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!" In an ecstasy of almost fanatic ardour he pressed her to his heart. He kissed her hair, her mouth. "I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over again, as though the magic words could save her from harm. "And if I am killed, what will you do?" "Killed! You! But that is not possible. On the _Antoniad_ you will be out of range of the battle!" She looked at him dreamily. "One never knows--we could be separated." He could not imagine anything but death separating them. How could he live without his adored mistress, without her voice, her look? If she had her dagger ready, he had his sword! She diverted him gently to less tragic possibilities. "It is not only my death. One never knows what may happen to divide us." But Antony was too wrought up to consider things calmly. "Wherever you may be I will make a way to join you." "You swear it?" "I swear it!" At last she had gained what she most desired. Let the worst come, they had exchanged vows, and she knew that at her signal her submissive lover would obey. Leave the rest to fate. They listened silently, as though in the hope of catching some sign. Nothing, always nothing but the monotonous lapping of the waves against the keel. The stars began to grow dim. A rosy tint illumined the summit of the Othrys. Stirred by the first September breezes, the points of the great masts seemed to trace mysterious signs upon the sky. Dawn had come and the lovers must part. "Good-bye, my beloved, until this evening," and they turned to their final preparations. An hour later, as Antony was walking on the shore, he saw a centurion approaching, covered with scars. "What can I do for you?" he asked, kindly. "Oh, my Imperator, is it because you scorn us, our swords, our lances, that you are putting faith in those rotten planks?" said the man, pointing to the ships. "For the love of the gods leave the Egyptians and Phoenicians to paddle in water, since that is their vocation, and trust only in us, your old soldiers, who on solid ground will know how to conquer or to die!" More moved than he cared to show, Antony put his hand on the brave soldier's shoulder and went on without reply. It is said that at the very same hour Octavius met a man driving an ass, and asked his name. "Fortune," answered the man, merrily, "and my beast is called Victory." The coincidence is curious. All possible suggestions and explanations have been offered concerning the battle of Actium. Nevertheless this famous day will always be an enigma, and the reason for the defeat will remain, for all time, a mystery.