In chains and with guards in tow, the Roman and the monk began to walk through the Shambles towards Eburacum castle. Light on people, but heavy with snow, the streets and laneways rose up above their heads, in places barely an arms width apart. The darkness, exacerbated by the heavy cloud cover and cold gusts of sleet and fog, helped matters little. Gildas, rugged up tight in brown wool so that only his eyes showed, walked alongside Kyrillos like a priest in the provision of the last rites. Passerby's moved to the side quickly to allow them to pass.

On arrival at Eburacum Castle, one guard approached Gildas and bade him to accompany him to the castle. Kyrillos was left outside, in the courtyard. It seemed he would not be trusted in the company of others, given the rumors of his condition. Even the militia seemed reluctant to come close, so they surrounded him instead. The chains were cold against his wrists.

After a while, a young girl approached him. The guards didn't seem to notice. Her hair was gold-spun strands of wheat, her eyes the pristine blue of the deepest parts of the ocean. The cold seemed to part before her, like the bow of a vessel plowing through the waves, and he could feel a radiated warmth that overcame all of his chill. Her lips said a word that reverberated through his head in a slow-dying echo.

"Endure." She kissed him, and was gone.

An hour later, Gildas returned. His news definitely came with a bittersweet taste: death had been commuted to a lesser charge of public flogging. The monk looked pleased, but it wasn't him that would be going under the whip.

So they returned to the Shambles. There were extra guards this time, along with a number of knights. Messengers were sent ahead. There was a special laneway in the Shambles, dedicated just to the purpose. It seemed the King would have his pound of flesh.

The turnout was poor, as the heavens seemed to open up with more snow and sleet. Kyrillos was chained up to the post, his back laid bare. Each bitter snowflake stung flesh that was already scarred and blue, but as the whip fell again and again, he could smell the scent of flowers, from a meadow freshly soaked with spring rain.

Afterwards, the guards and the handful of witnesses left him in the snow. Gildas came forward to cover him with a cloak and help him to his feet. "I will take you back to the abbey."

But Kyrillos had only one thing on his mind, as he had done throughout the whole ordeal. "We must see Bedevere." Long beyond arguing, Gildas agreed.