealth, he retired to write a groundbreaking treatise on rhetoric; it defied contemporary taste by favouring content over style, it was a treasure trove of sane rules for composition, humane advice to teachers and good sense.