[u][center][b]New Blood[/b][/center][/u]

The trip from Sicily to Rome was a short and plain affair. 

No pirates occupied the main shipping routes in times of war; it was a wholly unwise business to persue. Nor did the Carthaginian navy, as timid as it was, try to bar the way of Rome's newest legion as it sailed across the calm waters. 

Legatus Toxilus Maecenus, of Vulci, was a sombre man with sombre intent. He had served Rome for most of his adult life, though until now he was a mere Etruscan - a forced ally of the notorious Republic. Dozens of men had died at his hand in that time, and thousands more as a direct result of his commands issued on the field of battle. Illyrian, Greek, Iberian, Gaul and Libyan had shed their lifeblood before him. His name was sung from house to square in his home city of Vulci, but in the wider Republic of which he now belonged, no one knew him. 

As his meagre vessel approached the coast of Italy, and he took in its lush splendour for perhaps the hundredth time, he wondered if anyone ever would.

[u][center][b]Legio XVI Etruscorum[/b][/center][/u]

"Hold, push, lunge!" Toxilus yelled, scorning his trembling hoplites with his customary passion for battlefield perfection. "Again," he spat, obviously dissatisfied with a warrior on the far left of the formation who could be seen visibly stumbling. 

The training session had reached its eighth hour, and the best of Toxilus' warriors were showing their fatigue. The hoplites were his elite; his rock in any battle. Whether fighting as a rearguard to the Alae's retreat, or guarding the flanks from mounted assaults, they were an essential component. It was okay back then, for these hardened and bloody minded men to show weakness; to lose heart and strength. 

Why bleed for the Romans? Some would ask. Why risk more than we need to give? Others would say. Retreat in the face of a superior enemy was not dishonour, it was reasonable. 

That mentality had become redundant two weeks ago. Toxilus had started the year at the head of Vulci's Alae, and though Summer had only started to break the clouds, he now commanded a [i]Legion[/i]. 

"Call yourselves Romans," Toxilus barked, as the phalanx once again carried itself through the motions in a clumsy demeanour. "I should have the lot of you nailed to the vinyards. Maybe then your blood would at least sweeten something." 

"I aint no Roman," someone shouted, deep within the phalanx's rear. 

Toxilus was slow to anger. He shouted much, this was true, and beat men with a club when he felt it would serve a purpose - but real anger was something hard to coax from him. The owner of the dissenting words had managed it, and then some. 

"Ten decussis to the man who kills that ungrateful cur," roared Toxilus, storming forwards so that he might see the impending carnage. 

There was some hesitation in the phalanx, as spears wavered and plumbed helms looked this way and that. For a moment, Toxilus felt a pang of defeat, and was momentarily terrified that his men were rife in mutiny. 

Then someone screamed, and a brief orchestra of wet stabbing sounds relieved him. The phalanx turned in on itself, and the men jeered as they used their short swords to butcher the unfortunate fool. It was unwise to go against your commanding officer, whether you were Roman, Gaul or Greek. It was even more unwise to go against him, when you were alone in your mischief. 

Toxilus pulled a small bag of bronze coin from his waist and threw it at his men. It exploded on a hefty round shield, causing a glittery rain to briefly drench them. 

"Enough, for today," the Legate sneered. He turned to his attending Optio, an old friend by the name of Larth. "Dismiss them, but withhold the oxen. My men wont eat real meat until they stop being so stupid." 

Larth, with his shaved head and scarred face, gave a wheezing chuckle. "Begging your pardon, Legatus. Don't you think that you're going too hard on your men? They're new to this type of drilling."

Anyone else, and Larth would have been the second man Toxilus ordered dead that day. "Our Roman brothers, though levy-based as we, seem much more capable. They move like water, and their shield walls are beyond reproach. We, new as we are to their blood, are but hungry peasants with itchy arses. I will not have myself shamed before Consul Cornelius Cossus Argentus because of their inability to find the iron in their bodies."

"The Romans have fought this way for many years, Legatus. Give our men time, they'll come around." Larth said, smiling with broken teeth. 

"With Carthage four days march," spat Toxilus, as he pointed northwards, beyond the hills of Rome. "We do not have time." 

Larth sighed, and nodded. He knew when his words were useless. 

"Enough, captai- Optio. I will retire, for the Consul wishes to see me," Toxilus said, his anger suddenly replaced by shaken nerves.

"Is that so?" Larth asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

Toxilus nodded. "No doubt he wishes to issue my orders, and perhaps to get a glimpse of who I am."

Larth stifled a laugh, "Do not fret Legatus, you'll fit right in with his ilk." 

"Careful, old friend," Toxilus hissed; his large bark coloured eyes beaming from a mountain of sun bleached beard. 

Larth bowed slightly, and backed away to dismiss the phalanx.