Aurora Tapestry

All rights reserved. Other than downloading a copy for personal enjoyment, 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!"