Otho

Not one of his followers went away, although the enemy were near, but after attiring the body and preparing a funeral pyre for it, they escorted it thither with military honours, and full of exultation were those who won the privilege of carrying the bier. Of the rest, some embraced the emperor’s body and kissed his wound, others grasped his hands, and others still made him their obeisance at a distance. There were some, too, who first put their torches to the pyre and then slew themselves, not, so far as could be known, because they were either indebted to the dead for favours, or fearful of punishment at the hands of the victor.

Nay, it would seem that no king or tyrant was ever possessed by so dire and frenzied a passion for ruling as was that of these soldiers for being ruled and commanded by Otho; not even after his death did their yearning for him leave them, nay, it abode with them until it finally changed into an incurable hatred for Vitellius.

Well, then, the rest of the story is now in place. They buried the remains of Otho, and made a tomb for them which neither by the great size of its mound nor by the boastfulness of its inscription could awaken jealousy. I saw it when I was at Brixillum. It is a modest memorial and the inscription on it, in translation, runs thus: To the memory of Marcus Otho.