Otho

It was now evening, and being thirsty, he drank a little water. He had two swords, and after examining the blade of each for a long time, he laid one of them aside, but put the other under his arm, and then called his servants. These he addressed kindly, and distributed money to them, more to one and less to another, not as though lavish with what was no longer to be his, but with strict regard to moderation and the claims of merit.

After sending the servants away, he betook himself to rest for the remainder of the night, and slept so soundly that his chamberlains heard his heavy breathing. Just before dawn he called a freedman with whom he had arranged for the departure of the senators, and bade him learn how they fared. And when he was told that all of them had what was needful for their journey, Go thou, then, he said to the freedman, and show thyself to the soldiers, unless thou wishest them to put thee to a miserable death for helping me to die.

Then, when the man had gone out, with both hands he held his sword upright beneath him, and fell upon it, giving but a single groan as he felt the pang. The servants outside heard his groan and raised a wailing cry, and at once the whole camp and the city were filled with lamentation. The soldiers, with loud cries, burst in at the door, and then bewailed their emperor, full of anguish, and reviling themselves because they had not watched over him and prevented him from dying in their behalf.

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.