Date: Wed, 15 Sep 2004 08:12:59 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 21

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no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written
permission of the author.

Copyright 2004 by John Ellison.

Aurora Tapestry is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual locales and
events, or to persons living or dead, is coincidental.

If you are not of "legal" age, or if the rights guaranteed you under the
United States Constitution, Bill of Rights or the Canadian Charter of
Rights and Freedom have been arbitrarily suspended by local state,
provincial, or municipal ordinances, please move to a tamer site.

Aurora Tapestry is set in 1976 when the use of condoms was arbitrary and
primarily for the prevention of pregnancy. STD was an unknown acronym,
rarely used. Today, times are different. Always, dear readers, practice
safe sex.

A message for Monday Smith, who on this past Friday said some not very
priest-like things: Only if you wear tighty-whiteys!

My thanks as always to Peter, who makes what I write so much better.


Aurora Tapestry


Chapter 21

	"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
	As The Phantom's scream of anguish echoed through the Gunroom
Harry's eyes flew open and he rolled quickly from his bed, crouching low,
his head turning right and left, his eyes darting and scanning the rousing
bodies of his messmates. He looked up and saw The Phantom sitting bolt
upright in his bunk, with his head thrown back, his eyes wide open and his
right, fist-clenched arm, raised high.
	Ignoring the muted cries of surprise behind him, and the shuffling
of bedclothes as the others struggled awake, Harry stood up slowly and
reached out to place his hand carefully on The Phantom's outstretched leg.
	At Harry's touch, The Phantom slowly lowered his eyes and looked at
him and said calmly, "I held him, I held him and he died in my arms."
	Harry felt a warm body brush against his and watched as Cory
quickly climbed into The Phantom's bunk and embraced him. Before Cory could
question his friend Harry placed a finger against his own lips and then
asked The Phantom, "Who, Phantom, who died in your arms?"
	The Phantom could feel Cory's warm embrace, turned his head, and
gently kissed Cory's cheek. "I held him in my arms, Cory. He was in great
pain, and hurt very badly." The Phantom's eyes closed briefly as he
recalled in vivid detail the dream. "We were with him at the end, Harry,
all of us. He wanted to come home and die with his brothers, and he did."
	Barely feeling the bunk shake as Todd climbed up to sit beside him,
The Phantom smiled at Harry, and then at Todd. The Phantom's face showed no
surprise, only warm, caring love. "He came home to us, Todd. He came home
to us!"
	"You had a dream, Phantom, and . . ."
	"Oh, Todd, it was wonderful and beautiful and horrible and
terrifying, all at the same time," enthused The Phantom, interrupting his
friend. "Harry, you were there and you looked magnificent!"
	"I was? I did?" asked Harry, wondering where he'd been.
	"Yes, a little battered, but then we'd fought a battle." The
Phantom turned to Cory and Todd, smiling. "And you had the guns, Cory on
the right, Todd on the left, two full batteries! And all your gunners, all
of them looking so fierce, they were there, too!" He turned to see the
circle of cadets gathered at the side and end of his bunk. "All of you, all
of you!" he declared. "And Tyler, and Val, and Mark, and Tony, and oh,
guys, it was so wonderful that we were there with him! I saw it all! I saw
it all!"
	Tyler pushed his way through the crowd of cadets who had gathered
around The Phantom's bunk and reached out to take The Phantom's hand in
his. "Tell me what you saw, Phantom," he asked, his voice low and filled
with encouragement.
	"We . . ." The Phantom's face seemed to take on an aura of
. . . wonder. He squeezed Tyler's hands and smiled warmly. "I saw a
battlefield, Tyler. We were all there, behind a ditch defended by a long
line of earth filled baskets and broken crates, and oh, all sorts of things
just thrown up to defend our lines. You, me, all of us, were wearing chain
mail, and we only had swords and bows and arrows . . ." he turned and
smiled at Cory. "And Cory and Todd's guns."
	Without warning The Phantom gently threw off Tyler's hands and
swung his legs over the edge of his bunk. "We were the Band of Brothers!"
he declared as he slid to the deck. He stood and again looked at the circle
of faces. "And our brother came home. The horrible shapes screamed and
shrieked, but he came home!"
	Todd slipped from the bunk and said, not as a question, but as a
fact, "Sylvain."
	"Yes, Todd," replied The Phantom, his green eyes glowing from the
wonder he had seen. "I was looking out over the battlefield, looking at the
faceless bodies lying there - and there were so many, but none of them had
faces - and staring at the Beast, that horrible beast, black and
terrifying, screaming at me! Todd was there, and Cory. Andy, Kyle and
Colin! He was behind me, and God, he was wounded a bit, but he was
glorious! I heard a voice say that he was my Guardian, but I don't
understand that. I saw Kyle and Andy, and Chef! Oh Tyler, Todd, you should
have seen Chef! He was . . . magnificent and he had this huge battleaxe!"
	Cory's eyes found Tyler's and the copper-haired Master-At-Arms
nodded. The Phantom had obviously dreamed of the battle scenes from "Henry
V".
	"Who else was there?" came Thumper's low voice.
	"All the knights were there! You, Two Strokes, and Nathan! Nicholas
was there, with André. I saw the Litany standing with Chef, and Sandro and
Ray, and Randy and Joey! And Calvin Hobbes, gosh he looked so small, but
brave! I saw Fred and Jon and Chris, all of us! Brian, Steve,
Stuart. Stefan was there, Harry, and Simon, you remember Simon?"
	Nodding, Harry remembered Simon. Neither he, nor the others,
noticed that Greg's name had not been mentioned.
	"And Sylvain," whispered Todd.
	"And Sylvain," repeated The Phantom. He turned and embraced his
friend, smiling. "He was lying in the middle of the battlefield. He was
wounded unto death, Todd, but I saw him and went out and I carried him
home. He wanted to come home. That's what he asked me to do for him, so I
took him home. I took him into our lines and I knelt with him and Simon, he
washed Sylvain and Sylvain smiled and said that he was home with his
brothers and he died."
	Great tears began to course down The Phantom's cheeks. "I know! I
know!" His hands found Tyler's firm, broad shoulders. "I know, Tyler!"
	"What is it you know?" Tyler's voice was very calm, and very low.
	"Sylvain was coming home when he had his accident. He was coming
home to us, to his brothers. He didn't know that he was going to die but he
was coming home to us. He had something to tell us! He wanted us to help
him! He saw, or heard, something at his uncle's house and he wanted us to
know what it was," exclaimed The Phantom fervently.
	"Phantom, it was just a dream. You dreamed about Sylvain . . ."
began Val.
	The Phantom shook his head violently. "No, Val! Sylvain wanted us
to know something, something so important that he had to come home to us!
It was a dream, yes, but I know what I saw, I know what I feel! Sylvain is
calling for us."
	Todd gently led The Phantom to the wooden footlocker at the end of
his bunk and sat his friend down. "Phantom," he reasoned as gently as he
could, "Sylvain is dead."
	An exasperated look replaced the look of calm on The Phantom's
face. "I know that, Todd," he snapped. "I am not an idiot!"
	"No one is suggesting that you are," replied Tyler hurriedly. He
sat down beside The Phantom and glared the other cadets into silence. "You
had a very vivid dream."
	"Very," returned The Phantom firmly. "I remember it, and I remember
the look in Sylvain's eyes before he died! I held him in my arms, Tyler,
and I saw his eyes!"
	"All right," replied Tyler quietly. "Now, we were all there?"
	Nodding, The Phantom replied. "All of us . . ." His eyes fell on
Harry's flushed, expectant face. He smiled gently as he said, "Stefan was
there, beside Harry, and Kevin was with Ray." Then his eyes narrowed as his
gaze crept slowly down the Gunroom to where Greg was lying in his
bunk. Greg, of all the cadets, had never left his bed and seemed more
interested in the darkened deckhead than in The Phantom's dream.
	Tyler followed The Phantom's gaze and shook his head sadly. "I
think I understand."
	"We were knights, Tyler, we were fighting these . . . spirits is
all I can call them. Across the battlefield there were dead people - men
and boys, I think - but they didn't have faces. They weren't disfigured;
they just had blank faces. I don't know what that means. I do know that I
believe . . ." The Phantom touched his heart, and continued " . . . That
Sylvain wanted to come home to us because he saw or heard something!"
	Two Strokes, who did not believe in dreams, or portents, or ghosts,
saw the look on The Phantom's face and decided to put an end to what he
considered to be arrant nonsense! "Now Phantom, that is quite a leap! You
had a nightmare, a dream, and that was all you had. Hell, I'm surprised
that more of us haven't, what with the fire and then Sylvain dying!"
	"I know what I saw," returned The Phantom stubbornly. He looked at
the assembled cadets and all but snarled, "You don't have to believe me,
you don't have to think that there was anything to what I saw, but I saw
it, and I know what I'm going to do about!"
	"Fuck," thought Cory as he dropped to the deck, "here we go again!"
He reached out and clasped The Phantom's arm. "Now, Phantom," he began
softly, placatingly. "There is no reason for you to do anything. Go back to
bed, please."
	The Phantom angrily shook off Cory's hand. "Something is going on,
Cory, something I don't know about, but I am going to find out! Sylvain
died for a reason and he came to me! He wanted to tell me something and the
only way I can find out what that was is to . . ."
	"How?" Greg demanded harshly. He rose from his bunk, a cynical,
disgusted look on his face. "What comes next? Are you going to kill a
chicken and examine its innards? Or maybe you'll consult the Oracle of
Delphi!" He all but ripped his locker door off as he opened it and took out
a towel. "Look at yourselves," he growled over his shoulder, "standing
around in your drawers, at the crack of dawn, listening to a bunch of
crap!" He turned and glared at The Phantom. "You had a nightmare. It meant
nothing, it means nothing. Get over it!"

******

	As Greg's naked body disappeared behind the door leading to the
washplace the deathly hush that had settled over the Gunroom at his
outburst, was broken by Thumper who, shaking his head, declared, "That guy
has turned into a real prick!"
	Despite his misgivings, The Phantom would not allow the others to
forget that for all his faults, Greg was still one of them. He walked to
where Thumper was standing and placed his hands on the younger boy's
shoulder. He looked directly into Thumper's eyes and said forcefully, "He
is still our brother, just as you are my brother." He leaned forward and
gently kissed Thumper's lips. "Forgive me."
	As The Phantom turned away from an astonished Thumper and went to
his locker, Tyler's jaw dropped and Val's eyes widened. Another part of the
puzzle that was Phantom Lascelles had dropped into place and Val now knew
one more boy whom the Phantom had visited.
	Hearing The Phantom's locker open, and close, Tyler turned to see
their friend, towel in hand, walking slowly and purposefully toward the
heads and washplace. "Where . . .?" Tyler began when Cory's hand on his arm
silenced him.
	"Let him be, Tyler," said Cory sadly. "Phantom has to make one more
try."
	"If he fails?" asked Tyler, his eyes never leaving the now closed
door to the washplace.
	"Then Greg will have to take his chances," responded Todd
coldly. He turned to his brother, nodded, and then spoke to the two senior
cadets. "Outside. We have to talk."
	As Tyler, Val, and the Twins turned to leave the Gunroom, Harry's
voice, calmer, and softer than they had ever heard it, stopped them. "I
somehow think that this concerns all of us, Todd," Harry said forcefully.
	Todd regarded his onetime lover and smiled. "Harry, you might not
like what you hear."
	"Why don't you let us be the judge of that?" asked Nathan. "We're a
part of this Mess and we should know what is going on."
	Two Strokes, wondering about the kiss that The Phantom had given
Thumper, stepped forward. He placed his hand on Thumper's shoulder and
nodded. "You left me out the last time, Tyler. I'm not leaving this time."
He squeezed Thumper's shoulder gently and took another step forward,
glaring at Tyler, daring the Master-At-Arms to ask him to leave.
	"Two Strokes . . ." began Tyler.
	"No. Let him stay." Heads turned to look at Fred who stood, his
sagging boxers barely hiding his pendulous attributes, arms folded across
his thin chest. "Whether we like it or not, we seem to be a part of
Phantom's life and of his dream. He named us, after all."
	Nathan, astonished at his lover's forcefulness, shook his
head. "You're not as dumb as you look, are you?" he asked with a grin.
	"Remember, Yank, that Britannia Rules the Waves," responded Fred in
his finest English public school elocution. He looked over to where Chris
and Jon were standing. "Well?" he asked.
	Chris nodded, then Jon.
	"Well?" Fred asked Nicholas.
	Nicholas, who had suddenly realized that he was wearing Cory's
pinstriped boxers, did not hesitate. "We stay. We all stay." He seemed to
think a moment, remembering where he had been, and whom he had been with
before coming back to the Gunroom. "And the others? Matt, Ray?"
	Tyler exhaled loudly and made a sudden decision. "All in due time,"
he said. He looked at Cory and said, "We are talking about what is going
on, or what we think is going on and Cory, you had better not hold back."
	"Me?" Cory's eyes widened and he tried to assume an air of total,
and ignorant, innocence.
	"You," asserted Tyler. "You know more that you let on. And so do
you, Todd." Todd was about to protest - loudly - when he saw the stern,
uncompromising look on Tyler's face and said nothing. "I thought so," Tyler
continued. Then he added quietly, and carefully, "I know about the Phantom
Wanker of Aurora."
	Both Todd and Cory started and when he had recovered from the
shock, Todd asked, "Everything?"
	"Enough," replied Tyler enigmatically.
	"In that case, we had all better sit down," muttered Todd.
	"And find the tin hats," advised Cory.

******

	"Don't, Phantom," snapped Greg as he deliberately moved away from
The Phantom's outstretched hand. "I told you to leave me alone, and I meant
it!"
	"Greg, please, we're friends, brothers, you can't throw that away!"
pleaded The Phantom. "Let me help you. Let us help you!"
	A snarl curled Greg's lips. "Help me to do what? Become a bigger
fag than I already am!" He scrubbed his chest and all but spat at The
Phantom. "In a way I'm glad that things turned out the way they have. Now I
can walk away!"
	"You can never walk away from us, Greg," replied The Phantom as
gently as he could.
	"Yeah? Well I have a news flash for you! I just did!" Greg turned
and faced The Phantom. "I will not be like you, or Harry, or the Twins. I
will never again let myself be seduced by . . . sex!"
	"You loved Harry, you loved Stephen Tyler," countered The
Phantom. "What you had with them was more than sex."
	Snorting loudly, Greg fisted his sagging genitals. "Bullshit! I let
this rule my head!" He pinched the pink head of his penis and then squeezed
his testicles. "I let these do my thinking for me! I was horny and I wanted
to get off, nothing more and nothing less. I let Harry seduce me, and I let
Stephen Tyler play games with my body. No more!"
	"And Jimmy Collyer?" asked The Phantom, a sadness he had never
known before filling his soul.
	"Jimmy was a fuck buddy! I had to get drunk to be with him. I never
felt anything for him," Greg admitted harshly. "He's a queer who likes
making it with straight guys." He smiled cynically. "Well this is one
straight guy who is not going to be in Jimmy's bed again!"
	The Phantom's anger was rising at Greg's use of the standard
pejoratives, the names that were called whenever hurt was paramount. "There
are some who would use those same names for you, Greg," he pointed out
coldly.
	"Yeah? Let 'em try." Greg's hand was firm as he turned the knob to
shut off the hot water. "You're a good head, Phantom, and I know what
you're trying to do," he said as he left the shower area and went to the
bench where he had left his towel. As he began rubbing himself dry Greg's
eyes grew cold and distant. "I was never one of you, one of your 'Band of
Brothers'. What happened was an aberration, a mistake, and an error in
judgement. I am not gay, and I will never again have sex with another
male." He bent down to dry his lower legs and feet and looked up at The
Phantom. "I wasn't in your dream, was I?" he asked calmly.
	The Phantom would not lie to the Writer. "No. I never saw you."
	Straightening, Greg shrugged. "My absence says it all, don't you
think?" he asked.
	"I . . ."
	"It doesn't matter," said Greg as he draped his towel around his
neck. "Whatever we had is over. I'm moving into the Supply Barracks with
Rob. On Thursday, when I fly home, I'm going to forget this place."
	"We will never forget you, Greg, and no matter what happens, if you
need me, us, we'll be there for you."
	Greg placed his hand against the door, making ready to leave, when
he turned his head and looked at The Phantom. "I appreciate everything
you've done for me, Phantom, I really do. But forget me! Consider me one of
those faceless dead you saw on your mythical battlefield."

******

	As the other cadets gathered around the mess table, Tyler gathered
his thoughts. He looked at Val, who was smiling his encouragement, and
cleared his throat, delaying what he knew he had to do. At the far end of
the table, Mark, Tony and Nathan sat together. Fred was beside Nathan, his
hand resting lightly on the young American's thigh. Tyler noticed that
Thumper and Two Strokes were also sitting together, sitting closely
together and that Two Strokes' hand was holding Thumper's. For a moment,
Tyler started. It was obvious now that the two Regulating Petty Officers
had entered into some sort of a relationship and for the first time he
truly regretted not having had Two Strokes as part of the first meeting.
	Tyler remembered that meeting as if it had been held only
yesterday. The Phantom had put paid to Little Big Man, and it was time to
honour him. The others, up to now, had no idea that Phantom had slipped
into the Petty Officers Mess and seduced the loathsome drummer. Some,
Nicholas certainly, had an inkling. Harry? Who knew? Harry had never
mentioned the subject. The Twins knew, of course, for they had been there,
aiding and abetting before and after the fact. Jon and Chris seemed
oblivious. They were very much wrapped up in each other and Tyler wondered
if what they spoke of today would shock the two young men, or bring them
closer to the Brotherhood. Nicholas, still wearing Cory's underpants, Tyler
noted, was sitting next to Harry. Both were looking expectantly at him and
Tyler knew that it was time to begin.
	"All right, my friends, we have to talk," Tyler began. "Phantom is
convinced that Greg is still worth saving. Personally, I think he's beating
a dead horse."
	Several heads nodded in agreement. Todd looked hard at Harry, and
then at Tyler. "Phantom believes in the inherent goodness of us. He thinks
of us as his brothers. Greg doesn't and Phantom will come to realize it
soon enough," he observed, his voice tinged with sadness.
	"I hurt Greg," Harry muttered. "I'm sorry I hurt him . . ."
	"This is not the time, Harry," exclaimed Tyler.
	"Why not?" asked Todd, his calm demeanour betraying his inner
trepidation. "We've already told each other how we feel and the other guys
. . ." he waved his arm in a wide circle, encompassing all the cadets
seated at the table. "Phantom believes in his Band of Brothers - and its
time we returned his belief in us. Not so very long ago we sat in this very
Gunroom and told each other a lot of things."
	"Yes, we did," returned Tyler, a bleak look coming over his
face. "Sadly, we, I, did not realize that all of the Brothers should have
been included." He looked pointedly first Two Strokes, and then at
Nathan. "You should have been included, Roger," he said, addressing Two
Strokes, "And you as well, Nathan. I apologize."
	At first, Two Strokes' anger rose. Then he felt Thumper's hand on
his. He also remembered his conversation with Cory in the breezeway
flats. He also remembered what he had felt when he kissed Cory, just as he
remembered vividly what had happened during the sailing trip.
	Taking a deep breath, Two Strokes returned Thumper's squeeze and
said, "You didn't trust me, Tyler. The Twins thought I only tolerated
them. The rest . . ." he shrugged. "I know how they felt. I was a little
too hard on them, maybe read the Manual too many times. I was almost as big
a prick as Paul Greene." He looked searchingly at the others. "I hope you
can forget that part of me. I see things clearer now."
	"And I was a cock hound," interjected Nathan. He looked longingly
at Cory. "Because I was a cock hound I lost something I held very dear."
Then he looked at Fred. "I love you, you Kipper twit, but I'm always going
to be a cock hound."
	Shrugging, Fred slipped his hand down and rested it upon Nathan's
crotch. The gesture was not lost on the other cadets and bespoke Fred's
unconcern. Fred would be with Nathan for as long as Nathan wanted them to
be together.
	"What has passed, is in the past," declaimed Tyler firmly. "What we
have to do now is figure out what the hell we are going to do!"
	"You actually think that this dream of Phantom's has some meaning?"
asked Nicholas, his disbelief not at all hidden. "Come on, Tyler, it was
just a dream!"
	"Perhaps," agreed Todd. "But Phantom believes what he saw. He
actually believes that he was on some battlefield and that we, and a few of
the others, were with him. And in case some of you missed the descriptive
points, allow me to observe that we were all knights, or squires."
	"Of an Order we know little, or nothing about?" asked Val. "Are we
part of an Order, or just a Brotherhood. And what is the significance?"
	"That's the question," offered Cory. "I don't believe in dreams, or
ghosts, or myths or faceless bodies. But Phantom does and knowing him, he's
going to do something."
	Todd looked searchingly at his brother, a thought was passed, and
he nodded. "Phantom is going to war," he said quietly.
	"War?" Nicholas looked at Tyler, at Val, and then at Todd. "What do
you mean, war?" His eyes suddenly widened. "Not like he did with Little Big
Man! Not that!"
	"Wha . . . what do you know about that?" asked Tyler. He had been
certain, convinced, that no one but he, Val, and the Twins knew what had
happened in the Petty Officers Mess.
	"I know enough," replied Nicholas. He knew what Phantom had done
but he would never reveal his knowledge.
	"And I know," said Harry. "Phantom came to me before he went into
the Mess. He told me not to think ill of him."
	"And I know," offered Nathan. "I heard Phantom talking when he made
that 'General Confession'." Ignoring Fred's quizzical look, Nathan
continued. "I woke up when you went outside, Tyler, and the window was
open," he finished in explanation.
	"What Phantom confessed to is not the subject we are discussing,"
said Tyler quickly. He did not want anyone thinking ill of his friend and
felt that if Phantom wanted the others to know what he had done, he would
tell them. Before he could continue Greg exited the washplace and walked to
his locker.
	All but ignoring the other cadets, Greg dressed and then turned to
face his messmates. "I'm leaving," he announced, his voice flat, but
firm. "I'm moving into Barracks 2."
	Without a backward glance Greg left the Gunroom.  "Phantom has his
answer," murmured Harry as the door leading to the outside slammed
close. His huge fist slammed against the tabletop. "And I started it!"
	"Enough!" ordered Tyler, who was determined that there would be no
confessions, no recriminations, no blame for what had happened. "Greg made
his choices, not you, Harry. Greg walked into his situation with his eyes
wide open and knowing exactly what he was doing. No one, and I mean it,
damn it, no one among us is to blame!"
	Harry was about to protest vehemently, but the iron look in Tyler's
eyes gave him pause. He hung his head, nodding slowly. He would say no
more.
	Tyler once again took charge. "I am not interested in what has
happened before this morning, before right now! What I am interested in is
what we are going to do. Todd is right. Phantom is going to war. I don't
know how he plans on doing it, but he is going to war. He believes that his
vision of Sylvain was real, that Sylvain was calling him. Phantom's dream
was real to him. We are a part of that dream," Tyler finished simply.
	"But knights? Us?" exclaimed Jon in disbelief. "You actually think
that we, us, all of us, except Greg, because he was not a part of Phantom's
dream, are going to become part of this Order thing?"
	"You picked up on that, too?" asked Tyler.
	"I did," replied Jon firmly. "I might be a Crusher but I am not
some dumb flatfoot."
	"Nobody suggested that you were," said Cory smoothly. "I think
you're smart enough to understand that Phantom is sounding a call to
arms. I also think that Tyler is asking us to make a decision, the decision
being, do we answer the call?"
	Todd stared at his brother in surprise. Cory, the Flibbertigibbet
of Comox, was making more sense than he had in years.
	Smiling, a trifle smugly some of the others thought, Cory
continued. "Phantom looks upon the world this way: good, which is anyone
who tolerates gays, and believes in the basic rights of all mankind, and
the rest. The rest are evil. Paul Greene was evil; people, who refer to us
as queers, faggots, and so on, are evil. The Church, the government,
organizations who proclaim us as abominations, they are evil. Phantom is
proud of who he is, of what he is. He will fight that evil, the evil of
discrimination by any means, fair or foul."
	"So, are you saying that we have to be a part of this fight?" asked
Chris. He looked at Jon, who smiled his encouragement. "I mean if we
believe Phantom's dream, there will be casualties. Remember, he was
dreaming about the aftermath of a battle!"
	"Against dark, shapeless forms," rejoined Cory. "It was dream,
remember, and influenced by other factors, things he's read, or
heard. There is no point trying to dissect the dream. There are too many
imponderables, too many outside influences, to make anything definitive
about it."
	"Well, now you have lost me!" exclaimed Nicholas as he threw up his
hands. "First we're all knights, fighting some unknown, mythical enemy, and
now we shouldn't pay any attention to it!"
	"That is not what Cory meant," interjected Todd. "What he means is
that you can have a dream, and something you read about will be a part of
it, or form a part of it. For instance, Phantom said that on a hill behind
the main battle lines there was a group of men, leaders of some sort. They
carried batons, which have always been a symbol of leadership. They could
also very well be a memory he has about something he read about in history
class."
	"The Angels of Mons," Cory provided. "They were supposed to have
stood on the hill behind the Allied lines, prepared to fight the Hun. I
read that too."
	Nodding, Todd finished his brother's thought, "So you see, Phantom
has transplanted, if you will, certain things into his dream. The way we
were dressed, the colours, the escutcheons, are all reminiscent of Henry
V. He probably saw the play, or the film."
	"And all this, taken with his knowledge of the Order, his
determination to be a knight, were transformed into a vivid dream." Tyler
scratched his chin. "And his grief over Sylvain's death, and the
circumstances of that death . . ." He stopped abruptly. Now he
understood. The Phantom had visited Sylvain, either last summer or this,
and The Phantom's continued feelings of guilt over what he had done had
obviously impacted on his thought processes.
	Val, who had the same thought and suspicions as Tyler, quickly put
in his tuppence worth. "As for Sylvain appearing, well, I think that he
did."
	"You do?" asked Harry, who did not believe in such things. "Come
on, Val, the guy is as dead as Kelsey's nuts. How could he appear in a
dream?"
	"It's happened," returned Val, not intimidated by Harry. "I know
that such things are often dismissed as so much stuff and nonsense, but
every culture has its oracles, its mystics, its dreamers! I am not
suggesting that Phantom is any such thing! I am saying that oracles, seers,
mystics, dreamers, exist! People either believe in what they say, or they
don't."
	"Then we are all going to be knights and we are all going to follow
Phantom into battle?" asked Thumper. He was as well read as the other
cadets, and had heard about the Angels of Mons. He also knew that in the
Aboriginal cultures dreams, and the interpretation of dreams, were well
founded. "What if we say no?"
	"Then you have said no, and I will still call you my brother."
	The cadets looked and saw The Phantom standing in the entranceway,
a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked purposefully to the head of the
table and looked at each cadet in turn. "I understand your scepticism, your
doubts. You do not have to believe me, or even understand what I
believe. It is your choice. You do not have to become a knight, if that is
what you do not want to do. I can only tell you what I saw, and I believe
that Sylvain was calling for my help. I will answer that call."
	The Twins knew the look in the Phantom's eyes, and they knew that
he would do exactly what he had just announced he would do. Once again they
exchanged glances, and a thought passed silently. "I'm with you," Todd said
quietly.
	"And I am with you," said Cory, his voice low.
	Tyler, who remembered his very first kiss, nodded his assent. "Deus
Vult," he murmured.
	"God wills it," translated Val. He too remembered that horrible
night in the Mess Hall washplace change room. He could not back away
now. He would stand with his lover, and The Phantom.
	Before any of the others could proclaim their intentions, The
Phantom held up his hand. "I am going east, to Ste Anne de Beaupré, because
I believe one answer is there. Before I do that I intend to seek help."
	"The Order?" asked Cory.
	"Yes. I cannot, we cannot, do it all on our own. I believe that we
will need help." A strange look came over his face. "But I want you to
understand that no matter what, I am doing it! I am going to help
Sylvain. If the Order wants to help, I will accept it. If you, any of you,
want to help, I will accept it with gratitude. And I meant what I said. If
any of you feel that you cannot be a part of what I am going to do, I will
not think any the less of you."
	Turning abruptly, The Phantom walked to his locker and began to
dress. The others watched in silence and then Todd asked, "Where are you
going, Phantom?"
	"I am not fool enough to think that I can do what I need to do
alone, or without knowing what dangers I could face. I will not sail
blindly into danger. I will talk to a man, the Proctor, then I will act."
	"The Proctor is here?" Cory asked, his eyes wide, his words all but
a gasp. "The Proctor is actually here?"
	"Yes." The Phantom reached into his locker and pulled out his
cap. "He's been here since the beginning." Once again he faced his
companions and brothers. "When I have spoken with him, when I know what I
need to know, I will act."
	Nodding brusquely, The Phantom left the gunroom, leaving his
messmates staring after him.
	"Where is he going? And who or what is a 'Proctor'?" asked Two
Strokes, confused and uneasy at the intensity of The Phantom's words and
demeanour.
	"And please, what is this 'Order'?" asked Fred. "If I'm being asked
to join something I would certainly like to know something about it!"
	As the other cadets mumbled and muttered their agreement to Fred's
words, Cory scratched his chin reflectively. When the mutterings subsided
he looked down the length of the mess table and said quietly, "The Proctor
is a high-ranking Knight. His job is to explain to each candidate exactly
what the Rule of the Order is, what the Order is about, and what is
expected of the candidate."
	"As if you'd know," sniffed Todd. Both Cory and he knew about the
Order, of course. Their father was a member and their house had been the
scene of several discreet meetings. Cory had never, however, expressed all
that much interest in the Order, and when pressed usually referred to it
with mild disdain. He looked inquiringly at his brother.
	"Actually, I do know," affirmed Cory as he looked evenly at his
twin. "More than you do, at any rate!"
	"You do?" Todd asked, complete surprise written on hs face. Then
his eyes narrowed as he looked darkly at his brother. "And just how do you
know?"
	"Easy," replied Cory with a nonchalant shrug. "I read the history
of the Order. It's quite interesting, in a medieval sort of way, and it's
written in Latin, which is a pain in the ass, but I needed the practice and
when . . ."
	"And just when did you read this history? Where did you read it and
what in the hell were you doing reading it?" demanded Todd hotly.
	"Well, if you must know," began Cory easily, "I read it at
home. Papa wrote it."
	"You snooped!" yelped Todd accusingly. "You snooped through Papa's
library! Cory how could you!"
	"It was easy," returned Cory. "You were away on QUEST and I was
sort of at loose ends, what with the broken arm, and I happened to finish
the book I was reading and I went down to the library and there it was,
sitting on Papa's desk and I . . ."
	"Snooped!" repeated Todd. "You stuck your nose into something you
. . ."
	"Don't be obtuse, brother dear," growled Cory. "Can I help it if
Papa left it lying around."
	"That's not the point," thundered Todd. "You had no right to snoop
into Papa's papers!"
	While the growing tempest was interesting, and diverting, Tyler was
not in the mood to listen to the Twins sparring. "Do you mind!" he
roared. "Phantom is off beating a drum, and looking for dogs of war to set
loose, and you two are chattering on like a pair of cockatoos!" He looked
at Cory. "Would you, without too much digression, be kind enough to explain
what in the hell you are talking about?"
	"Why of course, Master-At-Arms," returned Cory with a grin. He so
did love winding up his brother, and the other cadets were icing on the
cake. "I was at home, monumentally bored, and decided to find something
edifying to read."
	"What happened, run out of stroke books?" asked Nathan rudely.
	"Not hardly," returned Cory. "When you live with Todd the last
thing you need is a stroke book," he confided lewdly.
	"Then why do you keep them hidden under the mattress?" retorted
Todd.
	"Cory!" roared Tyler.
	"Sorry," replied Cory, trying to look contrite. "In the event, I
read the history that Papa was writing. I didn't finish it because Blake
Putnam Randolph came calling with his aunt and of course I had to entertain
him."
	Harry's head came up sharply. He had been present when Cory had
regaled Todd with what had happened when Blake Putnam Randolph came
calling. Before Harry could say anything Jon asked, "Who's he?"
	"He's the nephew of one of my mother's best friends. Mrs. Randolph
came calling and of course Blake was her escort, and while she and Mummy
talked about roses Blake and I . . ."
	"Her escort? Why would she need an escort?" asked Nicholas. "Was
she out on a day pass?"
	"Really, Nicholas, everybody knows that a lady . . ." Cory stressed
the word, " . . . no matter what her rank, ever leaves her house without a
hat on her head and white gloves on her hands, properly dressed and without
her boobs hanging out or her skirt - no matter who designed it - hiked up
so high that her ass is hanging out and she looks as if she soliciting
trade outside of Filmore's!"
	Todd was shocked at the very idea of any of the ladies of his
mother's acquaintance loitering outside of what was a very notorious strip
joint. "Cory, really," he gasped.
	"Well it's true," sniffed Cory. "Half the women we know think that
because some name designed a dress it's haute couture. They all wander
around with their panties flapping in the breeze and think that they're the
height of fashion."
	Tyler thought that someone who had just finished sitting in a
bathroom, nekkid, or near to it, and was now wearing another boy's undies,
was hardly in a position to criticize. He did not think it wise, however,
to draw attention to Cory's newfound interest in cross-dressing. He also
wanted to hear more about the Order. "Thank you for that lesson in
Victorian etiquette. Can you get on with it?" he asked, somewhat acidly.
	"Well, yes, I suppose I can," returned Cory smoothly, pretending to
ignore Tyler's tone. "Anyway, a lady never leaves her house without an
escort, either a woman friend or a male relative, which is why Blake came
calling . . ."
	"And interrupted your snooping," rejoined Todd. "Now, what did you
read, and please, keep to the point!"
	"Well, as I said, Papa is, or was, writing a history of the
Order. It's in Latin, but I managed to translate most of it," replied
Cory. "It's very interesting." He cracked his knuckles and settled himself
as comfortably on the hard wooden bench as he could. "First of all, the
Order was first established in Acre, after the First Crusade."
	"In 1105," supplied Todd. "I know that!"
	"We don't," growled Harry. "Cory, please go on."
	"Thank you, I shall," returned Cory. He grinned at Harry and
winked. "There were three knights who banded together and fought
together. One, Sir Alexander of Wraysbury, was English. The others, Pierre
de Rochepont and Guillaume de Bourg, were French."
	"And they were gay, although they referred to themselves as
'travelling companions'," added Todd.
	"Yes." Cory looked thoughtful. "You have to understand the times,
the people. They truly believed in their faith, and to them God was a
living Being. They did not question their religion, or their faith. They
believed in signs from God, in miracles, in angels and prophets appearing
to holy men. They believed in relics and doing God's work. They also
believed in defending with their swords their beliefs."
	"They were also venal, vicious and cruel beyond belief,"
interjected Todd. "The Crusaders roared into Jerusalem in 1099 and
massacred everyone in the city, Saracens, Jews, other Christians! They also
stole anything and everything that wasn't nailed down and that looting was
the basis of their wealth!"
	"Quite so," returned Cory blandly. "And I am not saying that the
three knights who would found the Order didn't do that. What I am saying is
that you have to understand about religious faith to understand what
happened after the fall of Jerusalem."
	"We understand already," growled Two Strokes impatiently.
	"Good," returned Cory. "Now, after the fall of the Holy Land to the
Crusaders pilgrims, for whom the Holy Land had been closed since the Seljuk
Turks conquered Palestine, began to arrive in droves. At the time there
were no inns, no amenities for them, and the road from the coast to
Jerusalem passed through what was probably the most barren patch of land in
the Middle East. Some of those pilgrims were gay men."
	"It still is one of the most dreadful roads," muttered Fred. He saw
the others looking at him and he shrugged. "My father is in the diplomatic
service and served a tour in Tel Aviv. We went up to Jerusalem quite
often."
	"Then you know," said Cory with a slight nod. "The Crusaders knew
as well. They also knew that they were in a very precarious position. They
had conquered Jerusalem, and recovered the Tomb of Christ, and the True
Cross, but the Muslims remained and any journey outside of the main cities
was dangerous."
	"So groups of men banded together to protect the roads and the
pilgrims," interjected Chris. "I read that in history class."
	"Yes," confirmed Cory. He smiled fondly at Chris, a delicious boy
and someone Cory cared deeply for. "After the fall of Jerusalem the great
Orders began to evolve. They were all small groups of men who believed that
they were a part of the Faith, and believed in the word of God. They saw a
need and they joined together."
	"The Templars," supplied Fred. "And the Hospitallers."
	"Yes," confirmed Cory. "Each of those two became very powerful
influences in the Holy Land, the land of Outremer as it was called. The
Templars began with nine knights and took their name from the quarters
given to them in the Royal Palace by Baldwin I, who had been elected King,
and was part of what was thought to be the Temple of Solomon."
	"My, you did read!" Todd was now looking at his brother in a whole
new different light.
	"I told you I was bored, and what I was reading was interesting,"
returned Cory with a sniff. He returned to the others. "The Hospitallers,
who eventually became the Knights of Malta, started out as keepers of a
hostel for pilgrims."
	"And Phantom's Order?" asked Thumper.
	"Actually, it's our Order," responded Cory. "It was formed, as I
said, by three gay men. Details are sketchy because nobody, at the time,
other than monks and priests, could read or write so Papa was using
chronicles and epistles written years and years after the fact. Some were
written in Latin, others in Greek, a few in Arabic! And of course the
writers put their own interpretation of events in their writings." A
thoughtful look crossed Cory's face. "What I did notice was that only one
or two of the archival letters that Papa cited were written by a priest or
a monk.
	"Which is not surprising," interjected Tony. "Priests and monks
would not approve of the Order, and the only writing they would have done
would have been to condemn it. Or, if they did write about the Order they
probably left out the things they objected to, or found objectionable. You
need only compare the Latin Vulgate with the King James Bible to know
that!"
	Cory nodded his agreement. "The knights did not trust the clergy
and Papa believed that much of what he was reading had been passed down as
a verbal history and then written down some time in the 13th century, by an
educated knight, or perhaps dictated to a trusted scribe." Cory shrugged
indifferently. "As for priests, the Order still does not trust the clergy
and never had a Prelate, as all the others do."  Todd nodded his
confirmation. "You can't blame the knights for thinking the way they
did. The Church has been hounding gays for hundreds of years."
	"And plotting," said Cory. "The bishops and superiors of the
various religious orders craved ultimate power. They craved dominion of the
King of Jerusalem, and control of the Orders. From the moment the walls of
Jerusalem were breached the priests started plotting and manoeuvring."
	"What else is new?" grumbled Harry. "I've never met a parson yet
who didn't have his hand out and didn't stand in the pulpit and rant and
rave, demanding that everyone in the congregation bow down to 'God's Will',
as interpreted by him!"
	"Our knights did not crave power, and they did not want to become
involved in the intrigue and internecine fighting that had gone on with the
Crusader leaders, so they retired to Acre, which was the main seaport. They
felt they could do good work there and they petitioned the Governor for a
small house. Note that they petitioned, not just moved in."
	"That's important?" asked Harry. He was very intrigued and while he
was interested in the story that Cory was relating, he really wanted to get
down to the nitty gritty of Phantom's dream.
	"Very," replied Cory with emphasis. "The city was still under the
control of the Muslims - the Christians didn't have the manpower to
garrison it at the time - and Alexander of Wraysbury did not want to
antagonize them if he could avoid it, which was a vast difference from what
the other knights were doing."
	"The Governor gave him what he wanted?" Tyler was intrigued and his
demeanour demonstrated his curiosity.
	"Yes," replied Cory. "The Governor was so surprised that he agreed
readily, and issued orders that the three knights were to be treated with
respect. He gave them what had once been a small convent dedicated to Saint
John, the youngest Apostle."
	"Sometimes called Saint John of the Cross because he was the only
apostle who stayed with Jesus to the end," supplied Fred. He then looked
quizzically at Cory. "But I thought the Order was called Saint John of the
Cross of Acre. Where did that come from?"
	Cory was very serious when he replied to Fred's question. "When the
three knights went to take possession of their new quarters they found a
boarded up compound. This was strange because housing was always a problem
in the crowded cities but the Saracens never moved in."
	"Maybe they thought the place was haunted," said Harry, half in
jest.
	"Actually, they did," replied Cory flatly.
	"They what?" Val's eyes widened. "The place was haunted?"
	Cory laughed cryptically. "In a way, yes." He looked at the
expectant faces of the other cadets and continued. "It was the custom, when
a Christian town was taken, for the Saracens to defile the holy
places. Convents were turned into brothels, churches were used to stable
horses, and so on. According to the letters and diaries my father found in
the Secret Archives, not only of the Order, but also of the Vatican, the
Saracens stabled their horses in the small chapel. When they went back the
next morning the horses were in the chapel courtyard and the chapel was as
clean as it had been before the horses went in. The altar, which the
Saracens had stripped of holy clothes and vessels, was decorated with
flowers and the candles were lit. The tabernacle was closed and when it was
opened there was the ciborium, which someone had looted, back in place."
	"A miracle?" asked Nathan sceptically.
	"What other explanation could there be?" returned Cory. "The point
is that the chapel was untouched. The chronicles then say that the Saracens
went crazy. They smashed the tabernacle, took the ciborium and melted it
down. They whitewashed the frescoes behind the altar and they hacked at the
altar itself. All they managed to do was gouge out a few chips of
marble. Then they brought the horses back in, and set guards on the walls
and in the courtyard."
	"And?" Nathan's scepticism was waning.
	"And the next morning when the gates were opened the horses were in
the courtyard, dead, as were the guards. The chapel was in order, with the
altar unmarred, the flowers back in place, the crucifix, everything was
back in place. The tabernacle, which had been hacked to splinters, was once
again whole and the ciborium, which had been melted down, was in the
tabernacle, only this time it was covered and held communion bread."
	Cory could almost see the wave of scepticism circle around the
table. Two Strokes, who did not believe in ghosts, goblins, sprites,
spirits or miracles, scowled in disbelief. Thumper, who did believe in
ghosts, sort of, was wide-eyed with curiosity. Jon and Chris were
blank-faced, but interested, while Tyler and Val remained stoic. Mark and
Tony, sophisticated young men in their own minds, remained neutral. Nathan,
on the other hand, was starting to believe and reached down to clasp Fred's
hand. "Was it a miracle?"
	"To the knights, and obviously to the Saracens, yes," responded
Cory. "Remember, faith in God, in the Saints and Prophets, was a huge part
of everyday life to the Crusaders. How else could the chapel be explained
away?"
	"It couldn't," replied Val, who had been raised in an orthodox,
Roman Catholic and Sicilian household where stories of saints and miracles
were commonplace.
	Harry, while a nominal Lutheran, nodded sagely. He had been raised
in an area populated by Ukrainians and Russians, all of them filled with
the mysticism of their churches and culture. He had never seen a miracle,
but saw no reason to doubt their existence. There were too many anomalies
in life, too many recorded instances of strange beings and strange
happenings to not at least accept that such things happened.
	"In the event, the Saracens left the place alone until the knights
needed a place to establish their priory." Cory scratched his chin and
looked reflectively into the distance. "It was obvious that something
wonderful had happened, and was happening, and the three knights prayed for
guidance. They accepted that there had been a miracle - as the Church would
later on - and realized that God had truly blessed them."
	"Or they believed that He had," proffered Val. "We studied the
Crusades, and the times, in school and the depth of religious fervour never
ceased to amaze me."
	"Why?" Todd asked. "Millions upon millions of people believe in
God, in Jesus, in Allah, or even Buddha. They believe with every fibre of
their being. They might not express their beliefs as ardently as the
Crusaders did, but their belief is true."
	"Oh, I agree," replied Val. "My mother, my aunts, they all think
that there is a true and living God."
	"We all believe it, I think," said Cory carefully. "And so did the
knights. They believed that they were witnessing a true miracle, the second
miracle of their crusade. They did not doubt in the least that God had
taken their little chapel under his protection."
	"What second miracle?" demanded Two Strokes, still the Doubting
Thomas. "How the hell many miracles are we talking about?"
	"You will never reach the Kingdom of Heaven with that attitude,"
retorted Cory tersely. "And I must observe that your religious, not to
mention historical, education is abysmally lacking," he said archly.
	Cory's tone suggested that he was about to enter his Grand Duke of
Vancouver mode and Todd quickly intervened. "Not everyone has the benefit
of a public school education, Cory," he said soothingly. He turned to look
at Two Strokes. "The first miracle was in Antioch, in 1098. This was the
largest, and most well defended of all the Saracen fortresses and while the
Crusaders had taken the city, they basically shot their bolt in the doing
of it. They had the city, true, but they were short on food, had no
transport, no water, and no horses. They could not go back, and so long as
Antioch was threatened, they could not go forward. The Saracens attacked
them constantly. They needed a miracle and God gave them one. He gave them
the Holy Lance."
	"The what?" Fred looked inquiringly at Nathan, who
shrugged. Religion was not a heavy subject, either in school or at home.
	"The spearhead that supposedly was used to pierce the side of Our
Lord when He was on the cross," supplied Tyler. "It is one of the most
sacred relics of the Roman Catholic Church."
	"A peasant, a man named Peter Bartholomew, claimed to have seen
Jesus and St. Andrew. He claimed that they had come to him four times and
each time they spoke to him and told him that they would give the Crusaders
a sign. Nobody believed him and he went away," said Cory, his eyes bright
with excitement. "While he was away the Crusaders managed to take Antioch,
and held on to it by the skin of their teeth."
	"So they didn't need the Lance, and if they didn't why is it such a
great treasure?" demanded Two Strokes. He was determined that Cory's
enthusiasm, which was affecting the others, would not make him believe in
something that was alien to him.
	"The Saracens gathered a great army, under a strong commander, and
began to march on Antioch," replied Cory. "The Crusaders knew that they
could not defeat this army. There would be a massacre and the Crusade would
end before any of them saw Jerusalem."
	"And that's when the Lance was found?" asked Fred quietly, his eyes
wide with interest.
	"Peter Bartholomew returned to Antioch. There had been other
visions, other dreams and this time he was listened to. A knight, Raymond
of Aguilers, and 12 others, went with Peter to the Church of St. Peter,
which is where Christ and the saint had said the gift would be. They dug
and dug and finally revealed the Lance."
	"And people believed?" Two Strokes shook his head. "People actually
believed?"
	"Many did not," interjected Val. "Many of the sceptics were
powerful and demanded proof that the Lance was real. They made Peter
Bartholomew undergo ordeal by fire. They made two walls of olive branches,
brush, and so on, and set them on fire. Peter walked through down the
pathway holding the Lance. When he emerged neither his tunic, nor the
embroidered cloth in which he held the Lance was harmed in any way."
	"And then, with this holiest of relics before them, they marched
out, met the Saracen army, defeated the horde and went on to conquer
Jerusalem."
	"All right, they had a miracle. That doesn't mean I have to believe
in it," returned Two Strokes.
	"You do not have to," responded Cory with a strange calmness. "What
is important is that the Crusaders, and our three knights did."
	"Which brings us now to the second 'miracle', the chapel being
unsullied and untouched." Tony, while only a nominal Catholic, had been
raised in a Catholic home. The teachings of his childhood ran deep, as did
the myths and stories of his Calabrian ancestors.
	"Yes. And while the knights were praying, the third miracle
occurred." Cory hesitated for but a moment. What he was about to tell his
friends was based not on fact, but on fiction, or at least so he
thought. But he knew that this third miracle was the basis for all that
followed.
	"While the knights were praying there appeared, according to an
unnamed chronicler, 'a youth of magnificent beauty'," began
Cory. "Hyperbole aside, the chronicle waxes eloquent when it describes this
young man who was, or so it was believed, Saint John, the youngest of the
Apostles. He . . ."
	"Jesus!" Two Strokes could not stand it any longer. He stood up and
pointed his finger at Cory. "Now listen here, Cory, enough is enough! I
listened to Todd blathering on about some phantom running around whacking
guys off. I've listened to Phantom yammering about some dream and now you
come along with Saint John the fucking Divine wandering around Acre
visiting gay knights!"
	"He was not visiting anyone. He was appearing before praying
supplicants and . . ." Cory looked piercingly at Two Strokes. "I was asked
to relate what I know about the Order. I am doing that," he said with great
dignity. "If you do not care to listen, then leave. Haul ass, fuck off!"
	"I might just do that!" snapped Two Strokes, returning Cory's
glare.
	Cory snarled and leaned forward, looking as if he were about to
leap across the table and attack the tall, skinny Crusher. Tyler's voice
stopped him.
	"You will remain, Chief Home," ordered Tyler, his voice calm and
authoritative. He looked at Cory. "You will keep your temper, Chief
Arundel." He looked directly into Cory's startling, clear blue eyes. "DO I
make myself clear?"
	Cory nodded. "Very, Master-At-Arms."
	Two Strokes had never seen Tyler truly angry and for some reason he
did not want to start now. "I'll stay. I am only registering my doubts," he
finished somewhat lamely.
	"You're doubts are noted, Chief. I will, however, remind you, that
I asked Cory what he knew about the Order. I believe that we are about to
enter into something that is far bigger, and far more important than we
know. And far more important than your doubts!" Tyler then turned to
Cory. "We all reserve the right to doubt. But, please, continue."
	Nodding, Cory began to speak, and in the process astounded his
brother. Cory's voice, the tone, the depth, the timbre, was such that Todd
could scarcely believe that his brother was speaking.
	"Saint John, called the Divine, appeared to the knights. He was
beautiful to behold and the chronicles tell us that the knights were 'sore
afraid'. Saint John calmed them, and then is supposed to have said:

	"Know ye that men shall call ye anathema, and mankind shall turn
his face from thee. Many shall perish at the hands of man, but ye art
Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee.

	"Thou art set on a road that is not of God's making, a road that
contains many thorns and scorpions. Many shall perish at the hands of man,
but ye art Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee.

	"Thou art brothers in the sight of God and ye shall take thy
brothers, and all that are alike unto them, unto thy breast and keep them
safe, for they are Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee.

	"Thou shall make unto God, and unto thy brothers, a covenant, as
Abraham made unto the Lord. Each of ye shall remove the orlah that is
between thee and thy God and make unto Him thy sacrifice, and return to the
image of Him that made thee, for ye art Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I
promise thee.

	"Raise ye not great temples, for these are displeasing in the sight
of God. Hold each man true as ye hold thyself true. Keep the way of thy
Lord, and bring not shame or corruption unto Him, for this is unseemly, as
ye are the Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee.

	"Hold ye true to the Lord for all eternity and there shall be a
place at the right hand of the Lord. Though mankind beset thee, and bring
thee great sadness, hold ye to the way of the Lord. Make ye not a great
sadness, for ye are the Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee.

	"Go ye and make thy covenant, each with the other. Find ye your
brothers, and make with them thy covenant. On my feast day gather ye thy
brethren and the Lord shall give unto them a sign. Keep ye this day, for
thou art the Blessed of the Lord thy God. This I promise thee."

	Todd, slack-jawed, was the first to break the great silence that
had enfolded the Gunroom. "You . . . believe . . .that?" He shook his
head. "But Cory, you've always been downright insulting when it came to the
Order. You've never had any use for it and have always referred to it with
contempt."
	"My contempt is for what has happened to the Order, not what its
founding was based upon. The original, noble ideals, no matter what the
basis, have been perverted and many of the provisions of the Rule have
fallen by the wayside. And I believe!"
	"Well, I'll be damned," returned Todd, his eyes wide at the wonder
he had just heard.
	"No, for ye are Blessed of the Lord. This has been promised to
thee," replied Cory softly. "You, I, many of us here in this room, are
gay. We are as Saint John said, called abomination and anathema . . . by
man! Not God."
	Once again Todd's eyes widened. His brother, his sweet little
brother, who had gone through much of his life with nothing more than his
next piece of boy tail in mind, had become . . . a visionary . . . a young
man with an almost depthless soul of understanding.
	"Don't look at me like that," snapped Cory. He looked around the
table. "All of you sitting here, all of you have come to know and
understand what you are! You just started to understand. I knew a long time
ago what I was. I never denied it! Todd knew."
	Suddenly, Cory burst into tears. "You can't know what I felt, how I
felt. You can't know the rejection, the hurt, I've felt. You can't ever
know how Todd felt!"
	"Cory, please, don't do this," begged Todd as he rose and enfolded
his brother in his arms.
	"No!" Cory pushed his brother away and glared at his messmates, the
tears flowing down his cheeks. "For years people have turned their faces
whenever I came into a room. My mother's friends snickered behind her back
because of what I was, what Todd was. We were queers, faggots! 'Poor
Mrs. Arundel and her twin fags!'" he mimicked cruelly. Cory then slammed
his chest and declared, "Well, I am what I am, and I'm not going to
apologize for it. Todd wanted us to cool our jets, sneak into a closet and
hide what we were!" He rounded on Two Strokes. "You sit there, doubting
everything, snapping and snarling away, forgetting how you never missed an
opportunity to slag Todd off, or me off!"
	Val made to rise but Tyler's hand on his arm stopped him. "Let it
be, Val," instructed Tyler quietly. "This has been a long time coming."
	"When I read what my father had written I finally had hope! God
didn't hate me! Man hated me, and I could fight man! God sent the favourite
Disciple to tell me that He loved me! When I read those words, oh Jesus,
did I feel wonderful! There was someone out there, someone other than my
Toddy, whom I could turn to! I had hope!" Turning to his twin brother, Cory
added in a softer voice, "And now you know why I kept reading Papa's
papers, why I had to read Papa's papers!"
	"But then you looked around and saw what the Order had become and
. . ." whispered Todd, shaking his head, for he knew all too well exactly
what the Order had become.
	"I felt as if I'd been kicked, Toddy. I saw a bunch of old men who
couldn't have cared less about people like me! All they were interested in
was themselves, their little boys! I heard Papa and the others talking
about knights, knights, stealing from the Order!" Looking his brother in
the eyes he continued, "So you are right, Todd. I snooped! I eavesdropped!
I needed to know my friends and my enemies."
	"You have friends, Cory, more than you realize," responded Two
Strokes. "Please, Cory, I am sorry for what I said, what I did." He quickly
left his seat and confronted Cory, then took him in his arms. "I just find
it hard to believe, sometimes. This is all so new to me, and strange, the
way I feel, and I just have to lash out." He held Cory close. "Help me to
believe, Cory. Help us all to believe. You're my brother, after all."
	"Yeah, I am," replied Cory with a sniff. He returned Two Strokes'
hug and then slowly pushed the boy away. "You're my brother and I forgive
you everything."
	With Two strokes and Todd at his side, Cory returned to addressing
his messmates. "We call each other brothers, and that is true. Before we
came here we were just a bunch of cadets. Some of us loved other boys, some
of us didn't. Some of us thought we might be capable of finding the love of
another boy, others didn't. We were all prepared to live our lives in
hiding, pretending to be something we were not."
	"And then . . ." Todd sank slowly to the bench. "Now I see it. I
couldn't get my head around it before, but now I see it." He glanced
quickly at Two Strokes. "Don't worry, I'm not having a vision."
	Two Strokes smiled wanly. "No, but you might just have realized
that something, well, almost miraculous has happened here."
	"You see it, you know it?" asked Cory.
	Nodding, Two Strokes sat on Nicholas' bunk. "I'm just beginning to
realize that we have all been brought here for a purpose. We are all of us,
whether we wanted to admit it before, must admit now, homosexual, gays, the
abomination and anathema. You are right, Cory, we came here a disparate,
unconnected group of boys. Now, and this is the only way I can think to
express it, we are being given a chance to rebuild something that others
have allowed, through their own selfishness, their own venality, to fall
into disgrace."
	"We have been asked to follow someone who has never wavered in his
faith, in us, or in himself," Mark spoke up. "I am a stranger, yet you took
me in, and made me a brother. I came here thinking that I was alone, that
no one could ever love or understand me. Then I stood to one side and I
watched as you all came together, how you all formed a brotherhood. You
might not have known it at the time, but you do now. I saw a young man, who
was not of your house, as Kipling might say, build a new house and invite
all of us to share it with him. He did not ask that we love him, only that
we love each other and our brothers across the causeway."
	Fred looked around the table. "I was like Mark, a stranger." He
hung his head and a sob escaped his throat. "I was like Cory, afraid and
angry. I was afraid because I was queer, and angry because I was rejected."
He raised his eyes to the overhead and shook his head. "My parents no
longer have a son. They won't have a queer for a son. But I am a queer and
I can't go home again."
	There was a murmur of sympathy around the table. None of the others
had experienced such a rejection, but they all knew that it happened, and
it terrified them.
	"I can't go home again," Fred repeated. "You're Canadians, and you
can never understand the love I feel for my home country, for England. I
can never again see the green fields, the forests, and the lakes. I'm a
queer and my people, my fucking people, sent me away."
	Nathan put his arm around Fred's waist. "You're wrong in one thing,
Fred. You do have a home, and you do have people!"
	Smiling fondly at his American lover, Fred nodded. "I know that. I
came here an outcast and I saw . . . I saw the same thing Mark saw. I saw
strangers become friends and acquaintances become brothers. I was alone and
then, suddenly, people who really cared about me surrounded me! I saw one
man, in his own quiet way, show us how to treat each other with dignity and
respect, how to love one another."
	Fred suddenly pointed toward the door leading to the barracks
yard. "A man just left us, a man who is more of a man that any of us. We
have laughed at his dreams, and scoffed at Cory's tale. But that man has
not laughed, and he has not scoffed. He doesn't need to read a history, a
chronicle. He knows it in his heart. He knows that he has been called to a
new beginning. He knows, as Saint John has said, that the road he must
follow is filled with many thorns and scorpions. He knows there will be
casualties, and he knows that many will fall by the wayside. Tyler is
right. Phantom is going to war."
	Fred squared his shoulders. "He will not go alone to Quebec. In his
dream I stood with him at the battlement. I will stand with him again.
Phantom will not be alone, as I was alone, as Cory was alone. We will not
be alone!" Fred's eyes burned deeply into the surrounding faces of the
young men looking at him. "We will not be alone!"