Cicero saw his delay had not gone unnoticed. He spoke quickly to cover the lapse. “I speak for the good of Rome, Pompey, can you deny it? I have waited here for you to win this war, but you have not managed to meet the enemy. These are not the ‘setbacks’ of a campaign that Suetonius mentioned. You have killed more of your own men for mutiny than Caesar has managed. Morale is low and you threw away the single chance you had to attack with Labienus.” He took a deep breath, knowing he was making a dangerous choice. “How many more will you shrink from taking?”

“There it is, at last,” Pompey said.

He grimaced suddenly and looked down at his hands. Cicero felt a rush of hope that the pain would be revealed to the others. Let him collapse or cry out and it would all be over.

Pompey raised his head slowly, his eyes glittering.

“You dare to suggest I have lost my courage, Cicero? Is that what has begun this personal attack? I have built walls to protect a city that was taken once by Caesar. I have sought him out in the field and, yes, he eluded me.” Pain prevented him from speaking for a moment and he waited for it to pass.

“You have twice the men and four times the cavalry,” Cicero interrupted. “In better times you would have carried the day by now. Only your illness—”

“My illness, as you call it, is nothing more than a griping stomach controlled by drafts of chalk and milk,” Pompey snapped. “I will not stand here and have you question me in this way.”

“Your Dictatorship—” Cicero tried again.

“Enough!” Pompey roared at him. “Very well, if you want to see war, I will give it to you! I will take my army out and force an end to this. Is that what you want to hear? I will crush Caesar and bring back his head, or I will die. That is my word. Vote to continue my Dictatorship or not, as you please. By the time it passes, I will be in the field.”

Cicero paled as the bulk of the Senate cheered the announcement. Of all things, he had not meant to sting Pompey into being so rash. The last thing he wanted was an outright confrontation.

“For the good of Rome . . .” he called, but he was ignored.

The Senate rose to their feet. Pompey accepted their approval with a last poisonous glare at Cicero and descended the rostrum, making his way out. Suetonius and the other tribunes fell in behind him and Cicero was left to sink slowly into his seat, staring at nothing.