Cato was easy to recognise by his bulk, though Julius didn’t remember seeing him on his only other visit to the Senate house, years before. The senator was obscenely large and his features almost seemed to have been smothered in the billowing folds of flesh, so that the real man looked out from somewhere deep within the face. He had a coterie of friends and supporters around him, and Julius could see from the deference shown that he was a man of influence, even as Crassus had warned. Suetonius’s father was there and their eyes met momentarily before the older man looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen. A moment later the man whispered something in Cato’s ear, and Julius found himself the subject of a stare that seemed amused rather than worried. With an impassive expression, Julius marked the man in his mind as an enemy. He noted with interest the way Cato’s eyes flickered to fasten on Pompey as he entered and took a seat his own supporters had held for him.

Julius too watched Pompey, judging the changes in the man. The tendency toward softness of flesh had gone from Pompey’s figure. He looked trim and hard-muscled as a soldier should, a greyhound compared to Cato. His skin was burned dark and Julius remembered he had spent time in Spain overseeing the legions there. No doubt the task of dealing with the rebellious tribes of the provinces had melted the fat from him.

Pompey rose smoothly for the first item and spoke on the need for a force to be sent against the sea pirates, estimating they had a thousand ships and two thousand villages and towns in their control. Given his own bitter experiences, Julius listened with interest, a little shocked that the situation had been allowed to get so far out of hand. He was amazed when others stood to refute Pompey’s figures and argue against stretching their forces further.

“I could clear the seas in forty days if I had ships and men,” Pompey snapped in return, but the vote passed against him and he took his seat again, his brows knotted in frustration.