Three days had passed since Dagonet had watched the Woad woman dragged away, and he rode at the end of a group of knights and squires, riding at a slow canter along the tree line of the Woads forests, a few miles north of the wall. Arthur periodically took the knights north of the wall to do a reconnaissance of the surrounding area. The Woads usually left the knights well alone on these trips, as long as they did not enter the woods, and so Arthur let some of the grooms come with them to exercise the horses, which were bored from the winter's confinement.
Dagonet rode cautiously, for although he knew the Woads would be unlikely to attack them, something told him to be wary this day. The knights rode in silence, or occasionally talking to each other, and the squires chattered away, happy and excited to be north of the wall.
As Dagonet stared into the darkness of the trees his mind wandered to the Woad girl he had taken. Since he had seen her dragged away by two Roman soldiers, his mind would not let her alone.
He was angry with her, because she made him feel guilty. Guilty that he had captured her and forced her to go through the ordeal she was no doubt going through now. He might have left her, pretended she was dead, and she would have been rescued and cared for by her own people. She was a woman, and women had no place in war, in Dagonet's mind. He was also angry that she would not just tell them what she knew, and be released, and had instead decided to be stubborn, and to plague Dagonet with guilt.
He half-growled to himself, startling the young groom in front of him who was scared of the grim-faced knight. Damn her! Why couldn't she leave him alone? Why was she haunting him so?
Suddenly, Dagonet was brought back to earth with a jolt as one of the grooms who rode in front of him veered sharply off onto a barely discernable track through the trees. Dagonet bellowed for Arthur, and in moments his leader was by his side.
"The spy," Arthur said angrily, realising what Dagonet had known moments earlier. The spy was the groom who had ridden off, knowing he would be safe in the shelter of the forest. He must have been frightened that Adara would talk, and had therefore taken his chance to escape before Arthur could find him out.
"The girl," Dagonet said to Arthur quietly, and the Roman looked at him for a moment, understanding what he meant.
"Get her," he told Dagonet. "Look after her until I get back."
"How long?" Dagonet shouted back, even as he was wheeling his horse away from the party of angry knights and bemused squires.
"Dawn tomorrow," Arthur told him, and Dagonet heard him as he urged his horse forwards into a fast gallop south.
Somehow, to Dagonet, it seemed as if everything rested on his ability to get to the Woad quickly, to stop her pain and get her to safety. It was as if he had been given a chance to repay her, and lessen the guilt that weighed down on him. And so he rode like a fury, urging his sweating horse ever faster, to get to the Woad woman with the luminous eyes, and the proud and yet terrified look.
Adara was crouched in a corner of the cell she had been thrown in, shivering from the cold. She didn't know if it was day or night, and she no longer cared. To her it felt as if years had passed in this damp, dark cell, and now nothing more mattered than resisting the next bout of pain.
She was mildly content at the moment, for although it was cold, and damp, and her body was wracked with pain, she was alone, and no more pain would be coming to her until the door opened once more.
Her fingers were broken and dislocated, her arm was broken, her body was bruised and her face and lips bleeding. She had a deep cut on her shoulder, and her wrists were bruised almost black by the sharp bonds that had held her while they slowly broke her fingers.
But she had not spoken, she thought with a stab of pride. She had not told them what they wanted to know, and for now her brother was safe. She couldn't guarantee that she would never speak, for she did not know what new ways of torturing her they would think of, but every moment of her silence brought him more time.
Adara was in a half-doze when she heard angry voices outside, and she mentally steeled herself for what was to come. The voices grew louder and angrier, and she heard the dull thud of a fist hitting flesh, and a moment late the door was smashed in, and splinters burst onto the floor.
Adara lifted her head, blinking from the bright light, and for a moment it seemed as if a saviour stood there. A tall, grim man with an angry face and a raised axe. It was Dagonet, and Adara felt relief flood through her though she did not know why.