Knights And Maidens Pt 01

Author's note: This story takes place in Australia, where the academic year runs from February until November. It is based (loosely) on actual people, events and places.

"It is wisdom to make a virtue of necessity and calmly take what we cannot escape, namely what is due to us all. And whoever complains does folly and rebels against His potency." (Geoffrey Chaucer,

The Knight's Tale

,

circa

1387)

"The habit does not make the monk, the wearing of golden spurs does not make the knight." (Thomas Usk,

Testament of Love

,

circa

1387)

"We're both slaves to the situation."

"They control you?"

"You finally realize that. Yes, Captain, you've been operating under a misconception. It is the men who are the slaves, not the women."

(Manny Coto,

Star Trek Enterprise: Bound

, 2002)

As we made our way silently along the narrow, winding track, a pallid full moon hung low in the western sky. The eerie silence seemed to close in around us. The nightlife of the forest went silent as we passed through. All I could hear were soft footsteps, the rustle of leaves, the swish of branches brushed aside, the occasional muted voice warning of a sudden change of direction or a tree root invading the trail, the feeble rasps and puffs of our two prisoners breathing with bulbous ball-gags. There was barely enough light to see the trail ahead.

Annabel and Olivia were in the middle of the column. Wearing only their tiny tunics, in the early morning chill they were beginning to shiver. Bound and blindfolded as well as gagged, our captives were having a hard time negotiating the meandering path. They were also barefoot, and there were prickly twigs which crackled under their tread and jagged stones in the corrugated dirt.

In guiding Annabel, I confess that I was doing a lousy job. For all my earlier brotherhood-primed bravado, I felt squeamish about manhandling a helpless, half-clad female. Whenever I thought she was in danger of stumbling or tripping I offered a steadying and reassuring hand, but she haughtily tried to shake it off. I insisted, firmly gripping her arm; and each time she flinched, feeding my guilt with a muffled sigh or moan.

In the ghostly moonlight filtering through the branches, the diminutive woman appeared even smaller. But she had a sublime body, and stretched by the severity of her bonds it strained delectably against the thin fabric of her dress. Despite the cold air, little beads of sweat glistened on her bare arms and legs. Directly ahead, Olivia seemed to be having a slightly easier time. Slender, streamlined, athletic, she was almost a head taller than the young guy steering her along the path. She wilfully evaded his grasp and paid for her pride, once ending up on her knees and twice straying into the undergrowth; but I could only be impressed by her resilience.

Most of the time the two girls maintained their footing and their dignity. Even sightless, they knew this track well, having used it countless times as a shortcut between the Temple and the Maidenhall.

The traverse through the woods would normally have taken just a couple of minutes, even at night. Slowed by our hostages, we took a good deal longer. As we emerged from the trees the first flush of dawn was on the eastern horizon. But there was no hint from inside the building that our approach had been detected. The place was shrouded in darkness, save for the dim orange glow of two porch lamps.

A pair of Knights reconnoitered the entrance while the rest of us waited on the lawn next to the driveway, crouched behind the cover of shrubbery and maintaining complete silence. It occurred to me that the deathly stillness of the forest might have given us away; but as the animals and insects came back to life with their chorus of chirps and twitters, our destination remained quiet and unlit. The distant, mournful hoot of an owl might have been an ominous presage of the impending drama. The conquest of the Maidenhall was about to begin.

***

My very first day at university had ended with a sense of relief and also exhilaration. The night before, excited as well as nervous, I hardly slept. I might have been better prepared, but had not been able to attend all of the orientation sessions the previous week.

My sister Kate acted as my guide during the first few days. Coming as it did from a third-year veteran, her advice was invaluable. The campus is huge, crowded with buildings and people, and I was afraid that I would get hopelessly lost and be late for my classes. Instead, she escorted me to each venue and offered all sorts of handy information and practical hints. For example, she warned that my inaugural lecture would be a daunting, disorienting experience, so unlike high school. This proved to be wise counsel, because the professor strode up onto the podium, tersely introduced himself, gave out his contact details, outlined the syllabus, prescribed a formidable reading list, and then launched straight into the lesson at breakneck speed. I absorbed maybe a fifth of the content. Judging by the expressions of my classmates, they fared no better.

The rest of the day was like that, baffling and hectic. But I quickly settled in; and after a couple more days, once I knew my way around the place and understood the tenor and rhythm of university life, things became almost ordinary. I had anticipated feeling lost and lonely, and yet nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead of alienating, the campus turned out to be a familiar and friendly environment.

My sister also took care of my accommodation. She had arranged for me to stay at a boarding house for my first two weeks, and dropped me off on the Sunday afternoon before the start of classes. (As unworldly as this may seem, I had not yet bothered to get my driver's licence.) I'd brought with me just a single bag of clothes and some other vital supplies. The rest of my gear was still packed in boxes back home. Kate promised to deliver them once I was settled in. She introduced me to the landlord, the urbane Mister Swank (that really was his name), gave me a big kiss and took off.

The place was located off-campus but just ten minutes' walk away. All the residents were students and most, like me, were freshmen awaiting admission to one of the colleges, or seeking permanent lodgings elsewhere. It was inexpensive and reasonably comfortable. The decor was stark, but not as seedy as I had (for some reason) pictured it being. I found my room on the second floor without assistance. In a doorway down the corridor, a lanky, dishevelled character was loitering. There was no one else about. We exchanged nods, and he thrust out both hands, one for me to shake, the other proffering a can of ale.

"Name's Perry," he drawled. "Welcome to the Hotel Hovel. Cheers."

I took his offering with thanks. It was slightly too warm, but welcome and refreshing after the long drive. I deposited my bags in my room. It was small and somewhat austere, but Perry's bleak assessment of the place was rather unfair. He followed me in with the remnants of a six-pack, which we quickly demolished.

Perry then looked about, scratched his head and said, "Well, I guess it's pub time." He had a one-track mind, but we got on well. He was fun to be around, laid-back enough to be virtually horizontal -- which indeed he was much of the time. He had great difficulty understanding why I would choose to waste precious waking hours in study. He knew all the best drinking venues on and off the campus, and he had a party detection radar second to none. He was also a first-year student, just a bit older than me, but came across a great deal more worldly about university life, indeed about life in general. He informed me that he was studying to be an engineer. I thought, but did not say: "No, you're hoping to be an engineer."

Nevertheless Perry was far from stupid. In fact he had a scholarly nature that he tried desperately to conceal but which surfaced in the most implausible of circumstances, like inebriation. After all, how many guys can sing a ten-verse drinking song while soused... in Latin? "In caelum cerevisiae est nullum. Itaque hic bibemus illum." ("In heaven there is no beer. And so we'll drink it here.")

I did get to know some of the other residents during the week. Most kept to themselves, and it was not until the following Saturday that I met Sabrina. Perry and I were loafing in the yard when she appeared, the vision splendid in a barely-there, lime-green bikini. She had spread a towel on the lawn when she spied us watching her. She came over and exchanged nods and smiles with Perry. She was petite and pretty, with luminous eyes and honey-blonde hair. Her body was trim and nicely tanned, well-toned and perfectly proportioned. She stood silently for a moment, allowing our gaze to linger on her lightly-clad curves. She appeared not at all self-conscious.

"Well, Perry," she said finally, with a quizzical raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah... Bree, this is Dave. Dave... Bree."

"Hi, David."

I took the hint. "Hi, Sabrina."

We chatted for a minute or two. She was a sophomore, studying science and philosophy. She spoke with a crisp, private schoolgirl accent that was beginning to soften into the more egalitarian dialect of the campus. She seemed pleasant enough, if somewhat imperious in her manner, perceptive, with a wit that revealed the occasional sharp edge. I was immediately smitten and regretted that lost first week, when I had seen her around the house but hadn't had the opportunity (or summoned the courage) to speak to her. That evening at dinner I made sure to grab the seat beside her, and we hit it off. She was rather coy about how long she would be staying in the house; but then I was, by necessity, discreet about my own plans, so I could hardly press her on the topic.

During the next seven days, the three of us spent what free time we had in each other's company. Perry and I were both attracted to Sabrina, and we became friendly rivals for her attention. She didn't appear to have a boyfriend and received no visitors. At the same time, I saw no real prospect for taking the relationship further. She was older and more experienced -- in university life, that is, but I guessed in other ways as well.

However, like all proverbial good things it had to end. On the Friday of the second week, Perry announced that he'd gained admission to one of the university's chartered residences. Sabrina and I were happy for him, but sad that we were breaking up. We knew how it goes. You say you will keep in touch, and you really mean it at the time, but rarely does it happen that way.

"Which place?" Sabrina asked.

"Richmond Hall. You know it?"

"Yes, in the Commune." Her voice contained a trace of... it was hard to tell... misgivings, and perhaps even disapproval.

"When I'm set up, we'll get together for a housewarming."

"Sure," I said.

"Of course," said Sabrina, with much less conviction.

That was our last night together as a three-piece, and we marked the occasion with a decadent meal at a fancy restaurant. We promised once more to stay in contact.

The following morning we could not find Perry anywhere, so because I had not yet found the time for a comprehensive tour, Sabrina and I took a long stroll around the campus. She was wearing a little yellow sundress which fluttered and flounced in the mellow mid-morning breeze. She looked more gorgeous than ever, but was either oblivious or indifferent to the effect she was having on me. I struggled to focus my attention as she led the way, pointing out the most important and interesting landmarks. We followed a meandering course -- through Lakeside Village, which is the main shopping precinct; past the Quad, a sports and recreation area; across Riverside Park, on the edges of which are located most of the residential halls and colleges; and finally up a steep, grassy mound at the far end of the park. From its summit, I found myself looking out over a sprawling and rather dreary complex of multistorey apartment blocks. This, I was informed, is officially known as the Communal Housing Project but universally as the Commune. And somewhere amidst that vast clutter of buildings was Richmond Hall.

A town with a population of several thousand, virtually self-contained, the Commune is one of the university's major hubs of social activity. Perry would be happy there. It's big, noisy and crowded, and the revels never shut down. It is said that the residents' motto is "Bibo ergo sum." "I drink therefore I am." There have been rumors of ritual virgin sacrifices; but no one actually believes that. Where would they find a virgin in the Commune?

Sabrina tugged at my sleeve and pointed in the opposite direction, towards a distant, sandstone edifice rising out of a stand of trees near the lake.

"That," she said, "is the Temple..."

"Really?" I replied, nonchalantly. "The Temple?"

"Temple Hall -- the most exclusive residence on campus. The Templars are very influential, not just at the university, but in business, government, law, diplomacy, education."

"Honestly? The Templars?"

"That's not the official name, but it's what... they call themselves." (There was irritation in her voice, for which I was unrepentantly to blame. However, I noted a slight pause in the middle of the sentence, before she said "they".)

"It's like a secret society?"

"Well, not exactly secret; but I guess you'd call it elite."

"How do you get in?"

She laughed. "Not without an invitation. That's why it's elite."

"Must cost a lot."

She frowned. "Why are you smiling?"

But she didn't wait for an answer. Instead she had turned away and was already halfway down the hill. "Come on," she called. She veered off course, towards one of the several coffee shops that are to be found on the outskirts of the Village. We sipped

caffè latte

, talked about nothing special, watched people going by. It was early afternoon when we arrived back at the house. In his room, Perry was getting ready to depart.

"So you're out of here?"

"In a few minutes. Glad you two got back in time. Any beer?"

"Sorry."

"Well, there's no point in my sticking around, is there?" I detected a choke in his voice. "See you later."

We shook hands and Sabrina gave him a hug and a kiss. Perry appeared surprised, quickly recovered and hauled her back in for a long embrace.

"No tongue, guys," I said, and they broke apart. Perry had already moved most of his gear. There were just a couple of cartons of loose items left, which he and I carried out to his car. Sabrina didn't come downstairs to see him off because a message awaited her. She had a strange expression as she read it. At dinner she was unusually quiet and went to bed straight afterwards. In the morning, I passed by her room. Through the open doorway, I could see that she was packing her bags.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

She gave me a "don't get excited" look.

"Don't get excited," she said. (Well, I got the look right.) "I'm not leaving until tomorrow afternoon."

I knew this would happen, but it was nonetheless hard to take. Of course, we'd still be on the same campus but, to repeat, we know how that "let's stay in touch" routine usually plays out. I regretted that Kate and I had plans to drive into town; and was somewhat crestfallen that Sabrina didn't seem to mind. We did not arrive back until late at night, and the next day I never got to see her. It would be two weeks before we met again... under very different circumstances.

I remained in a state of dull depression all Monday, trying to concentrate on my studies and looking about longingly everywhere I went, in the vague hope of spotting Sabrina. I didn't, of course. When I passed by her vacated room that afternoon, the door was open and there were a half-dozen cardboard boxes stacked inside. Someone new was moving in. Life was moving on.

Indeed. The following morning my sister came to me, breathless with excitement. She handed me a large envelope, but blurted out the news before I could unseal it.

"You got through! Selected for an interview!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I teased, but she ignored me. So I opened the dispatch and studied the letterhead. Kate was right. It bore the distinctive logo of the Order of the Temple. For the record, it was crimson, with crossed swords superimposed on a heraldic cross (to be pedantic, a

cross pattée

). My instructions were to report for an interview that same afternoon. They did not give you much time to prepare or to rehearse, which was probably the point. I tried to treat the day as if it were normal, but as the hours passed sluggishly by with callous indifference to my state of mind, the curiosity and the uncertainty were growing apace.

Kate had always been rather mysterious about her campus residence. That was why I had not let on to Sabrina when she brought it up the previous Saturday -- not out of reticence but due to ignorance. The truth be told, I knew virtually nothing about the Templars, except for a few vague hints from my sister. I was aware that they provided accommodation, meals and tuition at very low fees, as well as high-quality academic support. They were also extremely selective about whom they accepted. Kate had earned admission in her second year of uni, and ranking at the top of her freshman classes was the decisive factor.

Yet although she had lived in the Temple for an entire year, I was never given the opportunity to see the place. I hadn't been invited. I'd wondered why she was so reluctant to have visitors, but put it down to how busy she was with her studies, and to the fact that she spent so many of her weekends either at home with our parents and me, or with her boyfriend Philip. It never occurred to me that it might have anything to do with secrecy or exclusiveness.

I've never had much time for elitist institutions, but the lure of subsidized housing and tuition was a powerful incentive to compromise my principles. (The gruesome alternative was to get a part-time job!) In addition, after graduation members of the Order become part of a powerful network of social and professional connections, as Sabrina had described. This is called the Guild, and it sustains succeeding generations of Templars. It also supports a variety of charitable, community welfare and environmental causes, which elevates its image for self-righteous idealists like myself. In these respects, the Order is not unlike the sorts of student organizations and alumnal societies you will find at universities everywhere, just more circumspect than most about its membership and some of its activities.

Kate had insisted that I apply, and assured me that she would make all the necessary appointments and arrangements. As a protégé, or sponsored candidate, all I had to do was complete the relevant paperwork and await the reply. My doubts that it could be so easy were now dispelled.

Kate met me outside a small, sparsely furnished office hidden away on the edge of Lakeside Village. She was wearing a prim white blouse and a neat black skirt -- recherché garb for my free-spirited sister -- and she appeared more stressed than I felt. The panel who interviewed us consisted of two stern-looking males and a striking, statuesque female who appeared to be in charge. She was the only one who volunteered her name. While her colleagues seemed bland, Olivia projected an aura of authority and acumen. She spoke with a refined accent.

Each of the three examined my application form and academic record, read Kate's submission, and nodded with approval. They questioned me about a few things which did not seem to have much to do with joining the Order. I think they were merely going through the motions, because eventually the young woman said: "Being a protégé, you have automatic admission, provided you meet all the other requirements." She paused to glance over the documents once more. "Which you do."