confluence of the Po and the Adda, by which march it was hoped that they would cut off the enemy's retreat and draw a circle round their camp. I later learned that Celsus and Paullinus had argued against exposing the troops, who were heavily burdened with baggage, to such a hazardous plan. They would rather we had stood and fought on ground of our own choosing. But Titianus, with all the arrogance of incompetence, waved these arguments aside. He was infatuated with the beauty of his plan, and did not realise that battles are fought in the field, not on map-tables. But the disagreement between the generals becoming known, the men were disheartened, and many talked, I am told, of their fear that they had been betrayed.
Towards evening, but while it was still light, the first messengers came to us with reports of a heavy defeat. The army was in headlong flight, they said. Otho received the news without any sign of emotion, and gave gold to the messengers. When he had dismissed them, he said, 'I have never believed in victory, and so it now remains only to die in such a manner as will cause men to speak well of Otho and bring honour, not dishonour, to my house. For a long time I have wished that I had fallen victim to the perverted hatreds of Nero, and been spared this ordeal of being Emperor in name alone.' And he ordered a slave to bring him two daggers, and himself tested their points. I said nothing to dissuade him. What should I have said?
But then, a centurion of the Praetorians, by name, Plotius Firmus, thrust himself into the presence.
'All is not lost,' he said. 'We've been defeated in a battle, but not a decisive one. The other side got a bloody nose themselves. Their cavalry was scattered. We took the eagle from one of their legions. We have still an army to the south of the Po, not to mention the legions which have remained here with you, my lord, at Bedriacum. What's more the Danube legions are still on the march to our aid. So we can still fight back. All that is required is resolution.'
Soon the centurion was joined by a number of his men. They crowded round Otho, yelling encouragement and swearing that they were ready for another go at the enemy. One young man even threw himself to the ground, and clasping Otho's knees, demanded that he lead them himself back to the field and he was certain they would restore their fallen fortunes.
So Plotius Firmus spoke again, even as Otho tried to disengage himself from his supplicant.
'You must not,' he said, 'desert an army that is so loyal and soldiers so eager to shed their blood on your behalf. There is more virtue in withstanding trouble than in escaping from it. The brave man clings to hope, whatever his ill-fortune. Only cowards yield to fear.'
Otho was embarrassed by these expressions of faith. He had already resigned himself to defeat and death. Indeed, in his own mind, he was dead already. So the call to renew the struggle dismayed him. But, ever better fitted to put on a public show than to maintain his equanimity in private, he spoke graciously now, thanking the men for what they had said, and assuring them that he was fixed on no course of action, but must consult his generals before coming to a decision. His words could not satisfy, for the soldiers were looking to hear him declare that the war was not to be thought lost as long as men of their calibre were to be found. Therefore, although they accepted his diplomatic speech, many went sorrowful away. And I believe that if he had, after consulting his generals, resolved to renew the war, which was certainly not lost, he might, on account of the chill reception he had given his most enthusiastic troops, have found that their initial ardour had cooled.
Such speculation is vain. Nothing was further from Otho's mind than the struggle. He was already resigned to defeat. I knew that, as soon as he had persuaded Plotius Firmus to lead his Praetorians back to the camp. His body, which had been taut throughout this scene, relaxed. He even smiled. He stretched out his hand and chucked me under the chin, and stroked my cheek. 'You despise me, don't you?' he said. 'I don't understand you,' I replied.
'No,' he said, 'you are young, and brave, as these Praetorians were. But I am weary, and I hold that to expose such courage, such spirit, as yours and theirs to the danger of another battle is to put too high a value on my life and office. The more hope you hold out to me, the more glorious will be my death. I am now at one with Fortune. We have no secrets from each other. I know her cheats and strategems and can turn away from the false hopes she offers. The civil war began with Vitellius; let it end with his triumph. If I now resign myself to death, then Vitellius has no cause to revenge himself on my family and friends. But if I prolong the struggle, and meet again with defeat, then he will feel entitled to carry out a proscription of all who have been dear to me; among whom I include you, dear boy. I die happy in the thought that you, and so many, were happy to risk death for me. But the comedy has been played long enough. It is time to leave the theatre. So, I urge you not to delay here, but to take thought for your own safety, and to remember me as I die rather than as I have lived. I shall say no more. Only cowards talk at length to delay the moment of death. I complain of no one. Only those who seek to live need complain of gods or men.' No doubt the speech was too long, and seemed all the more so when he had gathered together his staff and repeated it, almost word for word, to them. Yet there was something impressive in his calm demeanour. I admired his resolution, even while I despised the decision that occasioned it. To my mind, it would have been more manly to lead his troops into another battle, which indeed might yet have been won. Even if the cause had been hopeless, yet it seemed to me that an Emperor should die on his feet. Why seek Empire, only to abandon it at the first cold winds of Fortune?
Otho then begged us all to take our leave. It was in our interest, he said, to depart at once, in case Vitellius and his generals should interpret our remaining with Otho as a mark of defiance. He ordered boats and carriages to be made ready and it seemed that he was more assiduous in planning the flight of his entourage than he had ever been in organising his army for battle. He commanded his secretaries, too, to destroy all his correspondence.
'I should not wish,' he said, 'for Vitellius to discover that any of you had abused him in writing to me.'
Then he dismissed us, so that I was not a witness to his death. Nevertheless I later questioned one of his freedmen who attended him to the end. Therefore the account I now give you, Tacitus, is as authentic as any you may receive, even though I was not an eye-witness.
When he was alone, except for his domestic staff, he lay down to rest for a little. But his rest was disturbed when he heard shouts and cries from around the house. He sent to enquire. The soldiers, who refused to believe that Otho had abandoned the struggle, were attempting to prevent anyone from leaving the camp. (I myself had to bribe a surly fellow with five gold pieces before he would let me depart.) Otho rebuked them and said it was his will that his friends should be free to go. Despite this, the detachment of the Guard itself remained with him, though, aware of the hostility that the German legions felt for them, they must have feared their own fate. This was a remarkable example of loyalty. I have never understood what in Otho attracted it. I had come to like him myself, but I had been privileged to be his confidant. The soldiers, on the other hand, were now being abandoned by him.
After speaking to a few who had not yet dared to leave the camp, where however they feared to remain, Otho drank a cup of water mixed with only a very little wine. Then he retired to rest. Sometime before dawn he stabbed himself falling forward on his dagger. There was but one wound, sufficient to kill him. Plotius Firmus, the loyal centurion, arranged his funeral. Otho had left a request – he was past the stage of giving orders – that this should be done at once; he had been troubled by the thought that Vitellius might command his head to be cut off and put on display. The cohort of the Praetorians covered his face and body with kisses; or so my informant said.
XXVII
Tacitus: have you ever marched with the remnant of a defeated army? I suppose not.
It is a degrading experience. Even the horse on which I began our retreat died under me, and I was compelled to footslog it like a common soldier. There were no marching songs, and every morning when we struck camp, we found that a few more men had taken advantage of the darkness to desert. But our numbers did not dwindle, for all along the road we were joined by stragglers, men who had been separated from their companions, and found among us that the company of the dispirited was nevertheless preferable to solitude. When the men talked, which was seldom, it was of their wives or mothers, never of the battles we had just fought.
It was raining the day I limped back into Rome. Water ran yellow in the gutters, and puddles stood like fords in the cobbled lanes. News of Otho's defeat and death had preceded us. The city wore the heavy clouds that obscured the Janiculum as if they were funeral garments. Nobody knew when the victors might be expected; everyone dreaded their arrival, except for those partisans of Vitellius who had already emerged from hiding, and
