DON’T grieve, friends.” Otho spread his hands. “I’ve made my decision.”

They stared at him, dumbstruck: courtiers, generals, messengers, Praetorians, slaves. “Caesar,” someone said, but Otho cut him off with one of his perfect careless gestures.

“To expose men of your spirit and courage to further danger I think too high a price to pay for my life,” he said. “Vitellius began this civil war by forcing us to fight for the throne. I will end it, by ensuring that we fight no more than once. Let this be how posterity judges me: Others may have reigned longer, but none will relinquish his power so bravely.”

His voice rolled around the common soldier’s tent as if it were the marble walls of the Senate, and he threw back his head with a brilliant smile. Perfectly groomed, perfectly poised, perfectly in control. A thought drifted through Marcella’s head: How long has he been planning this speech?

“Caesar,” someone said again with half a sob, “we can still fight!”

But Otho raised a hand. “You cannot expect me to allow the flower of Rome’s youth, so many splendid legions, to shed their blood a second time. Let me carry away with me the thought that you were ready to die for me, but survive you must.” He clapped his hands. “No more delay! I must not endanger your safety, nor you impede my decision. To dwell on one’s last moments is a coward’s way. The ultimate proof of my determination is that I make no complaints. To find fault with gods or men is the behavior of one who would prefer to go on living.”

As one, the men in that room sank to their knees. Marcella was among them. She saw men weeping and couldn’t weep herself, but she could feel . . . awe. An emperor was as skilled a performer as any actor; he had to be—and she had just seen a man give the performance of his life.

Nor was it over. He walked among them then, raising every man to his feet, finding a few words for each. He told a weeping Praetor Paetus that he should not gamble so much at dice; he commended Centurion Drusus Densus for his bravery in trying to hold the center line once the flanks collapsed; he joked with Senator Urbinus that now his gambling debts would never have to be paid. One of his commanders tried to argue with him, swearing they could wreak vengeance on Vitellius, but Otho gave a placid smile and told him to offer Vitellius all allegiance. “He is your master now, and Fortuna grant he will be forgiving.”

“Fortuna grant,” Marcella echoed.