Chapter Four: Choices
Adara sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. She had been waiting for hours: unable to sleep, or even to think for the weight of the fear building up on her. What did they want with her? Why didn't they hurry up and get it over with? She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, waiting, waiting and speculating.
Adara did not know how long she had been there when she finally heard footsteps outside. She trembled slightly, then breathed deeply and let herself disappear under waves of numbness. Whatever happened, whatever came when that door opened, she was not going to be afraid.
Artorius Castus, leader of the legendary Sarmatian knights that plagued the Woads entered, followed by a man Adara recognised. She had fought the knights for ten years, and seen them in battle many times, but this was one of the men who had ridden across the plain, screaming a wild battle-cry, his axe aloft. This was the man who had taken Adara from the field of the dead, who had carried her south, and who had brought her to Arthur.
"My name is Arthur Castus," Arthur spoke. "This is Dagonet."
The two men walked into the room and closed the door behind them. Adara shivered uncontrollably.
"You have two choices," Arthur spoke in a brusque voice, through it was not unkind.
Adara did not answer, but simply studied the two men, weighing up the possibilities. Dagonet had deep, sunken eyes and short dark hair. An old scar was traced along his left cheekbone, and his expression was grim.
Arthur looked a Roman through and through: he had chiselled features, dark hair and eyes, and olive skin. He wore the dress of a Roman officer, whereas Dagonet dressed as all the Sarmatians did: in the clothes of their homeland, as far from the Romans as possible.
"The first choice," Arthur spoke, "is to tell us what we need to know. Then you will be returned to your people: unharmed."
"And the second?" Adara asked fearfully.
"You refuse to tell us what we want to know," Arthur's voice was ominous.
"And then you return me to my people?" Adara could not help but add, and although she saw the ghost of a smile on Dagonet's face, Arthur remained as grim as ever.
"And then we…" he paused, "…encourage you to talk."
Adara shuddered. "Why do you think I would know anything?" she protested. "I'm just a woman, why would I know anything useful to you?" she met Dagonet's eyes as she spoke, and with a shock, realised that he knew exactly what she was. She held her breath, waiting for him to tell his leader she was a Daughter of Merlin, but he said nothing.
"Think about it, Woad," Arthur's voice was harsh. "Think hard."
That afternoon, the knights sat around the round table with Arthur.
"Have you spoken to the Woad?" Bors asked Arthur when they were settled.
"She claims not to know anything," he answered evenly.
"And yet she speaks Roman!" The tall, handsome man by the name of Lancelot marvelled mockingly.
Bors looked around in surprise. "Of course she'll know things! She'll know anything you want to know," he looked at Arthur in puzzlement. "You know she is one of the Daughters of Merlin, don't you?"
Arthur looked up sharply. "How do you know?"
"Merlin's brand," Dagonet told them, as usual, using as few words as possible.
Arthur sat in contemplation for a moment, before turning to one of the servants standing at the edge of the room.
"Bring her here," he demanded. "We'll let her make her choice."