In 53.19, Dio discusses the impact that the transition of Rome’s system of government from a Republic to a monarchy under Augustus had for the flow of accurate political news and information. This programmatic section of the Roman History has often been discussed for the insight it provides into Dio’s historical methodology. This chapter takes a complementary perspective on 53.19, examining Dio’s view that the new monarchical government led to the rise of rumour, and the way that this theme plays out in the Roman History at large. It shows that the presence of rumour in Dio’s narrative increases the closer one comes to Octavian assuming sole power, especially during the triumviral period, which is marked by attempts to control channels of news. Dio’s emphasis on rumour in the imperial books, it is argued, reflects the uncertainty engendered by the concentration of political power in the hands of one man, whose real thoughts and intentions always remained inscrutable.

This chapter examines the role that the Roman imperial court played in the genesis of imperial imagery intended for public display. It argues that the realities of court society have implications for hypothetical reconstructions of who commissioned, designed, and approved such images: ostensibly independent sites of decision-making – ‘senate’, ‘inner circle’, ‘moneyers’, ‘emperor’ – were deeply interconnected. Furthermore, the influence and power of different individuals and groups at court ebbed and flowed, and although such changes never guaranteed particular images, they set new limits on what was possible. With controversial images, artists and their patrons could also exploit the fact that viewing is always conditioned by the viewer’s background knowledge and assumptions, so different audiences could be encouraged to see different things in the same image. A detailed case study of public images of the emperor in the presence of members of his guard units is used to illustrate how some images became more (and then less) possible over time, and how different types of viewers were invited to see varying things in the same image.

The permanent move of members of the Ottoman dynasty to the harem at the New Palace in the sixteenth century gradually transformed the imperial harem into a well-organized, hierarchical, and institutionalized structure with rigid protocols and training, similar to that found in the Enderun. Chapter 1 reconstructs the structure of the imperial harem and the relationships within it, with a central focus on its residents. This task is important, for it is only by understanding the web of hierarchies within the harem that one can trace women’s relationships with the imperial court during their harem service and following their transfer from the palace. The chapter identifies the residents of the harem through an analysis of their origins, families, names, occupations, and salaries. The available sources enable to construct both women’s positions in the harem organization and the size of the harem population in the eighteenth century. The final section of this chapter evaluates the role of patronage relations within the broader network of relationships in the imperial harem. The long-lasting relationship between the imperial court and female palace slaves was rooted in the harem, and residents of the harem were attached to the household through various layers of patronage relationships.

Where does the history of Jingdezhen’s porcelain start? Perhaps surprisingly, this is not generally considered to be a vexed question; most narratives begin with the bestowal of the name of the Northern Song reign period (Jingde, 1004–1007) on the town (zhen). Choosing that date as starting point for the history of Jingdezhen’s porcelain is, however, also misleading. It creates the teleological impression that from that point on, Jingdezhen travelled on a path that inevitably led to becoming the world’s preeminent site of ceramics production, and it suggests exceptionality where there is none. In its account of the period between 1000 and 1200, this chapter shows that the goods produced in Raozhou prefecture (where Jingdezhen was located) were not unique but competed with goods from numerous other sites. Moreover, the history of Jingdezhen’s porcelains is not the history of a single town, but the history of a web of connections that linked geographical spaces, natural resources, and human skills. The history of Jingdezhen’s porcelains should begin with the emergence of that web of connections: a network that made the production of Jingdezhen’s ceramics possible.