Nero was thunderstruck. He knew his mother too well to imagine that she was blind to the stratagem from which she had so wonderfully escaped. He felt assured that she would at once resort to some desperate measures of retaliation and of self-defence. Not a moment was to be lost. He despatched a band of assassins to Antium to break into the apartment of his mother, and with their daggers immediately to secure her death beyond all question. The armed band reached the villa late at night, burst open the gates, and advanced rapidly to the chamber where the empress had retired to her bed. All the slaves encountered on the way were seized. In the chamber of Agrippina a dim light was burning, and one maid was in attendance. The assassins surrounded the bed. The leader struck her a heavy blow on the head with a club: the rest plunged their daggers into her heart. She slept in death, the guilty mother of a demoniac son. “In these particulars,” writes Tacitus, “authors are unanimous; but as to whether Nero surveyed the breathless body of his mother, and applauded its beauty, there are those who have affirmed it, and those who deny it.” After the murder of Agrippina, which was so openly perpetrated as to render it vain to attempt any disguise, Nero, either consumed by remorse or distracted by terror, retired to Naples. It is said that his appearance and movements indicated that he was the victim of utter misery; while at the same time his demoniac malice blazed forth more luridly than ever. He sent a communication to the senate, stating that he had caused the death of his mother because she was plotting his assassination. His sister Octavia and his wife Poppæa soon fell victims to his insane vengeance: the one was placed in a vapor-bath, had her veins opened in every joint, and then had her head cut off; the other perished from a brutal kick. Immediately there ensued a series of executions and assassinations of the most illustrious men of Rome, who were accused of conspiring against the tyrant. Tacitus gives the details of many of these atrocities. The recital would be but wearisome and revolting to the reader. Rome was stricken with terror. No one was safe from either the poisoned cup, the dagger, or the headsman’s axe. At length, human nature, even unspeakably corrupt as it had become in Rome, could endure the monster no longer. Servius Galba, seventy-two years of age, was governor of Spain. He was a man of unusual virtues for those times, was of pensive, thoughtful temperament, and endued with courage which no peril could intimidate. Placing himself at the head of his devoted legions, he openly proclaimed war against the tyrant, and commenced a march upon Rome for his dethronement. The tidings outstripped the rapid movements of his troops, and garrison after garrison unfurled the banners of revolt.