Octavius was cautious. His instincts were against using force, and besides, he feared the criticism which any abuse of his power might bring down on his head. Sometimes, however, necessity compels. The lictors outside the temple were called in; a few blows of a mallet, and the coffer that a warrior had trusted to guard his treasure gave up its secret.
In the Senate the reading of Antony's will produced the effect that Octavius had counted on. For his side it was a triumph. But Antony's friends were speechless with consternation. Was he so faithless to his country that he did not even wish to be buried there? Had he, in truth, ceased to be a Roman? Octavius, however, was severely criticized for his conduct. Caius Sossius laid stress on the shameful act. A will was sacred. No one had the right to question what a man ordered done after his death. Such interference was illegal; besides, a will could be changed at any time! Some Senators, faithful to the old traditions, held this view and were incensed at the outrage offered to the Vestal Virgins. The thing had been done, however, and its consequences were serious.
It was the moment to drive the dagger to the hilt. Octavius brought up all the old grievances. He emphasized the proof of Antony's disloyalty. There were additional charges. One of the surest means of transforming the rich Patricians who sat in the Senate into pitiless judges was to bring up any injustice done to Rome in regard to art. He held up Antony as a collector for the Queen of Egypt, who had robbed Greece and Asia of their rarest treasures in order to offer them to his mistress. The famous statue of Diana, once the glory of Ephesus, now adorned the portico of the Bruchium. The two hundred thousand volumes from the library of Pergamus, intended to enrich the Roman collection, had they not been shipped to Alexandria? A murmur ran around the Senate chamber. Ominous frowns were visible. All these men whose dwellings were enriched with books, rare furniture, beautiful marbles, collected in their travels or during their rule over various countries, were as indignant as though Antony's offence were without precedent. In hypocritical anger they demanded that a vote on his actions be taken without delay. The urns were passed, and flouted, scorned, pronounced unworthy of office, Antony was deprived of all the functions that the Republic had given into his keeping.
Complete as was the victory, it did not satisfy Octavius. These assemblies, as he well knew, were subject to quick and complete changes of attitude. What this wily tactician wanted was to give his adversary a killing blow from which he would never recover. A military victory was the only certain means of putting this conqueror of the Parthians definitely out of the running. But how could his compatriots be induced to take arms against him? They were tired of civil wars and nothing would be more distasteful than to rise against Mark Antony, the only great citizen who, since Cæsar, had made the Roman flag fly over new territories.
The same old subterfuge which had succeeded before was once more adroitly employed by Octavius. A few days later, leaving out any allusion to Antony in his address, not even mentioning that name which was always likely to create enthusiasm, he spoke of the indisputable enemy, the one that was certain to rouse public sentiment. The tiresome repetition of Cleopatra's ambition, her persistent intention of attacking Rome, these weapons had lost none of their power. The mere mention of her name created almost ferocious excitement. In a second the whole Senate was standing up, hurling curses on the hated Egyptian.
At last war was declared. Faithful to the custom consecrated by his ancestors, Octavius repaired to the square just beyond the Pomoerium, where the temple of Bellona, majestic and radiant, stood out against the clear blue of the sky. Amidst the acclamations of the wrought-up crowd the Dictator threw a gold javelin whose point sunk in the pedestal at the feet of the goddess. This ceremony was to place the army under her divine protection while declaring at the same time the righteousness of the campaign that had just begun.
Nominally the war was directed against foreign forces, but who could mistake its import? Antony was the protector of Cleopatra, and on both sides Roman blood would stain the battlefield.
Antony, however, had not awaited the challenge from Rome. Like the good captain that he was he had planned to forestall the enemy and take the offensive. Sixteen legions commanded by Canidius were ordered to the coast of Asia Minor, and he was on his way to join them. A sure means of refuting the libellous statements of Octavius occurred to him. He would put aside his mistress and appear alone at the head of his troops. That would show whom they had to fight.
But Cleopatra objected to this device. She had never forgotten what had happened when Antony left her once before. She would take no chance of having her lover caught a second time in a Roman trap. With his impressionable character it was necessary literally to keep him in full view, to perform continual incantations over him. So she refused to be separated from him. Where he went she went. He should plan no undertaking, no negotiation, without her knowledge and supervision. In vain the Imperator dwelt on the inconvenience of having a woman present in the camps. In vain Ahenobarbus, with characteristic rudeness, declared that if they were to be encumbered with a court he would retire. Through everything Cleopatra held to her resolution. "Whatever happens," she replied to the malcontents, "nothing shall separate me from Antony!"
A secret understanding between them doubtless enabled her to take this stand. In any case she acted with the unquestionable authority of one who supplied the ways and means. It was her unlimited wealth that paid the expenses of the campaign. It was her fleet of two hundred brave ships, well-armed and equipped, that prevented the enemy's attack in the Mediterranean. Whatever was behind it, her decision prevailed, and in the first days of spring, on board the galley Antoniad, which was decorated as for a fête, the enamoured pair embarked for the final stage of their destiny.