Another Hostis nugget, in which Scipio demonstrates the art of annoying twinkery

“What,” said Laelius, “did our bosom friend do something?”

“Oh, you know. He’s sucking up to Fabius. Riveted to him like a second wart.” Scipio put his chin in the air and stuffed his hair behind his ears. “I’m Marcus Porcius Cato! I’m eighty years old! I deserve to be made tribune because I’ve never smiled, farted, or worn nice things in my life!”

Laelius flung his horse blanket across his shoulders like a toga. “I’ll have you know,” he said, “Marcus Porcius Cato is as pure as a Vestal. He abhors wine-bibbing, brothels and barbers—”

“—and fops—”

“—and he’s too busy for all that bullshit. He’s appointed himself Fabius’ official ass-scratcher.”

Scipio snatched up a blanket of his own. The other officers were howling with laughter. “How dare you imply such a thing about Marcus Porcius Cato?”

“What, do you think Fabius scratches his own ass?”

“Ass-scratching,” Scipio roared, “is perfidy worse than Punic!”

They were running around the quad in horserags, threatening to take each other to court for breathing and shaving and picking their noses, when the tent flap swept open and Fabius came out.

Hostis Chapter 3, “The Dictator”