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She smiled when he complimented her kingdom, as was expected, and gave a slight nod. "You're too kind," she said in way of thanks, folding her hands together in front of her. She could only hope that the wine was as good as his manners, because she was truly sick of having to drink bad wine and then pretend that it was delicious. Which wouldn't be a problem if he were a regular trader, but seeing as he was a noble, regardless of how poor or unimportant, she couldn't exactly spit wine back in his face if it were lousy. ...Not that she would literally do that, of course. That would be rude, not to mention messy.

She followed his lead and moved closer to the table, watching his face as he seemed to be mulling over which bottle to offer her. It wasn't until he actually looked up at her and inquired what she might like that she turned her eyes back to the bottles themselves, her eyes ghosting over the different bottles without any real consideration. "I've always been partial to a good red." She offered, turning her gaze back up at him and wondering if he would have more questions for her. She didn't know much about wine, she had other things to occupy her time, but she might be able to help determine what it was she liked about her wine if he asked more questions.

She cried out in surprise when he turned her attack back on her and somehow she wound up over his shoulder, then she let her breath out in a rush of disappointment. She knew he hadn't meant it when he'd offered her a choice; whatever they had planned for their 'prisoner', he wasn't going to let her go so easily. But she wasn't going to make this easy for him either, and she beat her fists against his back, writhing in an attempt to break free, kicking her legs. When he warned that charging mindlessly would bring her death sooner, she scowled. "Would that not be a more desirable end?" Her voice was quieter than it had been, speaking more to herself than him. Die on the end of a blade, swiftly, rather than see what they had planned for her. Dread tickled her spine even to think on it.

His promise to kill her father did little to discourage her; her father would not return to the villa for at least another day, perhaps more, depending on how his business in the city went. At least she needn't worry about his safety, although the other Romans in the villa, the guards and free men, would not be so lucky. She could hear the sounds of fighting now; the yells of men and the clash of metal, sounds of death and dying carried on the evening air. Her blows seemed to have little effect on him, so she squeezed her eyes shut and murmured a prayer to the Gods; Jupiter and Mars to grant strength to the men fighting above, and Juno to protect her and keep her safe.

Camelot certainly had more than its share of troubles, but they also had more than their share of enemies, so it was unsurprising. Although it seemed that since ascending to the throne, Arthur had been making great strides towards peace, ending old disputes and feuds and pacifying enemies without resorting to warfare. Isadora had to admit, she was impressed with the progress he had made, especially when he had made the unprecedented decision to lift the oppressive ban on magic towards the peaceful druids. She didn't know why he had done it, but she had her own reasons to be glad, although she knew there were those in her own kingdom who didn't share her sentiment. His actions so far made her hopeful about the future of Albion, and it was obvious from the crowd that she was not the only one.

Isadora loved to hear stories. When her mother had gotten sick and couldn't leave her bed, Isadora had stayed inside with her all day, and they had passed the time telling stories, the ones her mother knew and the ones Isadora made up. She was sure none of hers were very impressive, but they had made her mother smile and that was what was important. Being cloistered in the convent after that, there had been little else to do but read when she wasn't attending her lessons, but there was something special about hearing stories from another person, something books just seemed to lack. It was those stories that made her so curious about the world, and since she hardly had the chance to see it for herself, she thrived on listening to them.

She listened intently to his stories of the frozen northern lands, picturing desolate mountains and frostbitten grass, and wondering what the people beyond the five kingdoms were really like, questions she knew he wouldn't be able to answer. She nodded when he asked if she had ever ventured to Mercia. "I have, but only briefly, and only for diplomatic reasons." They had held the summit to determine what was to be done with Escetia after King Cenred's death in Mercia, and she had attended in her father's stead. "What else do the Mercians tell you?" She asked with a smile, wondering what other things he had heard about the strange peoples to the north.

Since her father was out of the villa on business, she was trying to keep on top of everything in his stead. About halfway down the steps, she called out for the foreman. "Aelius?" When she almost reached the bottom and no reply came, her steps grew more tentative, and she heard breathing in the room before her eyes adjusted fully to the single torch, casting flickering shadows; heavy breathing, and that of many men, more than there should be in the small storeroom. She moved her foot back, to go back up the stairs, but she was halted by someone directly behind her. Her body slave, who roughly pushed her forward. She stumbled down the steps, but regained her balance without falling down, only to have calloused hands find her, her gasp of surprise smothered by one of them.

She heard him speak and couldn't help a small whimper of fear, but she doubted anyone heard it. She lashed out with her arms and legs, trying anything to make contact with the man holding her, but even where she did the flesh was hard with muscle, and his grip on her did not slacken. She twisted her head to try and free her head, unwilling to give up just because her captor was obviously stronger than she was.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting in the storeroom, and she watched as the large, armed men filed silently up the stairs to the rest of the villa, and she made an indecipherable noise of rage that may have been a scream if not for the hand stifling the sound. Since that seemed to serve little purpose, she looked around the storeroom, cringing at the sight of the foreman bleeding out across the floor, his blood mingling with the contents of broken wine jars, before she saw what she needed. With his hand clamped over her mouth, she managed to get one hand free, and her hand darted out for the torch sconce on the wall. Fire should make an interesting weapon.

It was a dangerous time to be a Roman. When the fool Batiatus had somehow lost control of his ludus, most had wept for the deceased and rolled their eyes at his incompetence, but they had expected the traitorous slaves to be caught, tortured, and seen to grass within the week. Not only had they managed to elude capture and breed fear in the streets of the city of Capua, but now there was word of villas outside the city being attacked, inhabitants slaughtered and slaves whisked off to join what was slowly turning into a rebellion.

Isadora shivered at the thought, standing on the balcony of her own father's villa, looking out over the vast vineyards that had made them wealthy, and she drew her sheer wrap more closely about her slender shoulders. It was hard to believe that such things were happening so near, out here in the countryside where it seemed like nothing ever happened. Her eyes rested briefly on the small figures working in the fields below, big, strong men, slaves all, with armed guards standing at intervals with sharp swords and heavy trudgeons to dissuade any rebellious thoughts. Her father had increased the number of guards in the vineyard since they'd heard about killings, not wanting their slaves to get any bright ideas.

It was hard to believe the man they had hailed as the bringer of rain, who had apparently brought their fields back to life, now seemed intent on bringing about their doom. And after what they had elevated him to! Ungrateful. Breaking away from her musings, she turned and headed back into the shade of the villa, oblivious to the body slave who followed on her heel, and descended to the storeroom, where a few of the bigger slaves were moving heavy jugs of wine, to await shipment to the city. They ought to be done by now, she thought to herself as she blinked against the fading light, the storeroom was dim and cool, and her feet were uncertain as she glanced around for the foreman who was supposed to be supervising. He should have seen her by now....

He agreed to her casual invitation and Isadora smiled; she always did enjoy entertaining guests. "I hope you do! I'm sure it won't be too much trouble to find some tastes you share with the people of Gwent." She reasoned lightly, the people of Gwent varied widely, particularly in the capital, so she wasn't too worried about finding some way to win the knight over. He seemed an easy going sort, so she imagined that if he gave her kingdom another chance, he'd grow to see how truly wonderful it was in no time.

There were still enough people milling about that Isadora didn't feel uncomfortable in the presence of the knight, even with her dainty hand still enclosed in his. While she was unsurprised by his willingness to share his stories, she was pleased that he was so agreeable to it. Most men didn't mind talking about their adventures, impressing ladies with tales of their harrowing bravery and overwhelming manliness.

She considered for a moment where she should ask him to start; honestly, what difference did it make? She hoped to hear all the tales he was willing to tell her, at least until he was too exhausted to continue any longer or was called away on some chore of knightly importance. So she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and raised her eyebrows, "why don't we start with the north and work our way down from there?" She suggested with a smile.

She was grateful when he didn't pry into her lack of company, smiling softly at his chuckle and brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But her smile faded away, turning to a mock pout when he spoke of her culture. She knew he was joking, at least to some degree, but that didn't mean she couldn't give him a hard time about it. "Well, your tastes must be dreadfully shallow, Sir Gwaine." She fluttered her eyelashes innocently enough, but a slight upturn at the corner of her lips hinted at the humour behind her own barbs. She couldn't help but get slightly defensive of her country, even at the most cursory slight. If she didn't defend it, who would?

"You ought to come back sometime, so I can change your mind." She added with a genuine smile, to show that the offer was legitimate. It could get so boring sometimes, it would be nice to have company to ease the tedium if Sir Gwaine decided to take a break from his knightly duties for a short time. And there was no doubt in her mind that if he got a proper taste of Gwent, he would have no choice but to change his mind, because it was simply the finest kingdom in all Albion, without contest. Not like she was biased or anything.

His tantalizing words about far off places caught her attention, however, piquing her interest. They had reached the gardens, and with enough room between the pair of them and the other people milling about, she turned to face him with an excited smile, eyes bright with curiosity. These were places she would likely never visit, too far away and far too dangerous for a lady like herself to venture, so she could only hope to live vicariously through the tales of others. "Sounds terribly exciting. Would you regale me with tales of your adventures in these foreign lands, and the people you met there?"

She was pleasantly surprised when he answered in the negative, the name instead belonging to his sister. How sweet of him! It was quite charming to see a man who cared so much for his sister that he would spend his hard earned money on a necklace to see her smile, rather than a pint at the tavern or an evening of company. "What's the occasion?" She asked, wondering if there was a special reason he wanted to get a gift for his sister. She might be prying into his affairs too much, but that didn't seem to bother her. She was a princess, she was quite used to people answering her questions without complaint.

She shook her head when he asked if she was looking for something for herself. "Not at the moment, no." Isadora had plenty of jewels, but honestly, the best ones, all her favourites, had come as gifts from other people. There was just something more special about an item when it came from someone who cared about you, rather than something that you purchased for yourself. She nodded when he introduced himself. "A pleasure to meet you, Elyan. My name is Isadora." It was less formal than her typical introductions, but the markets were hardly a place for formality.