the men lost much time looking for Nero’s hiding place, for at first they did not think of the freedman’s distant villa.
But Nero had had enough of power. He sent his freedman to turn back the cavalrymen as soon as he heard of their errand. Then Epaphroditus stabbed him in the throat, practiced as he was in certain games to which Nero used to devote himself. Nero evidently chose suicide by a stab in the throat in order to convince the Senate that he sacrificed even his vocal chords, so that no doubt should arise over his death. If later another great singer was to gain fame in the East, no one would even think of Nero, for it would be known that he had cut his own throat
As the blood artistically welled up from the wound, Nero, with the last shreds of his strength, received the centurion, in a broken voice thanked him for his loyalty, then turned his eyes upward and died with such a credible rattling and jerking that the seasoned centurion, tears in his own eyes, covered his face with his scarlet centurion mantle so that Nero should die in the way of Emperors, with his face hidden. Julius Caesar, too, covered his head to honor the gods when the assassins’ daggers riddled his body. Nero’s freedman and Epaphroditus now told the centurion that, for his own sake and that of all loyal Praetorians, it would be wisest to return to the camp with the news of Nero’s death, so that no one would do anything foolish. Then he should hurry to the Senate and say that in the hope of a reward he had followed Nero to capture him alive and hand him over to the Senate, but that Nero had managed to take his own life.
The flecks of blood on the mantle he had placed over the body were evidence enough, but naturally he could also cut off Nero’s head and take it with him to the Senate if he thought such a deed compatible with his soldier’s honor. But even without it he could be certain of a reward for his good news. Nero wished his body to be cremated quietly and unmutilated.
The centurion left his cloak behind as evidence, since the Senate would immediately send a committee to the villa to investigate the circumstances surrounding Nero’s death. As soon as he and the cavalryman had gone, the faithful conspirators had to move swiftly. It had been easy to find a body the size and build of Nero’s in these disturbed times when many lay in the ditches along the roads after the disturbances before Galba’s arrival. So the body was rapidly put on the pyre, the fire lit and oil poured over it all. Where, how and in what disguise Nero himself continued his flight, I could not possibly say. But I am fairly certain that he was taken eastward, probably to seek the protection of the Parthians. At the court of the Arsicades so many secrets have been collected over three hundred years that they could keep them better than Romans can. Even in the Senate we are talkative. The Parthians know the art of keeping silent.
I admit that the unexpected increase in cittern-playing in Parthia is the only definite evidence I can put forward in support of my conclusions. But I know that Nero will never again seek power in Rome. All those who attempt this or try in the future, even if they have scars on their throats, are false Neros and we crucify them without hesitation.
Nero’s companions had got so far with the cremation that when the investigators arrived they were pouring water onto the smoldering blocks of marble so that they fell apart as lime and covered the remains of the body in a shell which hid all the features. Nero had no deformities by which his body could have been identified. The tooth he had had extracted in Greece had been removed from the corpse too, for safety’s sake.
The remains were wrapped in a white cloak embroidered with gold, which Nero had used that same winter at the feast of Saturnalia. With Galba’s permission, two hundred thousand sesterces were used for the funeral ceremonies. In a porphyritic sarcophagus in the Domitians’ mausoleum there lies a half-burned body in a lime-shell. Anyone can go there to establish that Nero is really dead. Statilia and Acte have nothing against people honoring Nero’s memory.
I have told you of Nero’s death so that you will be prepared if anything unexpected happens. Nero was only thirty-two when he chose to feign death in preference to civil war in order to expiate his crimes and begin a new life. Where, no one knows. As I write this he would be almost forty-three.
My suspicions were aroused when I noticed that it had all happened on the day of Agrippina’s murder and that Nero rode out of the city with his head covered and in bare feet, dedicated to the gods. Sporus’ secretive disappearance is, I think, further proof. Nero could not live without him, for he was the image of Poppaea in appearance, as I have said. Many discerning members of the Senate hold the same opinions as I on Nero’s death, although naturally we never voice them.
Galba showed forbearance when it came to Nero’s remains, for the sake of the people who genuinely and justifiably mourned his death. Galba wished to convince the world that Nero had really gone. So he ignored the fact that the Senate had branded him an enemy of the State. Mistrusting the Senate, Galba was thinking of limiting a senator’s period of office to two years, an absurd idea since our office has always been for life, although that does mean we tolerate among us ancients who sometimes waste time eagerly talking of the former golden age. It is a disease from which we all can suffer. So we patiently respect old age and long service, in contrast to the young, who do not appreciate such things until they themselves don their senator’s boots.
So it was not surprising that Galba’s head was soon carried around the forum. Since he was so bald, the soldier who was doing it had to put his thumbs in Galba’s mouth to get a grip on the head. When this soldier had received his reward from Otho, he gave the head to the other Praetorians who carried it around the camp, laughing and shouting.
Quite apart from his miserliness, for he had not even paid them a reasonable bonus on his accession to the throne, they were embittered that he, after falling in love with a giant German life guard, kept the man with him all one night, exhausting him in every way, and then in the morning did not even give him a couple of sesterces for a cup of wine, but simply said the man should be grateful to have enjoyed the friendship of such a youthful old man. This was one of the reasons for his downfall. The Praetorians had had enough of that kind of thing during Tigellinus’ time.
I will return to Vespasian. It was a joy to see how surprised he was when the legionaries acclaimed him Emperor, how he protested and wrung his hands and several times jumped down from the shield on which they were carrying him around the walls of Jerusalem. A shield is uncomfortable to sit on anyhow, especially as the soldiers also swung him up into the air in their delight. They were as drunk as that because of the sesterces I had handed out. Of course I received some of my money back, thanks to my new Syrian freedman, since I had managed to secure the monopoly for wineselling in the camp. He also made a great deal of money by selling licenses to the Jewish vendors in the camp.
After sending their pay to the legions in Pannonia and Moesia together with a few mild reproaches to the cohorts in Gaul for their undisciplined plundering and outrages against peaceful inhabitants, Vespasian at once traveled to Egypt. He did not have to detach any of the troops under Titus for this purpose, for he could rely on the loyalty of the Egyptian garrison. Nevertheless he had to assure himself personally about Egypt, not because Egypt is Rome’s granary but because Egypt gives us sufficient paper for the administration of the world, not to mention the collecting of taxes.
Vespasian has developed the art of taxation to a degree previously unknown, so sometimes we wealthy men feel as if we were bleeding from both the nose and the ears as he squeezes us, not to mention the rectum, the latter being the cause of my being here in this resort. The physicians were so worried about my condition and the hemorrhages which weakened me that instead of giving me remedies they urged me to make my will.
When the physicians had given me up, the pains in my stomach made me turn to Jesus of Nazareth. Weakened people become humble on the threshold of death. But I promised him nothing. Against my many crimes and my hardness, my good deeds would not count for much on the day he sorts the sheep from the goats. So I thought it unnecessary to make any promises.
My physicians could not believe their eyes when the hemorrhages unexpectedly stopped of their own accord. They finally decided that my life had not been in danger at all, but that my illness had originated in my resentment at Vespasian’s refusing to agree to certain technical tax measures to enable me to keep my income and my property.
I must admit that he does not squeeze for his own gain but for the good of the State, but there are limits to everything. Even Titus hates the coppers which one must pay for using the public privies, even if it comes to basketfuls every day. I know there is running water in the new privies, as well as marble seats and decorative sculpture, but our ancient freedom as citizens is gone. So the poorest people are still content to make their water ostentatiously on the temple walls and at the entrances of rich men’s houses.
When we arrived in Alexandria, Vespasian decided not to row into the harbor, for all the basins were full of
