Meanwhile the friends of Piso were urging to take some bold and sudden step, which, if it did not succeed in retrieving his fortunes, would at least shed lustre on his death.  But his somewhat slothful nature, weakened still further by a luxurious life, was not to be aroused, and he calmly awaited the end.  It was customary among the Roman Emperors at this period to avoid the disgrace and danger of public executions by sending a messenger to a man’s house, and ordering him to put himself to death by whatever means he preferred.  Some raw recruits—­for Nero dared not intrust any veterans with the duty—­brought the mandate to Piso, who proceeded to make a will full of disgraceful adulation towards Nero, opened his veins, and died.  Plautius Lateranus was not even allowed the poor privilege of choosing his own death, but, without time even to embrace his children, was hurried off to a place set apart for the punishment of slaves, and there died, without a word, by the sword of a tribune whom he knew to be one his own accomplices.

Lucan, in the prime of his life and the full bloom of his genius, was believed to have joined the plot from his indignation at the manner in which Nero’s jealousy had repressed his poetic fame, and forbidden him the opportunity of public rectitations.  He too opened his veins; and as he felt the deathful chill creeping upwards from the extremities of his limbs, he recited some verses from his own “Pharsalia,” in which he had described the similar death of the soldier Lycidas.  They were his last words.  His mother Atilla, whom to his everlasting infamy, he had betrayed, was passed over as a victim too insignificant for notice, and was neither pardoned nor punished.

But, of all the many deaths which were brought about by this unhappy and ill-managed conspiracy, none caused more delight to Nero than that of Seneca, whom he was now able to dispatch by the sword, since he had been unable to do so by secret poison.  What share Seneca really had in the conspiracy is unknown.  If he were really cognisant of it, he must have acted with consummate tact, for no particle of convincing evidence was adduced against him.  All that even Natalis could relate was, that when Piso had sent him to complain to Seneca of his not admitting Piso to more of his intercourse, Seneca had replied “that it was better for them both to hold aloof from each other, but that his own safety depended on that of Piso.”  A tribune was sent to ask Seneca as to the truth of this story, and found,—­which was in itself regarded as a suspicious circumstance,—­that on that very day he had returned from Campania to a villa four miles from the city.  The tribune arrived in the evening, and surrounded the villa with soldiers.  Seneca was at supper, with his wife Paulina and two friends.  He entirely denied the truth of the evidence, and said that “the only reason which he had assigned to Piso for seeing so little of him was his weak health and love of retirement.  Nero, who knew how little