Attila:The Scourge of God

TWENTY

‘I’ve a friend who works in the Treasury at Ravenna,’ Synesius, a rising lawyer, said musingly to Flaccus, son of a small landowner. The two young men were in the calidarium or hot room of Verona’s last functioning bath-house. Flaccus, who had just come into a legacy, was consulting his friend about finding a profitable way to invest some of it. ‘For a small consideration,’ Synesius went on, ‘I daresay I could get him to pull some strings. I happen to know that the post of canonicarius — financial overseer — for the land tax from First Belgica is about to fall vacant. It’s in the gift of the Praetorian prefect. If your application were successful, the prefect would naturally expect some, ah, “compensation” shall we call it?’

‘But. . isn’t that illegal?’ exclaimed Flaccus in shocked tones.

‘Don’t be naive,’ sighed Synesius, rolling his eyes. ‘Of course it’s illegal; I thought everyone knew that. But as long as those in the system turn a blind eye, who cares? Pass that strigil, would you? Thanks. Honestly, you’d think they could manage to lay on a slave or two to scrape you down. Cutbacks — that’s all you hear about these days. Well, shall I contact my friend?’

Written at Ravenna, the Treasury, in the consulships of Areobindus and Aspar. Nones Aprilis.¹

My dear Synesius, your sponsio² much appreciated. I have seen the Praetorian prefect re your friend’s application, and he says to tell him that the suffragium or going rate for the post is a hundred solidi. Of course, your friend will still have to present himself for interview, but that should just be a formality. What’s termed ‘general merit’ (id est, good birth, education, and loyalty) is more important than financial aptitude. Anyway, he’ll have a small staff of clerks to deal with technical matters.

A hundred solidi may seem a largish sum to secure the appointment, so you should point out to your friend that, if he uses his imagination and initiative, he can expect to recoup his outlay at least fourfold during the two years the job will be his. The post does carry a salary: virtually nominal, but then you could hardly expect otherwise, could you?

By the way, in order to arrange my meeting with the prefect, I had to proceed via the tractator, his intermediary with the relevant provincial governor. So you’ll appreciate that I had to grease a few extra palms. Which alas made quite a dent in the sponsio. The things we do for friends! Do you know Rufio’s wine shop in Verona, near the amphitheatre? Well, if you were feeling generous, an amphora of Falernian (or Massic at a pinch) despatched by wagon, wouldn’t go amiss. .

‘This is nothing short of naked robbery!’ shouted the governor of First Belgica. He flung down on his desk the last of the rolls containing the revised assessments for the province’s land tax, which Flaccus had presented for his inspection. The two men were in the tablinum of the governor’s fortified villa overlooking the River Mosella. The room commanded a view of a blighted landscape: ruined vineyards, abandoned villas, fields reverting to scrub and swamp, the results of insecurity caused by recurring Frankish raids. The same landscape that, a mere two generations before, the poet Ausonius had described as smiling and fruitful.

Flaccus shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Blame the times,’ he said mollifyingly. ‘The state must collect the iugatio³ if the army’s to be paid. And without the army all this’- he indicated the countryside outside — ‘would soon be part of the barbaricum.’ Rather to his surprise, he had quickly grown a thick skin in the execution of his job. After all, a man had to look out for himself, especially in these uncertain times, and especially as the post was only for two years — not much time in which to set himself up. Besides, it wasn’t as though he had to live with these people.

‘But in some cases there’s a thirty-per-cent increase!’ protested the governor. ‘How can that possibly be justified?’

‘Well, let’s look at some examples,’ said Flaccus in reasonable tones. ‘Take this village, Subiacum. When we re-surveyed it, we found that several hundred productive iugera⁴ had been omitted in the returns for the past five Indictions.⁵ The tax equivalent has to be made up — plus, I’m afraid, the interest owed.’

‘“Productive”, you say! Look, I know the place. That was poor-quality land hardly worth the trouble of ploughing. It went out of cultivation when the owners fled to escape the tax-collectors. Now there aren’t enough coloni left to work it, so it’s become “deserted land”.’

‘But not officially. It’s not listed as such in the records, you see. All land, unless it’s taken out of registration, must be taxed.’ Flaccus assumed his most sympathetic smile. ‘Nothing personal, you understand. And then a number of coloni in Subiacum owe tax arrears. They claimed they didn’t — well, they would, wouldn’t they? — but when asked for proof, they couldn’t produce receipts.’

‘But no one thinks to keep receipts — especially not poor, uneducated farm labourers.’

‘That’s hardly my responsibility,’ countered Flaccus smoothly. He shook his head regretfully. ‘Believe me, if I could ignore these lapses, I would. I’m just-’

‘I know, “doing my job”,’ interrupted the governor bitterly. He gave Flaccus a searching stare. ‘Have you people the least idea how much misery and hardship the land tax causes? To say nothing of all these extra charges you seem able to discover.’

‘Times are hard. We must all make sacrifices.’

‘Some more than others, I daresay,’ retorted the governor, glancing significantly at Flaccus’ well-nourished frame and expensive byrrus, or hooded cloak. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your tax,’ he sneered. ‘The full amount. But only because the decurions, the poor overworked town councillors, who alone keep the machinery of state from seizing up, have to make up any shortfall out of their own pockets. No wonder they’re leaving in droves, seeking promotion or simply taking flight.’

‘They can always appeal, you know.’ Flaccus injected a note of helpful concern into his voice. ‘The courts of the Praetorian prefect and the finance minister are expressly charged with hearing such complaints.’

‘And much good would that do them,’ snapped the governor. ‘They aren’t rich enough to afford court expenses and tip the judge.’ He gathered up the rolls on his desk. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you. After all,’ he went on with heavy sarcasm, ‘you have your job to do.’

¹ 5 April 434.

² ‘Backhander’.

³ land tax.

⁴ The iugerum was the basic Roman unit of land measurement. One iugerum =

of an acre.

⁵ Roman financial years.