'A Christian spy? They have not infiltrated Camlann with spies for many years. We do not even know if there is a movement within the monks in Britain now who seek to overthrow our kings, as there was in days past.'

Nimue shakes her head, rushing him to finish: 'That is not the point. The monk may or may not be Christian. He may or may not be a monk. But we do know that he lived at the Oaken Fortress for a year before disappearing, we know of his strange manner of disappearance with the bloody cross, and his appearance among the prisoners at Camlann. And we know that he presents himself as a Christian.'

'How do we know this is the same person?'

'We do not, for certain. I recounted to Caradoc that you saw a man with a tonsure among our prisoners, and that he stared at you during the executions. In such a way that you noticed his hostility. Caradoc asked several of his close council to come and listen to my description of the event. According to the druid mages present at the battle, a man with a tonsure was seen among the Saxon forces, and according to them looked very much like the man in question. He had a new tonsure haircut, which of course he did not wear among the druids; but in recollection, they are all quite certain that it was the same man.'

Gawain asks, 'What is this man's name?'

'Gisil,' Nimue replies.

'What we do not know about him greatly outweighs what we do know.'

'That is true, Gawain,' Nimue says sharply. 'But we almost never have all the information we need, do we? The question at hand is whether we have enough information to send a rider overnight back to Camlann to ensure this Gisil is kept securely in the dungeons until we return.'

Gawain nods in agreement, before Nimue continues: 'When we return to Camlann, we will continue investigating this man, and I would like to ask for the help of some other knights when doing so. One way to prevent a spy from collecting information is to make sure that everyone knows there might be a spy among us.'

'That is also a way to create suspicion among the fortress and all the surrounding villages that their friends and neighbors are spies,' Gawain retorts.

Nimue waves his comment away before departing the room. She returns a few minutes later to report that she has spoken with Caradoc who has agreed to send a rider overnight to inform Lionel, who was left in charge by Gawain at the recommendation of Nimue, that the man with the tonsure must be kept isolated and under double guard until he can be questioned directly by Nimue.

'It is late, and you need sleep. We will see Caradoc in the morning to speak with him about our encounter with the thing that came out of the forest. And about other matters.'

Gawain agrees, and Nimue reaches down to hug him, kissing him again on the cheek. Then she pulls out a small sleeping roll from underneath the bed, unrolls it on the floor, and curls up using her hands as a pillow.

Sometime during the night, Gawain wakes to find her wrapped around him on the one-person bed, breathing slowly and soundly.

The next morning is overcast, and a light rain is misting down on the fortress grounds. Nimue wakes before him and in turn wakes him up by arranging herself on top of him underneath the blanket with her shift pulled up to her waist. He pushes her gently away.

'Stop, there could be others who walk in. I do not want Senán to - '

Nimue withdraws and hops nimbly onto the ground beside the bed, straightening her shift and cinching her silver belt, just in time to greet Senán who does in fact enter the room from the hallway on the opposite wall.

'Good morning to you both,' Senán says amiably.

'Good morning,' says Nimue brightly.

'I am here to check on the progress from my work yesterday,' Senán explains.

Nimue steps aside and waves her hand over Gawain as if presenting him for display. Senán approaches the bed and leans down to be face to face with Gawain, who recoils slightly at the sudden closeness of the man. Senán raises his right index finger, which suddenly is illuminated by a small orb like the orange orbs he used yesterday - but this one is a light golden color.

Senán places his finger close to Gawain's eyes and tells him to look up. Gently placing his fingers beneath Gawain's eyes, he peers carefully at each while using the light to aid his examination. After doing this for both eyes, he extinguishes the light.

Next, Senán moves down to Gawain's broken leg. Nimue steps aside to allow the healer to position himself more closely. Pulling back the covers, Senán carefully unwraps the bandages he wrapped last night to reveal the areas where he applied the spell. Senán touches the areas, and Gawain suddenly pulls back from a sharp pain. Senán nods to himself, seemingly pleased by that reaction, while Nimue looks from Senán to Gawain and back again.

'Raise your leg by bending it at the knee,' Senán instructs. Gawain obeys, and as he slowly raises the leg, he is surprised to find that it bends easily. If he had performed the same motion yesterday afternoon, it would have been agony. He completes the full bend, and then Senán takes hold of his leg and presses it towards his chest, knee folded.

'It feels new, like it was never hurt,' Gawain says, astonished.

'It some ways it is new, but your body knows that it was hurt,' replies Senán, although Gawain is perplexed by this remark.

Gawain flexes the knee back and forth before saying to both Senán and Nimue: 'It feels new, but it also feels...different. It feels lighter, almost hollow.'

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Before Senán can reply, Nimue overrides him: 'That feeling will fade as you walk more. But as I have said, it is not a thorough healing. I will have to apply a longer and more complicated spell, but we do not have time for this now, nor until we return to Camlann.'

Gawain sits up in bed and places his feet on the floor. He tentatively reaches for Nimue, but does not take her arm, although she holds it there should he lose his balance and need it. He stands shakily, hand on the bed, until he is at his full height. Grinning at Senán and Nimue, he takes a few practice bends of the knees and twists of the hips. He takes one step forward, then two, and then beyond, until he has reached the opposite row of beds.

'It feels a little wobbly, and I am not sure I could run very fast, but it is good enough to walk on. Thank you, Senán.'

Senán bows his head before excusing himself, vaguely explaining that he must venture into the forest to gather certain herbs that are only available during this time of year.

Nimue says: 'Come, Caradoc is waiting for us.'

They walk out of the healer's house and onto the cobblestone road leading up into the interior of the fortress, towards the great oak tree. Past the tavern and lodgings, they enter the residential area. Stone buildings adorned with flowing ivy and flowers line the curving streets. In windowsills, flower boxes burst with color. Along the thatched roofs of the buildings are dormer windows jutting out, sometimes almost over the edge of the roof line.

The buildings are situated such that no discernible pattern is visible. Some buildings are joined, some are separated by small alleys, and sometimes the second floor extends beyond the first floor creating an overhang under which are small benches and more flowers.

Between most of the buildings and in the center of the widening street are fountains of all shapes and sizes, featuring a multitude of animals in the center spouting water out of their open mouths. Deer, lion, bear, cow, oxen, bird, fish - to Gawain it seems as though nearly all species are represented; and there are some animals he does not recognize at all.

And then before them, a fountain stands which has as its central piece a figure that resembles a beast's body with the head of a man. The horned one. It is the horned one from the vision. Gawain's hands begin to tremble.

Extending up from the head and curved around the face are two magnificently carved stone horns. Gawain could not see the face in the vision, but he can see the face now: it is rugged, bearded, with high cheekbones and an upturned nose. Long tangled hair flows down and bunches at the shoulders. The cheeks are like little balls forming as the face breaks into a smile, or perhaps a snarl. Bushy eyebrows cover large dark eyes.

Its arms are long, longer than human arms. Arthur and Lancelot once took Gawain to a southern port city, the name of which he cannot remember; and there he saw a similar creature in a cage tended by a man who called himself an adventurer from the furthest southern reaches, further even than Hispania, or so he claimed. It had long arms, was crouched, and had powerful legs. Disturbingly, its feet were like a second pair of hands. And it was covered nearly head to toe in a coarse brown fur.

Gawain was afraid, but Lancelot held his hand, and the two approached the cage. Lancelot asked the adventurer what sort of creature this was. Gawain still remembers the name that was given to this exceedingly odd being: the keeper called it Pan. Then he reached out tentatively towards the creature, but it grabbed the bars of the cage and pulled so hard that the whole cage rocked back and forth; and then it shrieked so loudly that Gawain covered his ears and lurched backward and would have fallen into the dirt had not Lancelot been there to catch him. Gawain began to cry as Lancelot picked him up, and he cried in fear, for shame of being afraid. He wept into the long, soft hair of Lancelot, who made soothing sounds into Gawain's ear as they walked back to Arthur, and Lancelot held him tightly so that he soon felt safe again.

This creature has those same arms, or very much like them, which Gawain can see more clearly now than he could in the vision. As though the unsettling nature of its arms were not enough, its legs extended downwards in such a way that they appeared to have too many joints or had inverted elbows. But Gawain looks closer and sees that these are the legs of a stag, and instead of feet, the thing has hooves.

The overall feeling that emerges in Gawain as he is mesmerized by this statue is that this being is not human, but not inhuman; not safe, but not dangerous either. It has a certain aura of wildness, the kind which kindles that small tingling flame in the pit of one's stomach: a flame of excitement, rejuvenation, instinct, and life - but also the distinct possibility of death.

Nimue stops beside him as he stares intently. She narrows her eyes as if trying to discern the nature of his thoughts.

After a few moments of silence, Nimue asks: 'Have you seen this figure before?'

'Yes...' Gawain replies.

'Where?'

'I saw it on the battlefield. It came in a vision that was created by the blue flames that escaped the hole before you could close it.'

'That was not a vision, Gawain.'

'Then what was it? It certainly did not seem...real. Or of this world.'

'It was not a vision, nor was it of this world. At least it is not always of this world. But it is most certainly real.'

'Then what is this thing?'

'This is...one of...my patrons.'

'Patrons? For what?'

'For magic.'

Gawain takes a step back from the statue and from Nimue, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

'What is the name of this patron?' he asks.

Nimue pauses for a long time. Then she says: 'His name is Cernunnos, and he is a god.'

'A god?' Gawain asks incredulously.

'Yes, a god.'

'There are no gods in Britain. At least not in the way there was before the Romans. They cannot be found as before. Our gods do not speak, they cannot be seen...' Gawain speaks faster and faster before trailing off.

'There are gods everywhere, Gawain. They are there no matter if we can hear them.'

At this, he pauses to consider, before saying disbelievingly: 'So, you speak with this Cernunnos.'

'After a fashion, yes.'

'Please speak plainly. I do not understand you, but I would like to.' He feels frustration rising.

Nimue sighs. 'I do not speak with the gods in the sense that I am speaking now to you. But there is an art, a practice, whereby one can commune with the gods,' she states matter-of-factly.

'How do you do that?'

'That truly is something I could not explain in a way that would make sense to you. You must be taught thoroughly before even attempting. It is a form of knowledge that can only be passed down by experience.'

'Who taught you?'

'Guess,' Nimue replies. Then she pulls him past the fountain and quickens their pace towards the great oak and the chambers of Caradoc.