Anchored in the bay of Piræus, Antony was awaiting his brother-in-law's decision. As soon as he got the report from Ahenabarbus he set sail with the two hundred and twenty triremes which were his pride and his strength. Their arrival at Tarentum had a tremendous effect. When Octavius first caught sight of them in the distance, their snowy sails seeming to cover the face of the waters, enveloped in the silvery foam splashed up by the oars, he had the conviction that however numerous and powerful his own future fleet might be, these splendid ships, all new, well equipped, and well armed, would be a most valuable addition to his navy. But he could not foresee that those same ships, those slender craft, would one day turn against Antony and decide the victory of Actium. And Antony, still wrapped in his own illusions, had no power to look so far into the future. In his ardour to begin that famous campaign through which he expected to be the master of the world, he was absorbed in his dreams of the six Gallic legions, made up of expert archers, trained foot-soldiers, strong cavalrymen, that he was to obtain in exchange for part of his fleet. The negotiations were long and complicated, as each side desired to secure the greatest possible benefit from the arrangement and accord a minimum in return. Unaided by the gentle Octavia, who went back and forth bearing the olive branch, it is doubtful if they would ever have come to an understanding. While Agrippa and Mæcenas on one side, and Ahenobarbus and Pollion on the other, discussed, dissected, picked over, one by one, the ships and soldiers that constituted the coin of that terrible market, a plaintive refrain could be heard. "War, more war!" groaned Octavia, "will you transform me from the happiest woman in the world to the most miserable?" And regularly every morning she went to the temple of Vesta, where she lighted at the sacred candelabra as many tapers as there were prayers in her heart. In granting the prayers of the loving sister and faithful wife, the goddess softened the hearts of the two adversaries. Each having weighed the relative advantage that he would gain by certain concessions, they both assumed a grand air of magnanimity. They pretended that neither of them wanted to grieve the one who formed such a close bond between them and that her little hand should disarm them. A new agreement was made, prolonging the Triumvirate for five years. This modern Sabine woman in raising the golden cup to drink to them that evening, might truthfully have said: "I have preserved the peace of the world!" VII THE MARRIAGE AT ANTIOCH