The discomfiture sustained by the arms of the insurgents failed not to react on the tone of feeling in their camp.  The military successes of Sertorius became like those of Hannibal, of necessity less and less considerable; people began to call in question his military talent:  he was no longer, it was alleged, what he had been; he spent the day in feasting or over his cups, and squandered money as well as time.  The number of the deserters, and of communities falling away, increased.  Soon projects formed by the Roman emigrants against the life of the general were reported to him; they sounded credible enough, especially as various officers of the insurgent army, and Perpenna in particular, had submitted with reluctance to the supremacy of Sertorius, and the Roman governors had for long promised amnesty and a high reward to any one who should kill him.  Sertorius, on hearing such allegations, withdrew the charge of guarding his person from the Roman soldiers and entrusted it to select Spaniards.  Against the suspected themselves he proceeded with fearful but necessary severity, and condemned various of the accused to death without resorting, as in other cases, to the advice of his council; he was now more dangerous—­it was thereupon affirmed in the circles of the malcontents—­to his friends than to his foes.

Assassination of Sertorius

A second conspiracy was soon discovered, which had its seat in his own staff; whoever was denounced had to take flight or die; but all were not betrayed, and the remaining conspirators, including especially Perpenna, found in the circumstances only a new incentive to make haste.  They were in the headquarters at Osca.  There, on the instigation of Perpenna, a brilliant victory was reported to the general as having been achieved by his troops; and at the festal banquet arranged by Perpenna to celebrate this victory Sertorius accordingly appeared, attended, as was his wont, by his Spanish retinue.  Contrary to former custom in the Sertorian headquarters, the feast soon became a revel; wild words passed at table, and it seemed as if some of the guests sought opportunity to begin an altercation.  Sertorius threw himself back on his couch, and seemed desirous not to hear the disturbance.  Then a wine-cup was dashed on the floor; Perpenna had given the concerted sign.  Marcus Antonius, Sertorius’ neighbour at table, dealt the first blow against him, and when Sertorius turned round and attempted to rise, the assassin flung himself upon him and held him down till the other guests at table, all of them implicated in the conspiracy, threw themselves on the struggling pair, and stabbed he defenceless general while his arms were pinioned (682).  With him died his faithful attendants.  So ended one of the greatest men, if not the very greatest man, that Rome had hitherto produced—­ a man who under more fortunate circumstances would perhaps have become the regenerator of his country—­by the treason of the wretched band of emigrants whom he was condemned to lead against his native land.  History loves not the Coriolani; nor has she made any exception even in the case of this the most magnanimous, most gifted, most deserving to be regretted of them all.