12 Chapter 12

Upstaging his work at Nipton was no small feat, but Vulpes didn't really need to upstage his accomplishments at Nipton. He just needed to continue his tactic of NCR demoralization. The profligates didn't require some grandiose scheme like the lottery at Nipton. Simply overtaking a town would do the trick.

But he was Vulpes. Intricate plots were his specialty, and he enjoyed orchestrating the most manipulative situations that would lead the profligates to tear each other apart.

But he had something else in mind for Searchlight.

NCR troops went on regular patrols around the area, and Vulpes along with his Frumentarii tracked them down, engaged them in combat. Toyed with them, really. They weren't the true targets.

It served as the proper distraction. Because then the explosion happened.

It shook the ground with relentless force, spraying toxic radiation throughout the surrounding area. It took the scavenged remnants of a bomb, the NCR's own stockpile of radioactive waste, a brave Frumentarii, and the right amount of encouragement to convince said Frumentarii he was sacrificing himself for the glory of Caesar and the Legion.

Vulpes had kept his face the unreadable mask that it usually was, but he could have scoffed at the idea. Caesar was not worth suicide. The Frumentarii sacrificed was handpicked because he was dispensable, weak of mind. That's why it was so easy to convince him. The Frumentarii as such sustained very little losses in their assault on Searchlight otherwise.

The Frumentarii bomber was instantly killed with the explosion. Nearby Searchlight citizens or NCR troops were immediately killed or transformed into ghouls, and judging from the screams, Vulpes would wager that most of them were already feral.

The NCR dogs fighting them outside of Searchlight almost instantaneously turned heel and ran. Vulpes commanded his legionnaires to let them go. Someone had to be alive to spread the message.

As they met with the other decani and scouted the area, his mind went to his wife, her sleeping form that morning, her half-conscious state of panic. It touched something in him to see her concern.

She wouldn't approve of his work at Searchlight, especially if she cared so much for one slave girl. It begged the question of whether they were even compatible. She wouldn't stand for such heinous crimes.

Not that she was in any position to dispute their marriage or do anything about it. Wife of the Frumentarius was still a woman, a slave without a collar.

Despite such limitations, he knew that she was more than such a lowly position. Caesar even knew this. She was capable of great things. Life in the Legion would not be able to contain her.

What would he do when that moment happened—that clash of unstoppable forces? Death could fell any legionnaire, but it would not hold her. She alone would remain victorious.

So what would he—Vulpes Inculta—do when that time came? She knew nothing of him, and if she happened to remember, she would only be enraged at his twisted transformation. He was smart enough to keep his true thoughts about the Legion hidden from Caesar, but all the same. Vulpes Inculta was the product of Caesar's Legion. Any identity that existed before Vulpes was buried deep in the ashes of Caesar's past victories.

Vulpes was the result of a sharp-witted profligate who had been warped into the most evil man of the Mojave. That's what they called him. Guiltless, remorseless. A force on his own.

He could not hope to tame her and she could not tame him. Two unyielding powers. Vulpes saw only one ending to their cruelly forsaken journey. And that was one of the rare things he could regret.

***

The day came and went. She unsuccessfully kept herself distracted throughout the day, constantly watching the river for their return.

Siri noticed her anxiety. "The Frumentarius always returns."

But Siri mistakenly thought her nervousness stemmed from some misplaced concern. Her thoughts were not of Vulpes's well-being but of some secrets he was clearly hiding. She had to know.

He had recited those words so perfectly. There was no doubt in her mind that the voice from her dream belonged to him, perhaps some past, long-forgotten version of him, but him all the same.

So did that mean—Vulpes Inculta was some past friend or lover of hers that she had no memory of? It would explain his inexplicable intrigue and interest towards her but nothing else of his intensity or the details surrounding her shrouded past.

In her anticipation, she did not sleep. She sat awake and alone on their bed until the watery light of dawn peered over the horizon. Then she left the tent.

She saw in the distance the Cursor Lucullus delivering quite a few men by raft. She knew her husband was among them. Quietly, discreetly, she left for the dock.

Perhaps he expected some warm greeting or reunion with his wife, especially given their particularly intimate previous conversation. But she reserved none of that sweetness for him. Her expression was hard, face set into a frown jilted with suspicion. As the raft neared, she heard other legionnaires sneer behind Vulpes's back at the beating he was sure to receive from his wife.

Vulpes needed only to spare them one glance to silence them all completely.

When the Frumentarii disembarked, Vulpes spared no time and went to his rather cross wife. His own eyes were hard with the challenge brewing in hers. "You did not need to wait for me; I would have joined you in our tent shortly."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

His eyes glinted like diamonds, but it was obvious he did not understand her intent. "I am Vulpes Inculta, your lord husband and Frumentarius to the great Caesar, who is currently expecting me."

She would have been enraged beyond description if he had brushed her off and abandoned her then, deciding upon Caesar over her, but despite his claims to superior responsibilities, he remained even as the other Frumentarii walked past him. But though this touched her, though she was not enraged, she was still angry, and the anger tightened her throat.

"Before Caesar's Legion," she managed with some difficulty. "Do you know who I am?"

Comprehension dawned upon his features, and she could tell there was some recognition there. He looked almost sympathetic. Almost.

He leaned towards her, embracing, one arm around her waist, the other on the back of her neck. His mouth was at her ear, whispering urgently. "I promise, little lamb, we can have this conversation later, in an hour even, but right now I must visit Caesar."

It was enough to subdue her angry shaking, probably his technique to calm his confrontational wife, to save face and embarrassment from witnessing legionnaires. The tenderness once again calculated.

But it was enough. She relaxed in his hold but retorted, "I am not some little lamb."

He gave a laugh at that, releasing her. "You are correct. You are my Phoenix. You are my queen."