not keep for a goddess, she will keep for a man. I won’t say her name aloud – what slaves don’t overhear, they can’t repeat – but you know whom I mean. Am I right?”
Lucius gazed at the Flavian Amphitheatre, which was surrounded by scaffolds and cranes; a new tier was being added to accommodate even more spectators. “Yes, you’re right.”
Epaphroditus shook his head. “Lucius, Lucius! What a terrible risk you’re taking. When I think of my promise to your father, to look after you-”
“I’m a grown man now and responsible for myself, Epaphroditus. Your promise to my father was long ago discharged.”
“Still, the danger-”
“We were always very careful, very discreet. I’m not even seeing her any more. We love each other at a distance.”
Epaphroditus shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “You don’t understand the gravity of the situation. Events are about to take place that will affect us all.”
“Events?”
“I didn’t want to talk about this in front of… the others.”
“In front of Martial, you mean?”
“Or Epictetus, either. Or even you, for that matter.” Epaphroditus paused to collect his thoughts. To Lucius he suddenly looked quite old, and more worn with cares than Lucius had seen him in many years. “You know I still have friends in the imperial household, even after so many changes and so many years. Sometimes I hear about things before they happen. My sources demand my utmost discretion, so usually I keep what I know to myself. Yes, I keep things even from you, Lucius. But there’s no point in shielding you now, seeing the danger you’re in. Domitian is about to revive the office of censor. He intends to assume the powers of the magistracy himself, permanently.”
“Didn’t his father do the same?”
“Yes, for a limited time and for a specific purpose. Vespasian conducted a census. That is one of the traditional functions of the censor, but it is not the function which interests Domitian.”
“I don’t understand. What else does a censor do?”
“Lucius, Lucius! Did you learn nothing of history when you were growing up? I know your father supplied the very best tutors for you.”
Lucius shrugged. “Why bother to learn about the institutions of the long-dead Republic, when all power now resides in the hands of one man and the rest of us count for nothing?”
Epaphroditus stifled his exasperation. “Once upon a time, when Roma was ruled by the Senate, the censor wielded great power – in some ways he was the most powerful man in the Republic, because he was responsible for keeping the official list of citizens, and it was the citizens who elected the magistrates. People didn’t vote as individuals, but in various blocks, determined by their wealth and other indicators of status. The censor determined in which block a man voted. That was important, because the voting blocks of the elite counted for more than those of the common rabble. And the censor could strike a citizen from the rolls altogether, which meant that citizen lost his right to vote.”
“And why might a censor do such a thing?”
“If a man committed a criminal offense, for example. Or, more to the point, if the man was guilty of offending public morals.”
“And who was the judge of that?”
“The censor, of course. And so, stemming from his duty to keep the voting rolls, the censor acquired another duty: to maintain public morals. If the censor declared a man guilty of immorality, he could not only strike that man from the voting rolls, but could deprive him of other rights, even throw him out of the Senate. The censorship began with a high purpose, but quickly devolved into a political tool, a way to punish enemies and destroy careers.”
Lucius shook his head. “I still don’t understand. Domitian already can install any man he wants in the Senate, or remove any man he pleases. And what do the senators matter, anyway? They have no real power. Never mind that pathetic decree they recently passed – ‘It is forbidden for the principal officer of the state to put to death any of his peers.’ The notion that the emperor is the first among equals is a fantasy, and the idea that they can constrain him with laws is wishful thinking. So why does Domitian want to make himself censor for life?”
“The office will provide him with a new and very powerful tool. Consider: if the emperor wishes to punish an enemy or a rival, and does so for no purpose but to protect his own authority, he acts as a tyrant. Conversely, he could charge his enemy with a real crime, like embezzling or murder, but that would require producing actual evidence. But in his role as censor, Domitian can cast himself as the guardian of public morality, acting for the good of everyone.”
“What constitutes an immoral act?”
“A list of offenses is being drawn up even as we speak. I saw an early draft. It includes adultery, which is defined as any sexual act performed by a married person which takes place outside the marriage.”
“But that’s absurd! Domitian himself slept with married women when he was younger. One of those women was the empress, who divorced her husband to marry him.”
“Domitian will also revive the old Scantinian law.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“It outlaws sexual acts between men in which a freeborn male is the penetrated partner.”
“Half the members of the imperial court consort with eunuchs!”
“Ah, but everyone assumes it’s the eunuchs who are penetrated, which is perfectly legal, since they’re all either slaves or freedmen. It’s the Roman citizen who plays the passive role who’ll be vulnerable to prosecution.”
Lucius frowned. “Domitian seriously intends to police the sexual behaviour of every Roman citizen?”
“Augustus had such a proclivity. He was quite ruthless when it came to punishing what he considered immorality within his own family, especially among the women. To be sure, when it came to dictating the morals of the citizenry, Augustus generally preferred to rely on inducements rather than penalties, giving tax benefits to married men with children and so forth. But I fear Domitian will use his power as censor to inflict a great deal of suffering.”
Lucius was not convinced. “Perhaps your fears are exaggerated. If Domitian wishes to make an example of a few particularly outrageous people-”
“But, Lucius, don’t you see? That’s what everyone thinks at the outset of such a crackdown: it will be the other people who suffer, the ‘outrageous’ ones, not me. False hope! Domitian sees enemies everywhere. The very fact that the Senate passed that decree, making it unlawful for the emperor to put a senator to death, makes him think they’re plotting against him.”
“So Domitian will seek to punish his enemies by accusing them of vice, rather than insurrection?”
“Exactly. A dossier will be kept on everyone of importance, and who in the Senate is such a paragon of virtue that he need never fear the censor’s wrath?”
“What else is on the list of immoral acts?”
“Incest, which includes relations between uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews – the so-called ‘crime of Claudius.’ Also, carnal relations between a free woman and another man’s slave-”
“But not between a woman and her own slave? Or between a man and another’s man’s slave?”
“Those acts were not listed on the draft I saw.”
“What about fornication with a Vestal virgin?”
Epaphroditus turned pale. “There’s no need for that to be on the list. It’s a capital crime already.”
Lucius began to pace. “How can anyone know what people get up to behind closed doors?”
“The censor will assume the right to know. Remember the banishment of the informers under Titus? Those days are over. Men and women who sell other people’s secrets, even slaves who betray their masters, will flourish under the censor. Citizens arrested for breaking the moral laws can be questioned in what ever manner the censor sees fit, and their slaves will be interrogated under torture. Men found guilty will be encouraged to implicate others.”
“Is that Domitian’s only motivation for this moral legislation? To give himself a tool to terrorize people?”
“Who can say what’s in his mind? He may genuinely believe that he can control the morals of his subjects, and wishes to do so.”
