All his conquests in the south had fallen again into the hands of the
enemy, and his work remained to be done over again. He held a grand
assembly in Verona, in which he had his son Otho, three years old,
elected as his successor. From there he proceeded to Rome, in which city
he was attacked by a violent fever, brought on by the grief and
excitement into which his reverses had thrown his susceptible and
impatient mind. He died December 7, 983, and was buried in the church of
St. Peter, at Rome.
The fancy of the chroniclers has surrounded his death with legends,
which are worth repeating as curious examples of what mediaeval writers
offered and mediaeval readers accepted as history. One of them tells the
story of a naval engagement between Otho and the Greeks, in which the
fight was so bitter that the whole sea around the vessels was stained
red with blood. The emperor won the victory, but received a mortal
wound.
Another story, which does not trouble itself to sail very close to the
commonplace, relates that Otho met his end by being whipped to death on
Mount Garganus by the angels, among whom he had imprudently ventured
while they were holding a conclave there.
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