In spite of all the precautions for secrecy, Octavius soon learned what had happened at Antioch. His resentment was keen, for in addition to the insult to his sister, which reflected on himself, he could not accept calmly an alliance that added a crown to his colleague's glory. Would Antony, this lucky adventurer, succeed in his invasion of Parthia? To Greece, Egypt, and Asia Minor, his rightful share as one of the Triumvirate, would he annex Armenia as well? And Persia? All that fabulously rich Orient, on which Alexander had built his matchless fame? Where would his power end? What pinnacle would he leave unscathed? A wave of hatred surged up in Octavius's heart. Knowing, however, that the hour had not yet come to unmask his real sentiments, he pretended to ignore the matrimonial complications of Octavia's treacherous husband. When he and Antony were together his attitude was friendly, ostentatiously fraternal. He even begged the gods to favour the expedition which he was hoping to see fail, and by pious libations he made every pretence of kindly feeling, hiding his personal grievances. He made the mistake, however, of criticizing his brother-in-law's habit of life. This remonstrance, coming from a man whose recent marriage, preceded by adultery and rape, had scandalized all decent people, was naturally ridiculous. It brought a return thrust from Antony, which, though cynical, was not lacking in force and wit. "Of what are you accusing me?" he wrote from Alexandria, whither he had gone to visit Cleopatra, in the brief interval between two battles. "My relations with the Queen are not new. You know very well that I have been her lover for the past nine years! As for you! have you ever been faithful to one woman? I wager by the time that this letter reaches you your Livia will have had cause for complaint, and that you have already quarrelled with Tertulia, Terentella, or Rufilla, probably all three of them. If a man serves the gods and his country, what matter with whom he takes his pleasures?" Antony was in no hurry to raise his mask of secrecy and announce his imitation marriage. He wanted to wait until after his second campaign into Persia--from which he looked for happier results than the first had given him--before risking the inevitable reproaches and disturbances that might involve more than the family relation. Clad in the armour of victory he would have nothing to fear. He therefore tore himself from the tender arms that held him and returned to the field of battle.