III.

Naturally, Caesar did not summon him that day, and Titus did not stray from Arcade's side even when shouts and battle cries rose throughout the camp. Arcade liked to hope that Jacob hadn't done something stupid like attempt to escape, but torture at Julius' hands was just the thing that would have pushed him over the edge. "Do I hear battle outside?" he asked, though he knew full well what he heard. When Titus nodded, he pressed on, "Maybe I can reason with the prisoners. They'll listen to me. I can convince them to stop."

"That would be pointless," said Titus, unusually straightforward. "The prisoners have no chance of winning. They will die. Why should you interfere?"

"So they don't die, dammit! What's the obsession with seeing everyone dead, anyway?"

"Arcade." The warning was clear, so he shut up before he could say something that he'd permanently regret, but he couldn't shut out the noises of the combat outside his tent. They died down eventually, and as before, he could only hear the desolate wind raging through the camp.

Late in the day, the slave he recognized as Cara arrived at the tent with their dinner. Before anyone else had the chance to speak, Arcade demanded, "What happened earlier?"

"Prisoner escape," muttered Cara, eyes fixed on the ground, even though she and Arcade were both sitting. "They tried, anyway."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that they succeeded?"

"They didn't get far. Killed a single soldier before they all ended up dead. That's what happens when you try to escape the Legion," she added, so that Titus would not order them to stop the conversation.

"Killed a soldier, you say? I'm heartbroken." As expected, Titus didn't pick up on the sarcasm. "Know his name, by any chance?"

"Decanus Julius. One of the bravest soldiers. The centurions mourn his loss."

"As do I." Arcade couldn't hold back the grin on his face, and it was all he could do not to get on his knees and thank every higher power in every religion he knew of. "In fact, I'm so distressed, I can barely eat. Finish this for me, will you?"

In all the times he'd offered food to slaves, they always reacted the same way, faces lighting up in silent gratitude. Cara was no exception, and accepted even as Titus began to protest. "You should not waste food on the female slaves. Give it to the dogs; at least they fight."

At the news of Julius' death, Arcade was cheerful enough to explain with more patience than usual. "Since it's unlikely you'll respond if I argue this on a moral level, think of it as more practical for the animals. Human sustenance can upset a dog's stomach, especially nutrients as rich as this…iguana." Having no experience with treating animals, Arcade had no idea if this was true. But, more importantly, neither did Titus. "Besides, a well-fed slave can perform more efficiently, and with higher morale."

As Arcade expected, Titus inclined his head to one side as he considered Arcade's words. "I see why Caesar likes to argue with you."

Despite the relief at Julius' death, Arcade already missed the NCR troops. Conversing with someone who wasn't insane had been a rare pleasure. It was probably better for them, though, to die by the sword, certainly better than if they'd cooperated with Caesar and then been crucified for their trouble. Caesar had to be fuming, though. "Did you know him?" Arcade said to Cara. "Julius, I mean."

A scowl darkened her features, and she bowed her head so that Titus wouldn't notice. "Yes."

As another legionnaire approached the tent, she bent to sweep up the remainder of the food, and vanished from the tent in a matter of seconds. That, no doubt, was an essential skill among the Legion slaves. "Caesar summons you at once."

"Great. I was beginning to miss—" He cut off as the soldier yanked on his wrist so that he stumbled forward. His cheeks burned with the knowledge that Caesar's men led him around like one of the dogs, and though it wasn't the first time, he'd never quite grown to stomach how much it pleased them to do so. None of the surrounding legionnaires so much as cracked a smile this time, though, and that alarmed Arcade more than anything else. Whatever Caesar wants, it must be related to the NCR troops.

As expected, Caesar didn't look pleased. At the sight of Arcade, Caesar pursed his lips and stared at him before his gaze flickered up to Lucius. "Get the slave on his knees." Without thinking, Arcade struggled to keep his legs straight as Lucius pushed him down. He regretted it at once, joints aching as his knees slammed into the ground. Jabbing a finger in Arcade's face, Caesar demanded, "Now, why don't you tell me what the hell just happened? You have exactly one minute to convince me that you didn't have anything to do with what those prisoners tried to pull, or I swear you'll fucking beg to hang on those crosses by the time we're done with you."

Well, when you put it that way…. "You know I'm not stupid, Caesar—"

"Kai-zar," hissed Lucius, and Arcade cursed inwardly.

"It would be foolish, Kai-zar, to even think that they had a chance. They were in no condition to go anywhere, and I told them so. Their leader inquired about his odds, and I replied that he would be killed at once. Moreover, I told you—" Mind racing, Arcade revised his words. "I advised you not to have anyone attempt to torture them for the information for that reason. They were desperate men, and desperate men act without considering the consequences."

Sitting back in his throne, Caesar ground his teeth together as he considered Arcade's defense. "Even so, you failed to retrieve the information. You wasted valuable time and medical supplies—"

"Actually, the men admitted that they knew nothing of their companions' whereabouts. After I saved their leader's life, they trusted me; they wouldn't have lied. When Julius showed up to torture them, they became even more anxious to escape, because they had already surrendered what little information they did have." The Followers generally disapproved of lying, and Arcade shared the sentiment, but deceiving Caesar to save his skin was another issue entirely.

"You expect me to believe that? Well, you had better fucking pray that none of my scouts locate any NCR troops within a hundred mile radius of this place. I don't need to come up with any more threats; you know what will happen if I find out you've lied to me." Leaning forward again, Caesar added, "Go wash up. Legatus Lanius arrives tonight, and there will be a feast in his honor. I want you there."

As Titus led Arcade to the baths, he concentrated on his breathing, and taking steady breaths in and out. That brush with death, or worse, was the last of Caesar's anger that he ever wanted to see. If not for his naturally pale complexion, Caesar would have recognized the lie right away when the blood drained from Arcade's face. Seeing Lanius would be enough punishment, anyway, even if Caesar hadn't intended it so.

The baths, were blessedly far from the rest of the Fort, more to provide space than privacy. Built some time after the victory at Hoover Dam, the baths resembled those of ancient Rome that Arcade remembered from pre-war history books. He hadn't seen them until Titus brought him there that day, but Caesar had consulted Arcade while planning the construction, and Arcade observed that Caesar had followed his instructions quite closely. Columns stretched up to create a ceiling of stone, and the bath contained hundreds of gallons of water, though Arcade doubted that it was entirely pure. Still, it sparkled like an artificial ocean, with slaves posted day and night to bathe any soldiers that approached them. As Arcade ran a hand through the grease and dirt of his hair, he realized just how much he longed to be clean again. Even a change of clothes was a welcome surprise whenever he received one, but for a slave like himself to use the Legion baths had been unthinkable.

Unfortunately, Caesar also preserved the custom of public bathing, a punishment almost equal to dining with Legate Lanius. As Arcade pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it where he had left his shoes, a soldier had already started to snicker.

Mortified, Arcade turned around to remove the rest of his clothes, knowing full well that he couldn't hide for long. Every man at the Fort endured intense training that Arcade had never faced, and though he possessed a naturally athletic build, his appetite had shrunk considerably in his service to Caesar. He never finished everything on his plate, and his body had suffered for it, cheeks sunken and muscles slack from the lack of exercise. It had been months since his days of gallivanting around the Mojave with Mark, and the sun's rays rarely reached his skin with him confined to a tent for hours every day. Legion men boasted tan complexions and muscles honed from years of training and combat, and next to them, Arcade was a pasty sack of skin and bones.

Titus, at least, waited with folded arms at the edge of the bath and stared at nothing in particular. If nothing else, at least he wouldn't witness the humiliation. Arcade slipped into the bath as fast as he could without drawing attention so that the water might conceal him from the soldiers' notice, but they still smirked at him, and one of them pointed at a female slave. "You look more like her."

The others laughed and added jeers of their own, which Arcade tried to ignore. A retort rose to his lips, but he swallowed it. If he provoked a fight now, Caesar just might kill him. The blonde, blue-eyed woman was slender, and there was no denying that Arcade resembled her more closely than he did the huge, dark-haired soldiers. They weren't ugly, either, with chiseled features and obvious strength. Carefully, Arcade averted his gaze, hoping that they would just assume he was a slave who knew better than to meet their eyes. When he didn't respond to their insults, they turned their attention back to the slaves who scrubbed them down. Face still flushed, Arcade removed his glasses while they weren't looking to eliminate the problem entirely.

He lingered in the bath until the soldiers had cleared out, and only he and the slaves remained. Among them was Cara, whose eyes had widened the moment she saw him, and she approached him as soon as the area was clear. Only Titus stayed, and he was at the other side of the bath, reclining against a column. She knelt at the side of the bath near Arcade and whispered, "What would you say if I told you we could get out of here?"

At the sound of her voice, Arcade blinked in startlement, and groped at the side of the bath for his glasses. When she handed them over, he slid them up his nose and sighed in relief as his sight returned. "I had an inclination that you wouldn't speak so freely in the presence of soldiers, but one can never be too certain. And I wouldn't be surprised if you're asking me this at Caesar's behest. He'd certainly reward a slave who caught another trying to escape."

Her eyes furrowed at the word "behest," although she didn't ask about it. "Caesar doesn't reward female slaves. Anyone gets caught, we're doing our job. If a soldier catches them, though, he'll probably get promoted." Lowering her voice even further so that the other slaves around the bath would not hear, she added, "Most of them have nothing to go back to even if they did leave. But my family's alive, or they were when I was captured. Even if you don't come with me, I'm going."

"Fair enough," said Arcade, "but I fail to see any possible escape. Guards surround me day and night. Wouldn't it improve your odds to travel alone?"

Before he finished, she was shaking her head. "A month from now, they'll have the Festival of Mars. Caesar invites every soldier to a feast, where there is drinking and dancing."

"Ah, Equirria. I had wondered if they would commemorate that antiquated ceremony here. But Caesar will surely require us to serve there, or he'll at least have me attending." He pointed at one of the towels and Cara handed it to him at once. Standing up from the bath to wrap it around his waist, he marveled at the irony of a slave serving another slave. "Unless…unless the drinking and dancing provides our opportunity?"

Lines creased the corners of her eyes as she grinned and clasped her hands together in excitement. "Yes. After dinner, they hold fights in the arena and celebrate the champion. Titus will have to bring you back to your tent because slaves are forbidden to attend. There may be a few other soldiers around to guard the other slaves, but not many, and they won't be happy about missing the main event. They'll be sharing drinks and slaves like me all night. I'll come with you and Titus, and I'll offer him wine that'll put him out in no time. I can mix the powder just right to make these men sleep for hours."

She spoke hurriedly, her words running together, and Arcade paused to collect his thoughts. Now dry, he slid into his new clothes, combing his hair back with his hands. "An audacious plan, but it relies on a few too many variables. What if Caesar wants me to attend at the celebration? It's not likely, but we can't rule out the possibility. Or if even one guard stays at his post, he may notice us and alert the others."

"If Caesar keeps you there, I'll go without you. If guards are out, which they never are, I'll go unless there's no possible way to sneak around them. And then I'll wait for the next one, and try then."

Only one question still nagged at his mind, despite his impatience to agree that the plan was foolproof. "If you're so sure it'll work, why hasn't anyone attempted it before?"

"Only Siri knew the secrets of mixing herbs for the wine, and she was practically raised here. She gave up hope of escape probably before I was born. But a few weeks ago, one of my father's friends, a trader, came through here for the first time, and he told me about the poison. Of course, if I used it on a couple of soldiers any other day, I wouldn't get far. But if Titus is the only soldier around…."

Finally convinced, Arcade smiled. After all, he'd witnessed the speed with which she fled his tent when a soldier appeared. If anything, he would be the one to slow her down. "I'm pleased to admit that I underestimated you."

At that moment, he noticed Titus heading over to them, and raised his voice. "This really is a stunning establishment, especially out in the middle of this Wasteland. Even the baths in New Vegas can't compare. Caesar should be proud."

"Come on," said Titus. "You took more than enough time, and the Legate is not a patient man."

"Truer words were never spoken," Arcade replied. Cheerful at the prospect of Cara's offer, he squared his shoulders and walked at Titus' side rather than behind the soldier. Even with the hope of escape, though, he predicted that the banquet would be a bore and an aggravation at best. At worst, and if he failed to hold his tongue, it was an opportunity to lose his head. Caesar was already on edge after the conflict with the NCR troops, and with Lanius and Arcade at his table, his stress would only be multiplied.

When Arcade entered the tent, a slave pulled back a chair for him to sit down. He felt vaguely odd at being served again by a slave, but didn't dare utter a word. On his right, Caesar sat at one end of the table, and Vulpes Inculta sat at Arcade's left. For the most part, he was surrounded by unrecognizable legionnaires, probably from Lanius' camp. Naturally, Vulpes curved his lips in what might have been intended to be a smirk, but Arcade couldn't be sure as he grimaced in a failed attempt to return the greeting. He wished that Lucius could have sat near him instead, because at least the man was more easily tolerable, but Vulpes provoked him like no other.

The slaves had already provided utensils, and one set a basket of fruit in the middle of the table before pouring two glasses for each attendee, one with water and one with wine. The soldiers thanked Mars before they reached for the fruit, murmuring, "Mars pater te precor quaesoque ut sies volens propitius mihi domo mea…." Arcade recognized the ancient Roman prayer, another one of Caesar's predictable thefts from Cato.

"When did you begin to allow slaves to dine at your table?" asked the Legate.

Vulpes Inculta nodded and said, "I did wonder the same." Suppressing a sigh, Arcade thought, This is going to be a long night.

"You're not looking at an ordinary slave. Gannon oversees the health of every soldier in the Fort," said Caesar, narrowed eyes betraying the casual tone. "Now tell me, Legatus, have your men completed their task at Freeside?"

With a grin that contrasted with the harsh mask he wore, Lanius replied, "We have finally completed the purification of Freeside. The Van Graff family has been terminated, along with the men who called themselves the Kings. There is a chance that some of them may have escaped, but my soldiers pursue them as we speak, and any threat they once posed has been extinguished."

"That's what I like to hear," said Caesar. "And I assume a similar fate has befallen the Followers of the Apocalypse?"

As he spoke the words, he stared at Arcade, whose fingers suddenly tightened around a silver fork.

"They are no more," said the Legate. "They were unable to even provide good sport in combat."

It was inevitable, Arcade told himself. If he hadn't heard it from Lanius, he could have assumed that the Followers would be driven out of Freeside eventually. Still, that didn't make the news any easier to hear, and it did nothing for his anger. "Of course they didn't fight," he broke in. "They're a pacifist organization, dedicated to helping the people of—"

"Slaves should be neither seen nor heard," said Vulpes Inculta. Arcade only remained sitting in his chair because Caesar curled his fist and glared at Arcade.

"I applaud your success, Legatus," said Lucius, and Arcade wished that he could thank the man for changing the subject.

With a nod, Caesar said, "As do I. The Great Khans are still under our control, I trust?"

"Of course. Their men have proven to be excellent slaves, and I have allowed the strongest among them to fight alongside our troops. The women will bear us many fine soldiers." Again, Arcade fought the urge to speak up.

For the remainder of the dinner, Caesar questioned the Legate as to the condition of his camp, and the state of their alliances with other factions. The White Glove Society was eating people again, Arcade noted, and apparently the Legion considered that to be a good thing somehow. Most of the Powder Gangers had either been killed or vanished, and the Brotherhood of Steel had been purged before the Legion had even assumed power in New Vegas. "And I trust that the Boomers remain submissive as ever?"

The Legate's tone darkened, although no one could see his expression under the glaring mask. "While the Boomers formerly displayed perfect obedience, there has been dissent among their ranks. A man named Jack has fled north and plans to assault our camp, but they are far too few in number to pose a danger. If they should attack, we will exterminate them in a matter of hours."

"Somehow, your words provide little comfort when I consider the vast army of explosives at their disposal." Though Caesar carefully steadied his voice, his jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly in what Arcade knew to be a sure sign of his rising temper. "Had I been informed of this disturbance, I never would have called you away from your camp."

"My centurions, August and Octavius, will lead in my absence. It pains me to miss a battle, but these few Boomers will not even provide good sport, pathetic in number as they are."

"You are my finest soldier, Lanius. I trust your judgment." The subject apparently closed, Caesar sipped from a glass of wine for what seemed like nearly a minute before he spoke again. "Tomorrow, before you depart, you will demonstrate your expertise to the youth. All have heard stories of your prowess in battle, but I have heard that many believe the stories to be more legend than truth. Prove them otherwise."

"It would be an honor," said Lanius in his familiar growl, and Arcade forced back a shudder as he considered what such a "demonstration" might entail. Though the younger soldiers grew accustomed to violence at an early age, he still pitied the ones who were not prepared to witness the brutality of the Legate. "Shall I make an example of any among them in the arena?"

At those words, Arcade visibly cringed, a movement that would never have escaped Vulpes' notice. The man's eyes, predictably narrowed, pierced directly at Arcade the instant he stirred. Before Vulpes could speak, Caesar replied, "No, that won't be necessary."

"I believe Gannon has something to add?" said Vulpes, his eyes never shifting from Arcade's.

The doctor summoned every ounce of nerve in him to meet Vulpes' gaze. Possible replies swarmed in Arcade's mind, but he could only force out, "No—nothing."

After the dinner, Caesar dismissed a few of the soldiers, but ordered that Arcade, Vulpes, and Lucius to remain in his tent. As for as Arcade knew, Lucius and Vulpes never left. With the tip of his fingers, Caesar massaged his head, and muttered curses under his breath. "Tell me, Lucius, Vulpes—should I be worried?"

Lucius paced back and forth across the tent, apparently just as troubled by the Legate's report. "Permission to speak freely, Caesar?"

"I wouldn't have asked the damn question if I didn't want an answer."

"Legatus Lanius displayed poor judgment. He should not have omitted that information when you requested his presence here."

"I conur with Lucius," Vulpes said smoothly, as he said everything.

"And what do you think of this turn of events, Arcade?"

Folding his hands in front of him, Arcade said, "The Legate has proven himself a formidable opponent in battle, but his strategic skill will only weaken if he is left to his own devices."

"Hmm. I'll consider your counsel." Caesar rested his head against the back of his throne. Pointing to a stack of books that permanently resided in one corner, he said, "Read one of those. I don't care which." Dark circles and wrinkles surrounded his eyes, pronounced like they had been when he suffered the pains of his tumor.

From Paradise Lost, Arcade read aloud a passage that illustrated the magnificence of Heaven, and he wondered what Caesar thought of the description. After all, the self-proclaimed incarnation of Mars prized only blood and victory in battle, and should have scorned the flowery passages that depicted a state of perfect peace and beauty.

But despite Caesar's unrelenting intelligence and capacity for argument, the constant emergencies of the past few days had sapped every remainder of his strength. As Arcade continued, his stamina improved from prior readings that lasted into the early morning hours, Caesar did not utter a word, but only stared straight ahead and listened. While Arcade read, occasionally tripping over a particularly challenging phrase, he recalled how David had once strummed chords on a harp to soothe King Saul's distress. Though the sound of Arcade's voice could not quite match that beauty, Milton's work was music to his own ears, at least.

Somewhere around the second half of Paradise Lost, Arcade noticed that Lucius and Vulpes had retired for the night. Obviously, they were not half so entranced by the poetry as Caesar. Arcade found himself wondering why Caesar bothered to appreciate the poem at all, especially since he would have certainly mocked any of his soldiers for penning similar writing, if he taught them to write at all. When Caesar's heavy-lidded eyes finally sagged shut as well, Arcade paused for a moment and gingerly pressed the book closed. So hushed that Arcade could barely hear the orders, Caesar murmured, "Did I tell you to stop?"

Amused almost to the point of laughter, Arcade swallowed back a response, and his parched throat stung in return as he flipped to the next page. At the end of the day, Caesar was just another weary soldier that feared the future like any other man, and moreover, he valued classic literature as his only means of escape.

But before understanding could creep its way into Arcade, his eyes drifted to a spot on the floor of the tent where blood had dried, months or even years past. The dull throb of hatred sunk back as his fingers gripping harder around the edges of the book.

UPDATE: Several reviewers have pointed out some glaring inaccuracies in this fanfic. Some things might be more subjective and minor than others, but a few errors are major and render entire plot points implausible. I think that I may have focused so much on certain aspects of the story, like Arcade's character, that I didn't check the cannon as much as I should have. Regardless of the reason, it's impossible to go back and fix everything at this point, and I can't continue writing while knowing that most of my plot is based on mistakes. That's why I've chosen to discontinue this story.