"To confess, I had hoped for prideful reasons that my maneuver on the Rhone would have convinced Hannibal I was no mere politican in the vestments of a soldier, but it appears he insists on underestimating me, to Rome's benefit." Argentus narrowed his keen eyes as he mused. "Skill, I will not deny, Carthage has in abundance in Hannibal particularly. That Alpine crossing required superhuman generalship, and his men have such resolute confidence in him that even tired from a march that would make Xenophon faint that he beat Sempronius with ease. I will freely admit that if war were an even, intellectual contest, Hannibal would best me every time. But men are the canvas on which to display that martial skill, and Hannibal is wasting no small quantity of the few Cisalpine soldiers he has on the wager that we will remain stationary and wait for the Veneti to meander their way to us, allowing him to execute whatever brilliancy he has planned. Maybe he's right, but let's see if we can't prove him wrong."

Argentus bent his six foot frame and leaned on the table, studying the terrain carefully. "Doubtless he has told them to march with leisure. We shall fall upon them like a tidal wave and crush them against the Aegis of the Roman Legion, and then proceed west to pressure Hannibal back to the relative safety of Gallia Cisalpina."

He straightened once again, mindful to avoid a tent crossbeam. From a small bag, he withdrew an epistle from Imperator Pictor and read it aloud. When he finished, he folded it and gently tossed it on the table.

"Well, Toxilius, what do you think we ought do after we resolve the Veneti? Give me your appraisal of our situation."