For several days the opposing armies had faced each other. Both sides hesitated. Confident in the equipment of Agrippa's fleet, Octavius wanted to force his enemy to a sea battle. Perplexed, uncertain, Antony could come to no decision. The sea was a new element for his war spirit; he had never won a victory on it, and his officers insisted that he should choose solid ground, the ground of Macedonia, rich in glorious memories.
The other influence, however, carried the day, for Cleopatra had so willed it. She knew that the results of a naval battle are rarely decisive and, in any event, retreat would be easier. It is not certain that she really preferred retreat to victory. Its results were hazardous, but the precautions taken showed that she was expecting it. If she did not, why had she arranged those relays between Greece and Egypt, why had she sent to places of safety the ships laden with gold and precious stones from which she was never separated? And why, above all, had she, on the very eve of battle, had the sails rolled up at the foot of the masts like sleeping sorceresses who would know how to wake themselves when the order for flight rang out? Thus all had been foreseen, prepared, made ready. She had only to be sure of that most uncertain and fragile of all things: the heart of a man.
The tie which bound Antony to his mistress, the fleshly bond that habit had, day by day, made stronger, was of the kind that rarely breaks. She had often had occasion to try its strength. In those latter days, especially, the necessity of having her beloved presence continually near him had become almost an obsession. The more uneasy and anxious he felt, the greater was his need of her. Nevertheless, Cleopatra was alarmed. It was never possible to know where the intoxication of victory, or the despair of a lost cause, might drag a leader. She knew that his will bent so easily that sometimes the giant became like a little child.
The night before the decisive day, the last day of August, which seemed in its splendour to have concentrated all the sunlight of the summer, the lovers spent the evening on board the Antoniad. Around them the brass-bound ships of the Egyptian squadron, like floating citadels with their stone towers, swung at anchor. Countless stars pricked the dark blue tent of night above them. For an endless moment they stood without exchanging a word. They heard the waves lapping against the side of the boat. It was a continuous sound, prolonged indefinitely, which seemed to express their thoughts before they had time to put them into words.
Antony sighed: "What will to-morrow bring forth?"
"Whatever happens, we have the invincible strength of being together."
Instinctively they grasped each other's hands in the darkness.
"Yes, our destinies are for ever bound together," Antony replied. Then, after a moment's hesitation: "If any disaster should occur, if either of us should ... the projectiles will rain down..."
She had imagined many possible calamities, but not that a chance blow might kill her lover. At the suggestion, she shivered.
"Antony, my beloved, do you not know that I could not live without you? I have guarded against that horror. If you die, this dagger, hidden in my girdle, will quickly put an end to me!"