Antony arrived from Patrae in a couple of days, together with Cleopatra, who lived with him in the camp. He transported his army from Actium to the northern peninsula—this may have been at the end of April—and built a new camp facing Octavian’s. He was ready and eager for battle.
But Octavian was no longer looking for a fight, for the indispensable and indefatigable Agrippa had captured the island of Leucas, giving him a safe harbor on Antony’s doorstep and making it extremely difficult for supply ships from Egypt—which would already have run the gauntlet up the west coast of Greece—to gain entry to Actium.
This was a terrible blow. Provisions ran very short and Antony had to break the stranglehold. The longer he waited, the stronger Octavian, with safe logistical support from Italy, would become; by the same token, Antony’s position could only deteriorate. He needed to deprive the enemy of water. He took control of the springs in the plain beneath Mikhalitzi without difficulty and sent a strong force of cavalry on the long trek around the Ambracian Gulf to establish itself above the enemy camp and thereby cut off access to the Louros. But Octavian’s able general Titus Statilius Taurus launched a sudden, vigorous counterattack and drove off Antony’s horse. One of the eastern client kings took the opportunity to desert.
As time passed, the health of the soldiery at Actium began to deteriorate. The almost nonexistent tides of the Mediterranean failed to wash away the detritus of a large army and fleet occupying a crowded space with few facilities. During the long, hot summer months an epidemic ravaged Antony’s camp—perhaps dysentery or malaria. Men died and morale fell.
After weeks of squabbling about what to do next, Antony led a determined attempt to break out by land, probably in early August. At the same time his fleet, commanded by Sosius, sailed under cover of a thick mist and routed the small enemy squadron that was blockading the exit from the straits of Actium. The plan was probably for Sosius to meet up with Antony and his land forces at some convenient point on the coast.
Unfortunately for Antony, by pure chance Agrippa arrived on the scene with the rest of the fleet and drove Sosius back into harbor. Antony then engineered another cavalry engagement (perhaps by attacking Octavian’s water supply again), but was repulsed. This precipitated the defection of King Amyntas of Galatia with two thousand cavalry.
Loyalty everywhere decayed. Client kings and Roman senators alike followed in Amyntas’ footsteps, slipping away to the camp on the hill at Mikhalitzi. The most wounding betrayal was that of Domitius Ahenobarbus. Suffering from a fever (doubtless he was infected by the sickness raging at Actium), he put out in a small boat and sailed the few miles north to the bay of Comaros. According to Plutarch, “Antony, although he was deeply grieved by his friend’s desertion, sent not only his baggage but all his friends and servants after him, whereupon Domitius died almost immediately, as if he longed to repent as soon as his treachery and disloyalty became public knowledge.”
Antony’s magnanimity was short-lived, however; as usual when rattled, he grew cruel. He caught two distinguished deserters and, pour encourager les autres, awarded them unpleasant deaths. An Arabian client king was tortured before execution and a hapless senator was tied to horses and pulled apart.
Despite these displays of self-indulgence, Antony understood that something had to be done, and soon, if disaster was to be averted. He withdrew his troops from the northern promontory back to Actium and called a council of war.
Looking down from his camp, Octavian saw smoke billowing up from the anchorage where the Actium channel turned left and then right before entering the Ambracian Gulf. There Antony’s fleet was based. Flames were consuming the smaller galleys and all the transports.
It was obvious what was happening. Antony was preparing for an engagement of some kind. He did not have enough oarsmen to man the entire fleet, and, so that they might not fall into the hands of the enemy, was destroying the ships he could not use. It looked as if the final encounter was approaching.
A deserter named Dellius (the man who had advised Cleopatra on how to attract Antony) gave Octavian a full account of the enemy’s intentions: Antony meant to attempt a breakout by sea. This was not a stupid decision. Taking a demoralized army through the steep passes of the Pindos mountains would be no easy task, whereas it was a reasonable bet that a good part of the fleet would escape, manned with the pick of Antony’s legionaries. They could join the eleven or twelve legions in Egypt and Cyrenaica, and live to fight another day. So it might be hoped.
The question facing Octavian—or, more precisely, Agrippa—was how to react. In a sense, the issue was largely moot. What was about to happen might look and sound like a battle, but in truth (they told themselves) the war’s outcome had already been decided. Most people now knew this, and were acting accordingly; hence the avalanche of high-level desertions. Whether Antony and Cleopatra made their getaway mattered little; to catch and kill them on the spot would save time, that was all.
History does not record exactly what Octavian and Agrippa planned to do, but we can make a good guess from the facts of the situation and what we know actually took place. They lost no time deciding that if Antony offered battle at or near the mouth of the Actium strait, they would hold back. This was for the obvious reason that they would lose the advantage of numerical superiority if they fought in confined waters.
Octavian and Agrippa agreed not to let Antony’s fleet through the blockade without opposition; it might be difficult to catch up with the fleet, and its escape scot-free would give Antony the initiative and have a damaging impact on opinion among the armed forces and in Italy. But if they waited in the open seas, sooner or later Antony would be forced to come out and meet them on waters of their choosing. When that happened, they would try to outflank him in the north (the obstacle of Leucas prevented that maneuver in the south). They would then either surround his smaller fleet, or force him to elongate and thin his line of ships, which would make it easier for their galleys to surround individual enemy ships and pick them off.
The balance of forces at sea decidedly favored Octavian. Although Antony’s fleet had numbered about five hundred when it mustered at Ephesus, it is unlikely that he now had enough rowing crews for more than 230 ships, and he may have been able to man far fewer; whereas Octavian disposed of more than four hundred ships. Antony’s galleys were larger than Octavian’s and had more oarsmen, but they were probably no less maneuverable; this, of course, was in his favor.
Antony was forced to delay whatever move he planned, for on August 29 the fine weather broke. Four days of storm followed, and inactivity. On September 2, the weather cleared and the morning came up blue and sunny. The fleets took to the water.
Agrippa, to whom Octavian had wisely delegated tactical command, loaded eight legions and five praetorian cohorts onto his ships (that is, about forty thousand men, approximately ninety per galley), which he deployed about one mile off the headlands Parginosuala and Scylla, which marked the entry into the Actium narrows. There Agrippa waited to see what the enemy would do.
Antony divided his fleet, which was carrying twenty thousand legionaries and some archers, into four squadrons. One of these was Cleopatra’s, with sixty ships in total, including some merchantmen. The queen herself was on her flagship, the Antonias, together with vast quantities of gold and silver coin, ingots, and other valuables. The personal safety of the queen was important, of course, but it was absolutely essential that the war chest did not find its way to Octavian or to the bottom of the sea.