KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Thu Dec 04, 2014 4:13 pm

Please be tolerant of my lengthy introduction. Indeed, feel free to skip it.
The theme of this story is female submission and bondage. It was inspired by a couple of my earlier efforts and also by a scenario my brother and I developed several years ago. (The characters of David and Kate are loosely based on us and our early experiences of university life.)
As a result, the story is something of an experiment and will not be to everyone’s taste. I am posting it in the PG-17 section more for the adult concepts than for the language or imagery.

If you still wish to read on, please keep in mind these words…
“Invisible chains are those which weigh the most heavily.” (John Norman, Tribesmen of Gor)
“Non semper ea sunt quae videntur.” — “Things are not always what they seem.” (Gaius Julius Phaedrus, Fabulae Aesopiae)

Note to readers in the northern hemisphere — The events take place in Australia, where the university academic year begins in February.


Knights and maidens

“How far a man must stray before he becomes blameworthy is not easy to define. The decision depends on the circumstances and perception. Yet this much is clear. Virtue lies in the middle way. Sometimes we incline towards excess, sometimes deficiency. In understanding this, we find the best course and do what is right.” (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics)

“The habit does not make the monk, nor the wearing of golden spurs make the knight.” (Thomas Usk, Testament of Love)

I.

As we made our way silently along the narrow, winding path, a full moon shone overhead. The eerie silence seemed to close in around us. The nightlife of the forest went silent as we passed through. All I could hear were muffled footsteps, the faint rustle of leaves, the soft swish of brushed aside branches and the occasional muted voice warning of a sudden change of direction or a tree root invading the trail. The moonlight was strong enough that most of us could see where we were going; but not the two prisoners.

Annabel and Donna were in the middle of the column. Wearing only their tiny white tunics, in the late night cold air they were beginning to shiver. And yet, in my shiny black breeches and flowing scarlet cape, I felt as silly as my comrades looked and, all things considered, I would have preferred the girls’ goosebumps. On the other hand, bound, gagged and blindfolded, our hostages were having a hard time negotiating the meandering path. In guiding Annabel, I confess that I was doing a lousy job. For all my earlier brotherhood-primed bravado, I felt squeamish about manhandling a helpless, half-clad female. Whenever I saw her in danger of stumbling or tripping, I offered a steadying and reassuring hand, but she pridefully tried to shake it off. I insisted, firmly gripping her arm; and each time she flinched, feeding my guilt with a gentle sigh or moan.

Annabel was small. She only just reached the height of my chin. But she had a sublime body, and stretched by the severity of her bonds it strained delectably against the thin fabric of her dress. Her wrists were tied in a crossed position behind her back with nylon cord. Her elbows were firmly bound, pulling her shoulders back and thus pushing forward her exquisite chest. More rope was looped around her neck to make a loose yoke. Another ran down her belly and between her legs to connect with her wrists. This was drawn so tight that it and the hem of her dress snuggled into the soft contours of her womanhood, with a clearly visible stimulating effect as she shuffled along the pathway. As a result, her panting became deeper and more rapid as we progressed. Despite the chill, little beads of sweat glistened on her bare arms and legs.

Directly ahead of us, Donna appeared to be having a slightly easier time. Perhaps her crotch-rope was not as snug. But the two women were barefoot, and there were prickly twigs which crackled under their tread and jagged stones which protruded from the corrugated dirt. They were also hitched together at the neck and waist with ropes of about two arms’ length. When one of them wobbled or wavered, the other was thrown off-balance as well and they both tottered and staggered. Several times I had to grab my girl to keep her upright, and these times she whispered a thank-you through her gag.

The traverse through the woods from the Temple to the Maidenhall would normally have taken just a couple of minutes, even in the middle of the night. Slowed by our captives, we took a good deal longer. Nevertheless, as we emerged into the pale orange glow cast by the porch lamps, there was no hint from inside that our approach had been detected. The place was shrouded in darkness, save for a half-dozen dimly lit windows behind which residents were still getting ready for bed or staying up late to study.

A pair of Cadets reconnoitred the entrance while the rest of us waited on the lawn next to the driveway, crouched behind the cover of a couple of vehicles and maintaining complete silence. It occurred to me that the deathly stillness of the forest might have given us away, but as the animals and insects came back to life with their chorus of chirps and twitters in the trees behind us, the building remained quiet. The distant, mournful hoot of an owl might have been an ominous presage of the drama about to unfold.

To prevent our hostages raising the alarm, we had them prostrate on the grass. Annabel was lying on her back. I was sprawled across her midsection, while Rick held her legs and Ben had both his hands clamped over her gagged mouth so that no sound at all could come out. She was a deceptively tough little nut to crack, and in the brief struggle to wrestle her to the ground, her blindfold had come loose. Her eyes were bulging. Her chest heaved. The pressure of my weight on her body, especially with her arms pinioned behind her, must have been torture. The tussle had also displaced the neckline of her dress, exposing her breasts. Her nipples showed the full arousing effects of the rope drawn taut between her thighs. Being careful that my fingers did not brush against them — I felt sorry for the poor girl and did not want to degrade her further — I lifted the top of the dress back to its proper place. She repaid me by kicking and squirming, and managed to land a knee on the side of my head. I couldn’t blame her.

When the signal was given, we hoisted Annabel and Donna roughly to their feet and hustled them forward. It didn’t matter if they made noise now. Bright light poured out onto the colonnaded portico from the widening crack between the great oak doors as they swung open. From inside I heard a scream, a shout and more screaming. A young woman in a frilly pink negligée dashed out onto the lawn and was quickly tackled. When released, instead of resisting or attempting to flee, she knelt with her hands clasped behind her head. The two Cadets assigned to guard the perimeter put her with Annabel and Donna, as the rest of us stormed up the steps and into the lobby. Yells and squeals echoed in the stairwells and along the corridors. The house had been penetrated. The twenty-third annual conquest of the Maidenhall was underway.

II.

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

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

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

My sister also took care of my accommodation, and that was a big help. She had arranged for me to stay at a boarding house for my first two weeks, and dropped me off on the Sunday afternoon before the start of classes. I had brought with me just a single bag of clothes and some other vital supplies. Most of my gear was still packed in boxes back home. Kate promised to fetch them once I was settled in. She introduced me to the landlord, the urbane Mister Swank (yes, that was really his name), gave me a kiss and took off.

The place was located off-campus but just ten minutes’ walk away. All the residents were students and most, like me, were first-years awaiting admission to one of the colleges, or seeking permanent lodgings elsewhere. It was inexpensive and reasonably comfortable. The decor was stark, but not as seedy as I had pictured it being.

In the doorway right next to my room, a lanky, dishevelled-looking character was loitering. We exchanged nods, and he thrust out both hands, one for me to shake, the other proffering a can of beer.

“Name’s Perry,” he drawled. “Welcome to the Hotel Hovel.”

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

Perry and I got on well. He was lazy, lackadaisical and laid-back enough to be virtually horizontal (which indeed he was much of the time). But he was entertaining. Like me, he was a freshman, but he came across a great deal more worldly about university life, indeed about life in general. He knew all the best drinking venues on and off the campus and had a party detection radar second to none. Nevertheless, while he might have been frivolous and indolent, Perry was far from stupid. In fact he had a scholarly nature which he tried to conceal. Most of the time he did so with admirable success.

I got to know some of the other residents. Most kept to themselves, and it was not until the end of my first week that I met Sabrina. Perry and I were loafing in the yard with a few cans of brewed beverage when she appeared, the vision splendid in a barely-there bikini. She had spread a towel on the lawn when she spied us watching her. She came over. Petite and pretty, she had shoulder-length, rather shaggy honey-blonde hair and sultry brown eyes. Her lips curled naturally into an impish grin. Her body was trim and nicely tanned, well-toned and perfectly proportioned. She stood silently for a moment, allowing our eyes to linger on her delightful curves. She seemed not at all self-conscious.

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

“Oh yeah... Bree, this is Dave. Dave… Bree.”

“Hi, David.”

I took the hint. “Hi, Sabrina.”

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

During the next seven days, the three of us spent what free time we had in each other’s company. Perry and I were both attracted to Sabrina and became friendly rivals for her attention. She did not appear to have a boyfriend and received no visitors. At the same time, I did not see any realistic prospect for taking the relationship further. She was older and more experienced, in the ways of the university but I guessed in other ways as well. So I settled for us just having fun together.

However, like all proverbial good things, it had to end. On the Friday of the second week, Perry announced that he was moving out. We commemorated our breakup with a decadent meal at a fancy restaurant and promised to keep in touch. But we knew how that normally goes. You say you will, and you genuinely mean it at the time, but rarely does it happen that way.

The following day, Sabrina and I took a long stroll around the campus. It was my first comprehensive tour, but I was more focused on Sabrina. She was wearing a little yellow sundress which fluttered and flounced in the mellow mid-morning breeze. She looked more gorgeous than ever, but was either oblivious or indifferent to the effect she was having on me. She led the way, pointing out the most important and interesting landmarks.

We followed a meandering course — through Lakeside Village, which is the main shopping precinct; past the Quad, the huge sports and recreation area; across Riverside Park, on the edges of which are located most of the residential halls and colleges; and finally up a steep, grassy mound at the far end of the park. From its summit, I found myself looking out over a sprawling and rather dreary-looking complex of multistorey apartment blocks. This, I was informed, is known officially as the Communal Housing Project but universally as the Commune. A town with a population of several thousand, virtually self-contained, this is one of the university’s major hubs of social (and sexual) activity. It’s big, noisy and crowded, and the revels never shut down. It is said that the residents’ motto is “Bibo ergo sum.” * There have been rumours of ritual virgin sacrifices; but no one actually believes that. Where would they find a virgin in the Commune?

Somewhere amidst that vast clutter of buildings was Richmond Hall, where Perry now lived. He would be happy there.

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

“That,” she said, “is the Temple. It’s the most exclusive residence on campus.”

“That so?” I replied, nonchalantly.

“The Templars are very influential; not just at the university, but in business, government, law, diplomacy, education...”

“Like a secret society?”

“Well, not exactly secret; but I guess you’d call it… elite.”

“How do you get in?”

She laughed. “Not without an invitation. That’s why it’s elite.”

“Must cost a lot.”

She frowned. “Why are you smiling?”

But she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she had turned away and was already halfway down the hill. “Come on,” she called. She veered off course, towards one of the several coffee shops that are to be found on the outskirts of the Village. We drank our caffè latte, talked about nothing special, watched people going by.

It was early afternoon when we arrived back at the house. A message awaited Sabrina. She had a strange expression as she read it, and at dinner was unusually quiet. She went to bed straight afterwards, and in the morning she was nowhere to be seen. Kate and I had plans to drive into town, and when I returned that afternoon I passed by Sabrina’s room. The door was open, her possessions were gone, and there were a half-dozen cardboard boxes stacked by the bed. Someone new was moving in. We were all moving on.

I spent the next day in a state of dull depression, trying to concentrate on my studies and looking about wistfully everywhere I went in the vague hope of spotting Sabrina. I didn’t, of course. On Tuesday morning, however, life changed again. My sister came to me, breathless with excitement. She handed me a large envelope, but blurted out the news before I could unseal it.

“You’re in!” She grinned. “Well… you still have the interview.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I teased, but she ignored me. So I opened the dispatch and studied the letterhead. Kate was right. It bore the distinctive red logo of the Order of the Temple. My instructions were to report that same afternoon. They did not give you much time to prepare or to rehearse, which was no doubt the point. So I tried to treat the day as if it were normal; but as the hours passed sluggishly by with callous indifference to my state of mind, the curiosity and the uncertainty were growing apace.

Kate had always been discreet about her campus residence. She said this was only so I could find out for myself; but I never believed that. Nonetheless, I did have some idea of what to expect, besides the fact that for a very low fee accommodation, meals and tuition were provided, as well as high-quality academic support. The Templars were extremely selective about whom they allowed in. Kate had earned admission in her second year, and ranking near the top of all of her freshman classes was the decisive factor.

Although I’ve never had much time for elitist institutions, the lure of subsidized housing and tuition (in addition to the other, less publicized perks) was a powerful incentive to compromise my principles. After graduation, members then become part of a powerful network of social and professional connections, as Sabrina had described. This is called the Guild, and it sustains the next generation of Templars. It also supports a variety of charitable, community welfare and environmental causes, which ennobles its image for self-righteous idealists like myself. In these respects, the Order is not unlike the sorts of student organizations and alumni societies which you’ll find at universities everywhere, just more circumspect about its membership and more outré in its conventions and customs.

Kate had insisted that I apply, and assured me that she would make all the necessary appointments and arrangements. As a protégé, or sponsored candidate, all I had to do was complete the relevant paperwork and await the reply. I was doubtful that it could be so easy. Yet it turned out to be so. We met outside a small, sparsely furnished office hidden away in a nondescript building on the edge of Lakeside Village. Kate was wearing a powder blue chiffon dress with ruffles and ribbons — very much recherché for my down-to-earth sister — and appeared even more tense than I felt.

Already in the waiting room were three other candidates with their sponsors, all females. As we entered, Kate and I received some odd looks, like we were being studied and assessed. I was not encouraged by the skeptical frowns. One of the girls was accompanied by an attractive, elegantly dressed woman whom I took to be her mother and reminded me of someone I’d encountered recently. The woman nodded rather curtly at Kate but appeared to be ignoring me. It took me a moment to recognize her, a professor who had spoken at one of the freshman orientation sessions. The girl and I exchanged polite, apprehensive smiles; and possibly without even realizing what she was doing, she drew the hemline of her skirt demurely down towards her knees.

Kate and I were called in first. I expected umbrage from the others, but I think they were happy to let us go in and have their own moment of truth delayed. We were all nervous.

The panel who interviewed us consisted of two stern-looking males of around Kate’s age, and a diminutive female with elfin features and short-cropped jet-black hair. She was wearing a prim white cotton frock, and encircling her slender neck was a black leather choker embossed with a magenta cruciform icon consisting of a two chains and an embedded rose. She remained standing until everyone else was seated and showed deference towards her colleagues; yet she handled most of the interrogation, such as it was. She perused my application form and examined my academic record, read Kate’s submission and nodded with approval. I was questioned about a few things that did not seem to have much to do with joining the Order. I think by then we were merely going through the motions, because eventually the young woman said, “Being a protégé, you have automatic admission, provided that you meet all the other requirements.” She paused to glance over the documents once more. “Which you do.”

Kate gave me a discreet “I told you so” nudge.

“Your sister has an exemplary record...”

Kate beamed.

One of the males interrupted. “Thank you, Annabel.” He held out a hand for me to shake. “Welcome to the Company of Knights. Congratulations.”

Kate gave me a hug and embarrassed me with a kiss. I thanked our interviewers.

On our way out, I gave the girls in the anteroom a reassuring thumbs-up. The gesture was meant to be inspiring, but I immediately regretted it. Though our destination might be the same, we would be following very different paths once we’d entered the realm of the Templars.

Kate and I ate a celebratory dinner at a gourmet pizza restaurant, but for once she did not have much to offer as advice. She said she was not qualified, which I thought was strange. She is not normally so reticent. In any case, it hardly mattered, because once the decision is made, the Order moves quickly. I had been instructed to present myself at the Temple at six in the evening, the very next day. Kate volunteered to come with me, but I declined her offer. I had to do something by myself. So I went to my classes as normal, managing to contain my excitement and apprehension; and when the time came, I returned to the boarding house, grabbed my belongings and checked out.

Mr Swank asked “And where are you off to?”

I said something vague and non-committal, and he nodded with a wry grin. From my evasive reply, I think he may have guessed my destination.


* “I drink therefore I am.”

To be continued…
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Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Thu Dec 04, 2014 5:15 pm

III.

The occupation of the Maidenhall proceeded on schedule and without a serious glitch. The lack of opposition would have been baffling to the unenlightened. The women outnumbered us two-to-one. They may not have been strong enough in numbers to overpower us or eject us from the house, but at least some, and perhaps most, might have staged a successful breakout. They could have escaped into the night or returned to harass their attackers and free more of their sisters. Instead they submitted without a fight and passively accepted their fate. Some might have instinctively offered resistance but were too sleepy and disoriented. All seemed utterly resigned to their fate. It was like we were in a play, each with our scripted roles.

Every Cadet carried a bunch of plastic cable-ties, so it took just a couple of seconds to restrain a cooperative captive. Half a dozen girls had been caught downstairs and were lying face down on the cold, hard tiles, quietly whimpering as their hands were secured behind their backs by the two Cadets who had been the first to infiltrate the house. A tray with four steaming mugs of cocoa had been deposited on the floor without a drop spilt — testimony to the ease of conquest. But it was not so easy on our prey. As the rest of us regrouped in the lobby, the half-dozen were on their feet and had been instructed to report to the assembly point on lawn. All were in their pyjamas — thin robes, flimsy camisoles and skimpy teddies. They groaned as the cold air bit into their flesh.

As I reached the stairs, two more captives were being hustled out of the passageway that led from the kitchen. One of them was a tall, mahogany-skinned beauty in a lilac satin chemise. Ben was trying to pin her arms behind her back, and while she was not resisting, he had them in a double hammerlock and was struggling to get the zip-tie around both wrists. He was hurting her, she was grunting and panting, and in his frustration he started twisting even harder. Although significantly shorter, he was burly; although lean, she was athletic; so it would have been an even contest if she had refused to be bound. But by not fighting back, she was actually making it harder for herself. If she had broken free, I would have intervened and she could have been wrestled to the floor and quickly subdued. But she was too proud for futile gestures of defiance, and he was too arrogant to call for assistance.

I had my own job to do but felt obliged to intercede. Not for the sake of the suffering victim but to free Ben to carry on. Every man was needed to complete the round-up, each with his appointed task. So I seized the girl’s elbows and wrenched them out of Ben’s grasp. She stifled a curse when she realized what I was doing and lowered her hands so her wrists could be crossed and bound. Ben, however, felt that he had to salvage some pride at her expense. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the wads of cloth we’d been issued for use as gags. Appalled, she clamped her jaws and after some feeble prodding Ben was about to give up.

My sympathy was with the girl but my loyalty was to my fellow Cadet, so I gripped the corners of her mouth and pinched hard until she surrendered. She made a wretched sound, a sort of mumbled mewl, as he shoved the wad between her lips. Nevertheless, the crude gags were more symbolic than effective, and when I next saw the dusky damsel, she had spat it out. (“Good for you,” I thought at the time.)

This diversion delayed me for just a minute, but by the time I reached the first floor my comrades had already achieved their objective. The dormitory was sectioned into four wings, each containing four rooms. My squad had been assigned to occupy the south-west quarter. Rick, Tom and Mike had encountered no difficulty. But from around the corner at the end of the corridor came the sounds of a scuffle. And on the floor above, there was loud banging and shrieking. Perhaps not every maiden was as docile as those downstairs. More likely, some of the Cadets were getting carried away with their mission. That troubled me… but not very much… and not for long.

“What kept you?” Mike asked, grinning. He was standing in a doorway twirling one of the cable-ties around his finger. He nodded in the direction of the adjoining room. There I found three young women lined up facing the wall, feet together, hands clasped behind their heads. One was naked and her roommates were in just their knickers. I must have stood there staring as Rick came up behind me. Flanked by two bound captives, he had his arms around their waists and was pulling them in close. Both were breathing heavily, and the blank expressions on the pretty faces revealed the dejection of defeat. At least they were in their pyjamas — a cute baby-doll and a lacy nightshirt.

Rick laughed and nodded towards the lined-up girls. “I think we caught them in an intimate moment.”

I heard a gasp of dismay from one of them. Rick was probably right.

“Let’s get moving,” he said.

The room was a twin-share and not very big, but the décor was deluxe by the standards of most student residences. Yet there was something off-putting about the furniture and trimmings. They reminded me of what you might find in a hotel suite — lots of dark wood, carved and gilded; faux marble facings and stucco walls; polished wooden floor and plush rugs; velvet upholstery, cushions and curtains; rococo frills and ornaments. There were pink and purple satin sheets and pillows on the beds which, intriguingly, were not separated but arranged as a double.

“Sorry for the interruption,” I said under my breath. I tapped the nude girl on the shoulder. “Put something on. You two as well.”

With sighs of relief and gratitude, my prisoners obeyed. One of those in briefs picked up a t-shirt.

“Just a bra,” I said.

She gave me a quick, resentful glance, but then shrugged her shoulders and tossed the shirt aside.

“We’re in a hurry,” I explained, though I doubt she believed that was the real reason. In any case, she began rummaging through a drawer full of underwear and inspected several of the brassieres before selecting one and putting it on. (It only occurred to me later that this was not her room and these were not her undies.) I watched her, having never taken much notice of how a girl puts on her lingerie, before this moment. I guess I expected it to be more sensual — like a reverse striptease — and was actually kind of disappointed. What, for some reason, did arouse me was that she looked to be in her mid-twenties — a veteran at the university. And yet here she was, submitting to a callow Cadet just a few months out of high school. I shook these thoughts out of my head. I had a job to do.

More practically, I discovered that using zip-ties to bind a girl’s wrists behind her back is not a simple matter. The first one I made too tight, and she squeaked as the plastic strip dug into her skin. A pair of scissors was lying on top of the dresser, so I tried again. As I worked on her, the others, without waiting for my command, had resumed their stance at attention facing the wall. The second one (t-shirt girl) took a step backwards from the wall when her turn came, and stretched her arms out behind her and made an odd, low-pitched, grunting, gurgling sound when I drew them together.

When the three had been restrained, I ordered them to march out into the corridor. By now all the rooms had been emptied, so my girls took their place at the very end of a column of prisoners queued up at the head of the stairs. Uncertain of what was holding us up, I went forward to check. From out of the stairwell came rhythmic shuffling sounds, some mumbling and grumbling and an occasional, incongruous giggle. The upper floors of the Maidenhall had already been cleared. It had been a quick, efficient operation.

IV.

The name of the Templars is derived, rather prosaically, from the imposing architecture of Temple Hall, which itself was named, even more mundanely, after the first Principal of University College, Professor Temple. Close-up, it is certainly impressive, albeit with a sort of faded grandeur. It is set apart from the rest of the campus by a broad, dense nature strip, so there were not many passers-by or curious onlookers at that time of day.

Already gathered on the lawn in front of the building were two dozen fellow inductees, identifiable by their luggage and their expressions. I knew a couple of them, casually, from the boarding house. We acknowledged each other with cursory nods, but no one was in the mood for conversation. Indeed, it came as a relief when one of the men who had been on the interview board emerged from within. He was tall, thin and pallid, prematurely balding, done up in a garishly crimson jacket and sharp-creased grey slacks, a starched white shirt and a scarlet silk tie. His dress and demeanour reminded me of a cross between a head prefect and a head waiter. His face appeared to be fixed in a permanent scowl, and as he directed us inside, he shook his head in dismay at this newest batch of clueless, feckless recruits.

We entered a large foyer, opulently adorned with marble-tiled flooring, polished wood-panel walls, an ornately carved ceiling and a crystal chandelier. Near the entrance a desk had been placed, with a sign announcing “Registration.” I gave my name to a red-coated, grim-faced attendant.

Now that we were all present, I counted thirty of us, and all appeared to be first-year students. Once everyone had filed past the desk, we assembled in the middle of the room as our leader shut the great doors. He clapped his hands and loudly proclaimed: “Gentlemen, your attention please. We are about to begin.”

The drone of voices quickly petered out.

“Some of you already know me. For the rest, I am Warden Parnell, Senior Master of the Order.”

Warden of what I had no idea. There was an irritating pomposity about his manner.

“We shall leave the remainder of the formalities until dinner. For now, you will be assigned your rooms. You then have half an hour to unpack and freshen up. Dinner is at seven… sharp!”

With a wave of his arms, he beckoned us to draw closer. We formed a semicircle around him. He had been joined by his colleague, who still bore that dour expression, as if he had a better place to be; but also by a very appealing, statuesque female. Like Annabel, the woman at the interview, she looked to be at least a couple of years older than her male associates; and in eye-pleasing contrast to their faintly ridiculous gaudy jackets and stiffly pressed trousers, and the stuffy setting, she was incredibly sexy in a skimpy white tunic which showed off superbly the sleek figure of an athlete and the legs of a showgirl. The narrow straps of the dress had slipped down her arms, creating a very agreeable décolletage. Her hair was bound up in a loose bun, and as she moved, errant strawberry blonde strands brushed delicately across her bare shoulders. Also like Annabel, she wore a black leather collar with the rose and chain symbol; and fastened about her wrists were slim silver bracelets secured with tiny padlocks.

It was hard to keep my eyes off the young woman as she handed the Senior Master a sheet of paper, which he inspected in silence for several seconds, as if searching for anomalies. The other new guys were equally distracted, and you could tell from the way she was standing there — her body straight, hands clasped behind her back, one foot slightly forward and the knee slightly bent, positioning herself to best effect — and by the subtly sardonic smile and twinkle in her eyes, that she was not averse to the attention. But she kept her head bowed and eyes downcast the whole time.

The Senior Master cleared his throat to begin reading out pairs of names. They were arranged on his list in alphabetical order, as good a way as any to match up strangers. My heart was pounding, although I am not sure exactly why. I guess that hearing my name would be the final affirmation, proof that I was now a bona fide Templar. And yet there was also that queasy feeling in my stomach which reminded me of my not so far off schooldays, when marginal misfits like myself were always the last to be picked for the team. I was so preoccupied that I nearly missed hearing my name, and didn’t catch that of my roommate.

When the list was exhausted, the male attendant summoned us to follow him, with a brusque wave of the arm. We trailed behind him up a broad, carpeted staircase. Our rooms were located on the second floor. As we unpacked and selected our beds, by the time-honoured convention of a coin toss, my new comrade introduced himself. Ben was, like me, a freshman and protégé, still finding his way about. He was short and stocky, with unruly hair and a somewhat disreputable, dissolute look about him. Indeed, he turned out to be much like Perry, an incorrigible slob, irredeemable slacker and chronic carouser. On the other hand, he was easy-going and non-territorial, meaning that we were not going to argue over who had what; but he also respected personal space and private property. Although we never became close friends, we got on well.

Our quarters were comfortable if far from luxurious. Besides our beds, we each had a desk and chair. There were also a small refrigerator, bookshelf, washbasin, storage cabinet and reasonably capacious closet; a telephone; internet and ethernet connections; and no television set, which was a good thing. We didn’t have our own bathroom, but one was located between each pair of rooms so that only four guys had to share. The corridor outside was wide enough for socializing, and in fact at one end was set out a suite consisting of a coffee table, a full-sized fridge and half a dozen easy-chairs.

On the wall in each room was posted a list of rules and expectations — the usual stuff — and a plan of the Temple. The building had five storeys, and a quick calculation showed that it accommodated somewhat more than a hundred residents. Above us neophytes lived the rest of the Knights. We had a dining hall, spacious common and conference rooms, two TV lounges and a study hall. There was a small communal kitchen that anybody could use at any time of the day or night. There was even a gym, spa and sauna. At the rear of the building was a barbeque area and garden. What appeared to be missing were the main kitchen facility and laundry. I soon discovered why they weren’t needed.

We had time before dinner for only a splash of water on the face and a change of clothes. I took my lead from Ben, who thought there was no need to dress formally. It turned out he was right.

Not knowing what to do or where to go, downstairs we all milled about aimlessly in the foyer until our escort arrived, the severe-looking guy and the nice-looking girl. He had forsaken his uniform for more casual garb, but she was still in her little white dress, collar and cuffs. He quickly departed, while she smiled indulgently and waited for us to finish ogling her once more before directing us to the common room along a passageway leading from the rear of the foyer. Tables there had been set up with about forty places. I was glad that it was nothing elaborate, just cutlery, glasses, jugs of water and the like. I was not in the mood for any sort of ceremony.

We took our seats and our pulchritudinous hostess disappeared out a side exit, re-emerging a minute or so later and beckoning towards the doorway. Through it filed seven or eight girls carrying baskets of bread, platters of meats and vegetables, bowls of salad and fruit, pitchers of juice, carafes of wine. However, as sumptuous as the feast were the waitresses, outfitted the same way as the head girl and all looking a similar age — a few years older than the young men seated at the tables watching them work.

On each, the tiny white dress was slung low on her chest, skimpy at both ends and snug enough to accentuate the figure, but loose-fitting around the top so that on every woman the thin straps had — by accident or design — slipped off her shoulders. This caused the neckline to slump even lower, in a most agreeable fashion, especially as none of the girls appeared to be wearing a bra. Absorbed in their duties, with both hands occupied, our servers had difficulty maintaining what slight modesty their costume afforded. They made a picturesque addition to the banquet.

Once they had finished laying out the meal, our waitresses retreated to the background but remained close at hand to provide instant service — pouring drinks and refilling glasses, fetching more bread, passing plates and bowls. Focused on their task, they paid no heed to our less than subtle scrutiny, or at least pretended not to. Nevertheless I could see on several faces the tenuous, enigmatic smile of a pretty woman who is not quite sure if she should feel flattered or affronted, appeased or displeased by the attention she’s receiving.

Ben next to me nudged me in the ribs and grinned. “Nice, eh?”

Not having a clue to whom in particular he was referring, I just nodded. Then I followed his gaze across the table, to where one of the girls had crouched down to retrieve a piece of cutlery dropped by one of our fellow diners. As she bent forward, her charming assets nearly spilled out the top of her dress.

“Yeah, sweet,” I replied.

She must have caught my true expression, because when she glanced up at me she winked. At least I think she did, although it might well have been just a random blink. She looked to be aged in her late twenties, and I wondered how she felt being gawked at by all of us self-satisfied fledglings. She looked tired.

The dining itself was an all-male affair. The Senior Master and some half-dozen other officers of the Temple had joined us. There were introductions and short welcoming speeches, nothing too solemn or stately. During coffee, Warden Parnell rose to deliver another address. It was essentially superfluous, because he concluded with the admonition, “The most effective teacher is experience, and your best introduction will be what you learn over the next few weeks and months. Never forget that to be part of our Order is an honour, not just a privilege... And now for a few important notices.” I remembered none of these.

Sleepy from the meal and overwhelmed by the unfamiliar, I retired to bed immediately after we were dismissed. We left the women to clean up.
***

I slept fitfully, which was not helped by Ben getting in noisily sometime after midnight. Up at dawn, I went down to the lobby and found the entire place deserted. Apparently the Templars were not, in general, early risers. I had arranged to meet Kate for breakfast in one of the Village coffee shops, so I took a brisk walk in the fresh morning air to clear my head. My sister was already there seated when I arrived, and she was acting quite animated. I teased that maybe she should try cutting down on the caffeine.

“I’m just so proud of my baby brother,” she beamed.

I was not quite sure what the pride was for, and I let the “baby” bit go by. She asked me what I thought about my first night as a Templar.

“Interesting start,” I replied.

“It’s just the beginning,” she said, and then added cryptically, “but do try to see past the obvious.”

I had no idea what she meant. We changed the subject, talked about my studies and my lecturers. Kate gave me a rundown on the quirks of the more eccentric personalities I would have to deal with. She paid for the coffee and croissants, flirted with the waiter, and then took off with a breezy and enigmatic “See you tonight.”

I went to my lectures, still hoping to run into Sabrina during the day. That was not merely a case of blind optimism. I must confess that, since I had a good idea what classes she was taking, I went out of my way to try to make our paths cross. However, it was not to be, and though disappointed, as I returned to my digs late that afternoon, I resolved to put her out of my mind and focus on my studies.

Yet I was in for a shock.

Adjacent to the Temple is a squat, unprepossessing building which is known simply as the Annexe. It is obviously a low-priced extension of the main structure, lacking its majesty. The entrance was busy, with young women coming and going. It did not take a great deal of insight to grasp that this was the residence for the women of the Temple. Yesterday I had been so wrapped up in my own issues that I missed the fact that my sister was living right next door.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I swung around, hoping irrationally that it was Sabrina, finding Kate.

“Surprised?” she laughed. “Well, have to go. See you at dinner... and you’re welcome.”

Puzzled, I went up to my room. There were half a dozen boxes piled up beside my bed.

Ben was almost dressed, putting on a tie. I pointed to my neck with a grimace.

“Yeah, afraid so... and a jacket, if you have one. By the way, some fine-looking chick delivered your stuff.”

I showered and dressed.

The dining hall, like the common room, is located adjacent to the foyer, accessed via a wide baroque archway and a passageway lined with dozens of portraits, of both men and women, of various ages, some faces well-known, others not. Filled to capacity, the room could accommodate a hundred diners, and it was packed. I had expected that we would have to sit in designated spots — newcomers at the back, naturally — but everyone mixed freely, and in fact Ben and I found places near the front.

Many young guys crammed into a limited space make an awful lot of sound. So instead of trying to hold my own in conversation, I checked out our environs.

My prior mental image of a formal dinner in the Temple had been of an Oxford dons’ type affair, with everyone stiffly attired in academic gowns, sipping port and brandy, politely engaged in arcane academic discourse. It was nothing like that. There was none of the ceremony or the formality I had anticipated; and although some two-thirds of the gathering did wear ties, the rest were dressed much more casually and there didn’t seem to be any concern about that, let alone rules. I cursed Ben for his shoddy research.

Out the front, the head of the Order and his retinue were seated. In the place of honour was a grey-haired gentleman wearing, over his tuxedo, a lurid purple mantle embellished with ornate, aureate trimmings. On his right was the Senior Master who, like the other men at the high table, wore robes of scarlet; while to his left sat a solitary woman, good-looking with shortish brown hair, aged in her late thirties or early forties. In a low-cut black dress, she lacked the resplendent vestments of her male companions; but around her throat was the familiar black collar with rose-and-chains. Suspended from it was a tiny sword, like a crucifix, on silver chain and nestled in her cleavage.

Noting my curiosity, my neighbour leaned over and informed me, in a barely audible shout, “That’s Professor Clausen, the Grand Master.” I was already well enough acquainted with Templar culture to be aware that the Senior Master and the Grand Master represented the two branches of the Order, the Knights and the Guild. Apart from that, I had no idea at all who Professor Clausen was (at the time), although he appeared benevolent enough.

I tried to ask about the woman, but the volume of noise was too great. She did look vaguely familiar. I had seen her face on television or in the newspaper. Chatting and laughing with the men on either side, she appeared completely at ease with being the only member of her sex in all of the great hall.

A bell rang, and a hush fell over the room. The Senior Master rose and introduced the Grand Master. He continued with a welcome to the new Knights and a promise of no long-winded speeches (both of which received thunderous applause). After that, there was a brief interlude before a commotion loud enough to be heard above the general din. I turned to see what was happening. A wave of clapping and cheering was spreading from the doorway at the back of the room, out of which our dinner was being brought; and I was not quite sure whether the applause was for the dinner or the servers.

To feed the multitude, there were about twenty maidens, younger than those the previous night. All were wearing the generic tiny white dress with the straps off the shoulders, and chokers of black ribbon rather than leather. Some had on sandals and others wore heels, while several were barefoot — there seemed to be no discernible pattern to that. And amongst our winsome waitresses was my sister.

Kate and her comely co-workers tended the tables skilfully, standing back in respectful silence when not required, but knowing where and when to be if a glass needed filling, or something needed to be fetched, or a spill had to be mopped. All were gorgeous, they looked harried and fatigued, and they gazed at our feast with hungry eyes. Most had already put in a full day of work and study; some had probably come straight from classes. Judging from their expressions when they served, none had eaten. And as they cleared away the detritus of the main course and began putting out the dessert, I felt a twinge of guilt over that. But I shrugged it off as a cute brunette leaned past me to top up our drinks. Her thigh brushed against my hand which must have moved, because I felt her cool, silky-smooth skin quiver, ever so slightly.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Not to worry,” I lamely replied. I resisted adding “It was my pleasure.” But it only occurred to me later that she had no reason to apologize — unless it was for that tiny tremor of aversion to the touch of my hand on her naked thigh.

Like the other girls, Kate was working her little butt off. Although the exhaustion showed in her face, she never let up. Balancing a tray on one side while setting down plates and bowls, she had to contend with demands for immediate attention, as well as fend off occasional wandering hands. While doing all this, she managed every so often to free one of her own hands to hitch up the top of her dress before the neckline plunged into forbidden territory.

All the girls proved to be adept at this, no doubt with many opportunities for practice. What none ever did was restore the shoulder straps to their intended position, so I guessed that décolletage was the rule. As I have mentioned, the upper half of the dress was tight enough to show off the wearer’s feminine charms but not sufficient to hold it in place without constant attention. So with both hands occupied, it was a never-ending struggle against friction and gravity to prevent décolleté becoming seins nus.

It was hard to keep my eyes off the girls, and for that I felt more than a little sleazy, because as much as I felt sympathy for them, I was heartily enjoying the service and the scenery. However, they were not the only thing I’d noticed. Once the meal came out, the attention of the lady at the high table was diverted from her conversation; and as she watched the girls quietly and efficiently performing their duties, and struggling with their tiny dresses, her face bore a thoughtful, wistful look — as when you are not part of something, and on the whole you’re glad you’re not, but there’s a little bit of you that wishes you were. She smiled and nodded at something the fellow to her left said but didn’t take her eyes off the young woman serving her dessert. Then her neighbour, who looked to have had one single-malt too many, ran his hand over her bare shoulder. She cringed, just like the young woman whose thigh I had inadvertently grazed. I may have been the only person in the entire hall who saw it, and she recovered her composure in an instant. But I had the impression she was feeling how more at ease she would be on the other side of the table.

And that got me thinking. All the girls I had seen and met so far in the Temple were above-average attractive as well as — if Kate was any indication — of well-above-average intelligence. That made sense, in a disquieting way. There are twenty thousand women on the campus, and the Templars could afford to be selective in those whom they admitted into their ranks. Templar graduates include some of the most impressive and imposing women in the country. If this was five years earlier, the delightful damsel dishing out my gelato di nocciola might have been the Olympic triple gold medallist the nation went wild over; ten years ago the best-selling author or the award-winning actress; fifteen to twenty years ago, one of the country’s top business executives or the going-places Cabinet Minister… or perhaps that vaguely familiar woman in the black dress seated at the high table.

Kate was serving coffee near me. Although I could see she was frazzled, to my shame I could not resist the temptation. When she paused for a breather, I snapped my fingers.

“Miss, more water please.”

“Yes, Sir.”

What, no tongue-lashing, not even a withering stare? She actually called me “Sir” — my sister, the pocket-sized harridan who had bossed and bullied and bashed her baby brother for so many years. (Okay, she never bashed and rarely bullied me, especially once I had grown bigger than her; but I need to somehow rationalize my despicable conduct.)

She had not looked up before she said it, so I could not be sure if she had actually realized it was me. Even if she had, it was impossible to know if she was being serious or sarcastic. And yes, I do tend to overanalyse; but when it’s a Kate situation, that is just my survival instinct kicking in. She meekly fetched the water jug and filled my glass, twitching as the character next to me nudged her backside, perhaps accidentally, likely not. Apprehensively I looked into her face. Her lips remained pressed together, but the corners of her mouth wrinkled into the faint trace of a smile.

Coffee time was the occasion for the traditional “few words to express our appreciation.” The Senior Master thanked the Grand Master and the esteemed guests for their attendance, and us Knights for a first-rate turnout. The Grand Master proffered thanks for the hospitality and the splendid repast. Then, as he was about to finish up, the woman seated beside him nudged his arm. It was a subtle gesture which I observed because I was looking straight at her (not really staring but rather still trying to put a name to the face). He showed a trace of irritation as he added, “And we must not forget the maidens, who have prepared and served this excellent dinner.” The scattered applause quickly swelled into a genuine ovation. It was such a pity that the girls were not around to hear it. They had already returned to the kitchen.

We emptied the hall around ten o’clock and I headed to my room. Many of the guys stayed up for a beer and bull session, but I went straight to bed. I was feeling sympathy for Kate, and some remorse. As I was retiring for the night, she and her sisters still had work to do downstairs, clearing, cleaning and washing up. But I did not think about it for too long. Tomorrow was a big day. I would be presenting my very first seminar paper.

To be continued...

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby Mr Underheel » Thu Dec 04, 2014 8:03 pm

How do you do it???????

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby Shanyalovestape » Fri Dec 05, 2014 12:21 am

Good read! :)
Just your average,bondage-loving asian girl

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby xtc » Fri Dec 05, 2014 3:02 am

A fine early Christmas present but really, Madam, "skeptical"? It will be "gray" and "favorite" next!
Yours pedantically,
Xavier Tarquin Colmondley (Prof.)
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby jsherwood » Fri Dec 05, 2014 2:18 pm

Lovely story as always.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Fri Dec 05, 2014 2:34 pm

Thank you for the compliments.
Before I continue, a brief note for smart-arse pedants (you know who you are :o)
Although I acknowledge that the "u" in words like "colour"and "flavour" is superfluous, spelling "grey" with an "e" is illogical, and North American English makes more sense, out of habit I generally employ British/Australian spelling. However, since "skeptical" derives from the Greek σκεπτικός (skeptikós), I believe that "sceptical" is just plain silly.
That is all.
The story continues.



V.

We herded our captives to the ground floor, through the lobby, onto the porch, down the steps and across the lawn. Some were moaning softly, some giggling, a few muttering. Most were silent. About one in four had wads stuffed in their mouths. There was a pattern to this. They came in clusters, and it was obvious that some of my fellow Cadets were keener to apply the gag than others. (Some of them, to my disgust, had trophies tucked into their belts — plundered lingerie.) The state of dress or undress also varied, from fully clothed to almost naked, so I didn’t feel too badly about my three in just their bras and panties. But it was midnight in May, and those who had been standing in the yard the longest were stamping their feet on the damp grass to get warm.

As they filed out of the building, each girl recoiled as if she was hitting an invisible wall of ice. Because they were bunched up, this loss of momentum travelled as a wave backwards along the line, causing the ones behind to bump up against each other. Some of the accompanying Cadets barked orders to “Slow down!” while others shouted “Speed up!” This merely added to the confusion and congestion.

Out on the lawn, meanwhile, the Captain was barking his own orders. “Move it along, get into line, we don’t have all night!” The arriving captives glared at him as they were hustled into their rows, but the haste was really to their benefit. They were starting to shiver, teeth were beginning to chatter, bodies were beginning to shudder, lips were starting to turn blue. When everyone from the house had been assembled, we arranged them in two columns, in marching formation, and made them close up so that their bodies were touching. The Captain moved swiftly down one line and back along the other, every so often testing a girl’s bonds by seizing her wrists to tug downwards and sideways. Only one protested, a curvaceous beauty with fiery red hair in a candy-striped camisole and dandelion-decorated French knickers. The Captain was checking the plasticuffs of the girl in front, and they were all huddled together so close that his movements were vigorously massaging the redhead’s most intimate region. As soon as she’d complained, she looked fearfully at him, expecting to be gagged for her impudence… but he just smiled and moved on.

My three prisoners from the first floor were in the middle of the right-hand column. Being piled up snugly was not a problem for them. In fact, I saw many a girl taking advantage of the situation to wiggle her bosom against the back of the girl in front, and to use her bound hands to fondle the girl behind in the only place her fingers could reach. There were a few giggles and even a couple of moans. I had to admire how well they were taking their capture. But then I realized that this was, for most of them, not the first time they’d been abducted from the Maidenhall.

The Captain, having completed his inspection of the ranks, gave instructions to a group of Cadets who promptly disappeared back into the building. He then summoned me to his side.

“Commander, are you ready to lead?” he demanded, imperiously.

“Of course,” I replied, sanguinely.

“Pick three men to escort the prisoners.”

Those of my fellow Cadets within hearing distance turned to me with hopeful, beseeching looks. I shrugged apologetically. Ben had gone back inside, so my first ever command decision was easy enough.

“Rick to the front, Tom and Mike on the flanks, I will bring up the rear.”

“Good luck,” one of our disappointed comrades called out.

“If we don’t hear from you…”

“We’ll send out a search party…”

“Give us a week,” Mike laughed as the Captain marshalled the rest of his men to secure the Maidenhall.

At the front of the two lines of prisoners were Annabel and Donna, still connected by their tethers. Both looked dazed, apathetic, numbed by their ordeal. Stomping their feet for warmth had re-activated their crotch-ropes, so their faces were flushed, their skin was sweaty, and aroused nipples poked little bumps in their dresses; but I don’t think either of them noticed or cared any more. Again I felt sorry for them — for all our captives — but I had a job to do. I flicked Annabel on the thigh with one of my leftover zip-ties. It must have stung, which I hadn’t intended. She jerked and made a yelping noise through her gag. I resisted the urge to say “Sorry” and instead pointed in the direction of the trees. Beyond them, the feeble orange glow suddenly lit up in a pearly white dome. Things were happening back at the Temple.

VI.

I was now well into the swing of things with regard to both my academic affairs and the ways of the Order. Life in the Temple was turning out to be nothing like what I had anticipated — no bizarre or disturbing initiation rites, no mysticism or secret sacraments, no passwords or covert handshakes, not a lot of pomp and circumstance, not even an official induction ceremony. Nor was there anything remarkable about the Knights. Most of my fellow novices came across as either unworldly naïfs like me or supercilious fratboys like Ben. In my opinion, he and his buddies spent too much time hitting the taverns and hitting on the ladies and not enough hitting the books; but their activities did not interfere with mine, and in fact it worked to my advantage that the roommate was so often absent.

Meanwhile, in those first weeks we had only fleeting and superficial contact with the senior Knights, who occupied the upper storeys of the Temple. This was mainly at dinner. Like any organization of its kind, the Order did have its routines and rituals, and these were generally associated with meals. Since time immemorial, in every culture, the preparation and serving of food has provided occasions and opportunities for fraternal bonding and reinforcement of institutional beliefs and values. It also defines status, by demarcating duty and privilege, setting the boundaries between those who serve and those who are served.

It was not mandatory nor even an expectation that we attend the dinners in the Temple, although it was a courtesy that notice be given if one had other arrangements. All evening meals and lunch on the weekend were prepared in the Annexe, by the girls who lived there. Each day, a number were rostered for duty, on an eight-day rotation. Breakfast was self-service, although this also was made and set out by the females. Only if he wanted lunch on a weekday did a Knight have to do it himself, which was the reason for the small kitchen. It was certainly pleasant to have such matters taken care of, freeing us to devote our time and energy to more important things.

So, by the first Saturday, I was beginning to find my way about the university with confidence and starting to settle comfortably into my new life in the Temple. Nevertheless, the Order had its secrets, which were only by degrees revealed to me.

That morning, Kate and I were going home to see our parents and pick up the rest of my belongings. For an early getaway, we had arranged to meet at seven o’clock. I waited in front of the Annexe for a few minutes, then telephoned.

“I’m outside,” I told her impatiently. “You’re late.”

“I am woman. It’s what I do. Why don’t you just come on up?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Why not?”

Since my induction, I had not seen any females above the ground floor of my own building; so I had assumed they were barred, and that, likewise, males were forbidden to enter the women’s quarters. Obviously not. The Temple was not a monastery.

(Of course it occurred to me that Kate had delivered my belongings to my room on my second day. My defence is that Ben hadn’t said that she took the boxes upstairs personally.)

“Okay,” I said, feeling rather foolish. I strode up the steps of the Annexe, still half-expecting to be challenged. The girls who passed me on the way out just smiled a cordial greeting and kept walking. Since it was the weekend, the mood was relaxed and informal. The only unusual thing I noticed was that everyone wore skirts and dresses — no slacks or shorts, no jeans or chinos or whatever.

The lobby was small and plain, in contrast to the grand entrance of the Temple. The reception desk was tended by a young lady in the now familiar little white frock and collar.

“May I help you?” Her manner was polite but businesslike.

I told her that I was here to visit my sister. I gave her Kate’s details and she looked them up in the register.

“Here we are,” she said. Reaching for the intercom, she asked to see my ID.

“No problem,” I replied, pulling out my brand-new student card. I then added, as an afterthought, “and if you need my address, it’s right next door.”

With those words of mine, the young woman’s demeanour abruptly changed. As she lifted her finger from the intercom button and stood up, she bowed her head and raised her hands to slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders. The gesture was automatic and mechanical, almost a reflex action. Good grief, I thought, how could you not love Templar symbolism?

“Sorry, Sir,” she said. Yet despite the deference, there was a note of reproof in her voice, that I had failed to observe the etiquette.

“No problem,” I repeated. “It’s only been three days.”

If that admission made some difference, it didn’t show.

There was an awkward pause.

“Are you going to call her?”

“You can go straight up, Sir.” She gave me Kate’s location: third floor, dorm number two.

“It’s okay?”

She nodded, and I think I detected an eye-roll. She handed me a visitor’s pass to pin to my shirt. It carried the emblem of the Temple.

Right away, the behaviour of the young women I encountered was different, more respectful. I was flabbergasted at how the red badge had altered the tone so suddenly and dramatically. It was as if I were a celebrity, and it was hard not to laugh at the situation. Here was I, a clueless neophyte hardly out of school with less than a week as a Templar and yet commanding such reverence. Even though I detected the whiff of irony in their performance, even if they were just going through the motions, such obeisance does wonders for a young man’s self-esteem... and (as I was already learning) his sense of self-importance.

Instead of a broad staircase like in the Temple, there was a dimly lit stairwell leading to the upper storeys. The third floor corridor was narrow and gloomy, with three rooms on each side. Number two was on the right. As I approached, I could hear voices gossiping and giggling. There was no actual door, just an open portal.

Beyond that threshold, the sight which greeted me was not the most fantastic in my short life, but it would certainly rank in the top five. A half-dozen heavenly bodies in various stages of delectable undress danced before my eyes. No, they couldn’t have been dancing. I must have been swaying. There were satin camisoles and lace knickers, slinky teddies and frilly baby-dolls. One girl, caught bare-breasted, squealed and dived for cover. A raven-haired beauty in black bra and g-string panties sauntered over to where I stood transfixed. She looked me up and down as I looked her up and down. I undeniably got the better view.

“Who is our gentleman caller?” she demanded.

Kate was coming out of the bathroom, tucking her blouse into her skirt.

“This is David,” she announced.

They all stopped to say hello, even the topless one, her hands positioned strategically.

“Looks delicious.” The raven-haired beauty ran her tongue over her ruby lips.

The eight-woman dormitory was not much larger than my two-man room in the Temple. There was a double row of beds, with barely enough space for a nightstand between each. The furnishings were minimal – a few cupboards, a vanity table, a desk and two chairs. There was a bathroom at one end, but it was tiny, hardly adequate for anything more than a shower cubicle, a toilet seat and a vanity basin. There were the usual feminine furnishings and accoutrements — embroidered curtains, stuffed toys and the like — but not much else. Laptop computers and textbooks were lying open on a couple of the beds, as there was only the single desk to study at. Even by the modest standards of my own, the girls’ room was spartan.

“I’ll take him now, Lucy,” said Kate, as she grabbed her wallet and keys.

Lucy pouted, flicked back her hair with a huffy toss of her head, and prodded me in the chest with her index finger. She put the finger to her mouth and licked it.

“Yum,” she said. “Save some for me.”

“He’s my brother,” my sister growled.

“Well, bring him back soon.”

“If you put some clothes on.”

“Why bother?” Lucy tasted her finger once more and stared straight into my eyes with a saucy glint in hers. “Don’t you think he will look good on me?” This girl was really something.

Kate and I went downstairs, and when she saw us the receptionist, still bare-shouldered, rose again to her feet. When I tried to return my visitor’s pass, she said I could keep it. More young women passed by on the way out, and they offered that same good-humouredly deference as before, a polite smile and a very slight tip of the head. I noticed now, however, that they avoided eye contact.

As we walked to the car, Kate broke my contemplation.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing much,” I lied.

“You like it, don’t you?”

“What?”

“What do you think? For a start, having girls fawn over you.”

“You mean Lucy? I think she was just playing.”

“Yes, well, that’s Lucy. But I don’t mean just her. All the girls.”

“So what’s with that?”

Kate said nothing, so I continued. “I won’t say I hated it. Is it going to be like this all the time?”

“Generally, speaking, as long as you’re a Templar.”

“You might have warned me.”

“Warned you?” She spun her head, surprised, then grinned. “You have a problem with it?”

“No, of course not… bad choice of words… but you have to admit, it’s pretty big… takes some adjusting.”

“Ha, you should try it from my side.”

“No wonder you were so coy about it.”

She stopped and stared at me.

“Coy? How do you mean?”

“You’ve been a Templar for three years. You never said it would be like this.”

“Really?” she shook her head. “Maybe I have been… guarded. But we keep a low profile; we don’t talk too much to outsiders about the Order. Yes, that includes family. Not until you’re one of us… and by the way, don’t call me a Templar.”

“What?”

You are a Templar.”

“Oh yeah, of course. So what exactly are you?”

She didn’t answer straight away, and we resumed walking. We reached the car. As she slid behind the wheel, I heard my sister mutter something.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Never mind,” she replied.

On the passenger seat beside her was a soft white bundle. As I moved it to sit down, I saw it was her slavegirl dress. That’s what I had started to call it. I couldn’t resist.

“Nice uniform, by the way. How does it stay on?”

“Luck, skill, hope and prayer,” she replied. She took the tiny tunic from me and considered it for a few quiet seconds, before tossing it onto the back seat.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“Getting me in.”

“Well, what’s a sister for?”

“I know, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She said nothing more, so I went on. “It’s funny though... I don’t see how I’ve earned any of this.”

“Any of what?”

“All the attention and service, and yeah, the fawning. I feel like I’m… I don’t know exactly… taking advantage of you, riding in on your success.”

She reached across and ruffled my hair.

“That’s crap, David. Number one, you’re my little brother...”

“I’m twice your size.”

“Shut up and let me finish. Number two, there are things in it for me too, you know… maybe not as tangible, not so immediate.”

“What the hell does that mean? It sounds like something you’re reciting from a brochure.”

She didn’t answer, but not because she was annoyed. She was preoccupied with revving up the engine and pulling out from the parking space and into the line of traffic. By the time we were on the open road, the subject was forgotten, or at least ignored. Anyway, we had lots of other things to discuss.

***

Our parents wanted us to stay for the entire weekend, but Kate had to get back for her part-time job, and I had to return with her because she was my transportation. Anyway, I was curious to know what the Temple was like on a Saturday night. And as with so much so far, it was totally unlike what I had imagined. There was a party under way on the second floor; and as if to further discredit my prior assumptions, the hallway was congested with revellers of both sexes. Guests were coming and going, there was no checking of IDs, and the place was so crowded it would have been virtually impossible to tell if partiers were members of the Order, outsiders or even gate-crashers. So much for the secret society.

People were spilling onto the staircase, into several of the rooms, up the stairs and by the looks of it onto the other floors. I was grateful to Ben for having the foresight to lock our door.

I found him mauling a girl in one of the easy-chairs. “What’s going on?” I yelled over the tumult.

“Glad you could make it,” he shouted back. “Newbies’ reception. You owe me ten for the catering.” He returned to the job at hand.

It was noisy and boisterous, like any Saturday night dorm bash. Music pulsed, liquor flowed, bodies gyrated, heads throbbed... well, mine did. In one of the bathrooms, the sound of vomiting resonated in a toilet bowl. In one of the bedrooms, a game of strip poker was nearing its climax. From somewhere, a moan and a scream signified that a different sort of climax had been reached.

After some aimless drifting, I found a pretty, bleary-eyed young woman who had lost her shirt and been doused with beer. I rescued her from a guy who was helpfully mopping her sodden brassiere. She showed me her appreciation with a bracing hug and a sloppy kiss. I didn’t mind that she was more than halfway drunk. We found a quiet corner and she asked me to help get her jeans off. No, I didn’t get lucky. I don’t take advantage of inebriated women. She just wanted to be out of her wet pants. She fell asleep with her head in my lap, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. In any case, I was drowsy from the long drive.

I awoke still in the corridor, with morning sunlight streaming in. My new companion was just coming to beside me. Despite a hangover, she was mortified to find herself in her undies, smelling of stale beer, limbs entwined with a strange guy’s.

“Here are your jeans,” I told her. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s happened to your blouse.” I explained to her what had transpired.

She mumbled her thanks through a cottony mouth.

“Damn it, one of my favourites. It’ll probably end up in a trophy case. Oh, I’m Samantha – Sam to my friends and rescuers.”

“David. Pleased to meet you.”

We both laughed at my formality. She coughed, staggered to her feet, groaned softly, and threaded her way across the tangled mess of inert bodies towards the exit. I watched her leave. She was still in just her bra and briefs, gingerly carrying her reeking denims at arm’s length.

The rest of the morning was spent cleaning up, notwithstanding Ben’s sickly pallor and the sea green gills on some of the others. If any of us had expected a bunch of girls to come over from the Annexe and do the dirty work for us, that delusion was quickly dispelled.

Thereafter I might have forgotten the encounter with Sam; except that a few days later, on Thursday, I was leaving my class when just outside the building I almost collided with a tall, attractive young woman. We had no doubt passed each other many times over the last couple of weeks, but I hadn’t known her then.

“Sorry,” she said as she swerved to avoid impact.

“Keep your shirt on,” I replied.

She gave me a funny look, but then her face lit up. Sober, she looked even more beautiful. The highlights in her hair shone like spun gold, and her eyes, a rich dark hazel, sparkled like gemstones in the afternoon sunlight.

“The party... last Saturday... David.”

“Hi, Sam. You remembered my name!”

She grinned sheepishly. “It’s about all I remember.”

“Did you ever find your shirt?”

She shook her head ruefully. “No, but thanks for rescuing a damsel in distress... and for not taking advantage of me in my drunken stupor.”

“What makes you think I didn’t?” I said with an evil smirk; and she instinctively glanced downwards before punching me in the chest.

“So, are you..?”

“The Temple, yeah.” I replied, not knowing if I should be giving out such information. “And you?”

La Sororité.”

I must have put on my dimwit face.

She laughed. “La Sororité fidèle et obéissante des demoiselles,” she said, in what I took to be a perfect French accent.

“Now I’m totally confused.”

“Okay, let’s have coffee,” she said, making my day, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

We found a nearby cafeteria and she insisted on paying. “It’s the least I can do, for a chivalrous Knight who so gallantly preserved a lady’s honour.”

I wondered if she was talking about the groping incident or about me not trying to get inside her when her defences were down. I didn’t press.

“Now what’s with the French?” I demanded.

“Fancy me having to tell you this,” she scolded.

“Forgive me. I’m new.”

She frowned. “How new?”

“Ten days. What about you?”

She smiled. “Four years.”

That would make her at least twenty-one. First Sabrina, now Sam. What is it with me and older women?

“Are you studying or teaching or what?” I asked.

“I’m doing postgrad work at the Institute of Archaeology.”

That at least was good news, me being a history major.

“So what’s with the French?” I repeated.

“You are a member of the Noble and Fraternal Company of Knights — la Compagnie Noble et Fraternelle des Chevaliers.”

That didn’t explain much. She read my mind. “It’s homage to the medieval French chivalric orders, like the original Templars. You do know about them, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I began to reply; but she continued.

“Granted, it’s all a bit pretentious.”

The coffee arrived, and I waited until the waitress had moved on to another table.

“So what are you?” Sam was the second girl I had recently asked that question.

“I am one of the loyal and obedient sisterhood of maidens. That’s what we call ourselves, la Sororité fidèle et obéissante des demoiselles. In short form, the Society of maidens. We belong to the Temple… to the Knights.”

(It was only later that I discovered that the name of the maiden’s organization is not capitalized… except for the upper case S. The convention seems petty, and rather silly, but it is far from the most quirky of Templar traditions. In any case, you can justify any sort of nonsense when you label it symbolism.)

“Explains a lot,” I said, having not a clue what she was talking about. I knew I was a Knight. Okay, I didn’t know it in French… but what was this stuff about obedient maidens?

“My brain hurts,” I whimpered.

“Don’t lose sleep over it. Those are the official names hardly anyone uses.”

“So I’m a Noble Knight...”

“Technically, you’re a novitiate.”

“Come again?”

“God, you do have a lot to learn. A new member, a probationary.”

“Okay, got that; and you’re a maiden.”

“A loyal and obedient maiden.” She batted her eyelids playfully.

“Sounds fair enough. How come I haven’t seen you in the Annexe?”

She frowned again, though with the hint of a smile. “What were you doing in the Annexe?”

I enlightened her about Kate, and she shrugged an okay.

“So? Will I see you there?”

“Unlikely. I keep busy.”

“Too busy for dinner?”

Her brow furrowed again, as she considered what I said. It only later occurred to me that it sounded like I was asking her for a date. Then she reached across the table and punched me again.

“Ow!” I yelled. It really did hurt… a little. “What’s that for?” I demanded, knowing full well what it was for.

“For the image you have in your head right now.”

I must confess, the picture of Sam in her minuscule slavegirl dress, flitting between the tables and catering to my every whim, was worth the pain.

“So when do I get to see it for real?”

“All will be revealed.” She blushed. “You know what I mean.”

I didn’t; but I was getting used to the mysterious ways of the Temple.

The conversation continued for a while. I was reluctant to break it off, but eventually we had to. I went away deep in thought. That very evening, however, I was in for another shock. The surprises were piling up fast.

At dinner, the sight of the maidens, however exquisite, was already becoming familiar, if not exactly passé. I was absorbed in my meal when I happened to glance across to the next table. A petite blonde was ladling broth into bowls. When she raised her head, we stared directly at each other. It took her a second to react; and then she flashed me a smile which appeared to be in equal parts amusement and embarrassment.

Sabrina looked stunning in her décolletage.

It was enough of a coincidence that I found her on the same day I ran into Sam. It was amazing that Sabrina was also a maiden. Only later did the obvious occur to me, that the boarding house Kate had booked me into at the start of the year was used by the Templars to accommodate prospective members.

So the real surprise was that it had taken so long to become aware of Sabrina’s presence.

I was disappointed that she never came near me during the dinner. It was impossible to tell if she was too busy or whether she was deliberately avoiding me. Moreover, during the next two weeks, although I made a point of scanning the entrance to the Annexe, there was no sign of her. I knew when she would be rostered for dinner duty because of the eight-day cycle, but the next time — a Friday night — I was away from the Temple for a family birthday celebration. And yet, it’s funny how things turn out...

In the meantime I had discovered another of the privileges of being a Noble Knight. Every Saturday morning, a laundry hamper appeared outside each room. We deposited our dirty clothing, and that afternoon there was a neat stack of clean and folded clothes. It was ironic that, before starting at university, two of my major concerns were cooking and laundry. I’d led a sheltered life, and my mother had to give me a crash course in freshman survival skills, with limited success. Yet here in the Temple both were taken care of, by the women from the Annexe as part of their obligations as maidens. And since I was still finding my way about and trying not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, I gave it little more thought.

(I should say that we males did have our own duties. We were responsible for general maintenance such as sweeping floors, scrubbing bathrooms, vacuuming carpets and so on. We had a roster, but it was hardly onerous. Once every couple of months, the building got a thorough cleaning, with all of the Knights pitching in. A lot of money was saved by not hiring labour, but there is no doubt that the burden of the upkeep and housekeeping routine fell on the maidens.)

That Saturday, my fourth in the Temple, I was returning to my room around mid-afternoon, and the girls were dropping off our laundry. On top of having our housekeeping chores done for us, it was a nice bonus (and a particularly guilty pleasure) to watch them struggling up the stairs and along the hallway hauling their laden baskets, puffing and perspiring as their little dresses clung to sweaty curves and crevices. Halfway down the corridor, one of them was bending over her load, giving my weary eyes a treat. I had seen that sweet derrière before.

“Hi, Sabrina.”

“Hello, David.” She did not look up.

I did not want to distract her. It is part of the protocol that you don’t interfere with the maidens while they are busy with their chores. But after the girls had finished and were starting to leave, I called her over. I searched desperately for something profound or witty to say. “How are you?” I asked.

“Fine, Sir.”

Sir? Oh well, she was on duty, and inside the lair of the Knights. What seemed more peculiar was that she didn’t look up at me, but kept her eyes downcast and her hands clasped behind her back. It was a pose not in character for this feisty little lady.

She kept up the play-acting for a few more seconds. Then she stared straight at me, bared her teeth and whacked my arm. (Women keep hitting me!)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

“Well, you know, secret society and all.”

“Secret society, my fat arse.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It looked rather nice from where I was standing.”

Her face reddened, just a bit, as she reached for the stack of empty baskets.

“Well,” she said, “as much as I would love to stay and engage in idle chitchat, I still have a couple of hours of work ahead. You go and rest up from your hard day.”

“I will have you know,” I protested, with as much indignation as I could muster, “that I have spent the last two hours scouring the bookshops.”

“Poor baby. And all I’ve had to do is slave since sunrise over a hot laundry tub.” She started down the hall with her baskets. “And then tonight I’m on the kitchen roster, so pardon me if...” Her voice trailed off into something I didn’t catch, so I don’t know if it was good or bad for me.

Sure enough, she served that evening. It had been a long working day, and the fatigue showed in her face. The maidens’ routine, I had learned by now, could be demanding. In addition to preparing and serving the meals every eight days, they had to devote one weekend per month for laundry and lunch duty, both Saturday and Sunday. It was a gruelling schedule on top of study, social commitments and part-time jobs, and it often left them exhausted.

I felt sorry for Sabrina, and for the other girls, and I should have felt more genuine guilt; but as we broke up at the end of dinner, all I could think about was asking her what she was doing later on. Of course, my nerve failed me. She looked like she was heading straight to bed, and hitting on her for a date at this time was neither the wisest nor the most empathetic course of action. So I spent the rest of the evening with Ben, several of the other guys and a good-sized beer keg.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Fri Dec 05, 2014 3:11 pm

VII.

I counted our prisoners as they filed past me into the woods, before taking up my position behind the last pair. There were fifty-two altogether. Some of them I recognized from the Annexe — junior maidens who’d had the misfortune to be visiting the Maidenhall. They were trudging shoulder to shoulder in order to stay within the confines of the narrow track. Outnumbering their escort thirteen-to-one, even with their hands bound behind their backs the girls could have given trouble. Of course, escaping into the thick forest and cold night air in their general state of undress, with nowhere to go except back to the occupied house, stifled any latent spirit of rebellion. Their escape window, had they chosen it, was now shut tight.

One of the last to shuffle past me was Sam, gagged and bedraggled but as gorgeous as ever in a lavender-coloured, lace-trimmed teddy. The straps had slipped off her shoulders — not by design, as on her uniform, but probably during the tussle in the course of her capture. Yet it would have surprised me if she’d offered any kind of resistance. Maybe she didn’t. Some of my brother Cadets had been overly zealous and gratuitously aggressive during the round-up, especially with the older maidens on the upper floors. But as much as I was tempted, I did not draw the soft silk up over the delicate rose-pink bud on her exposed left breast, nor free her slender wrists from the biting clamp of the nylon band, nor pluck the noisome, saliva-soaked wad from between her sweet lips.

I snapped an order to Rick to speed up our progress. There was grumbling from a few of the girls, because quickening the pace meant more onerous barefoot tramping on the uneven trail, more of the stinging swish of undergrowth against bare arms and legs, harder puffing and panting for those who were gagged. I told myself it was for their own good. It was getting colder. But to be honest, I wanted to impress Sam with my command style. And I will never forget when our eyes connected, because it was a peculiar look she gave me, reproving but proud, that her acolyte had come so far — giving orders to fellow Cadets and taking charge of so many captive maidens.

But what was strange was that I didn’t feel the same pride, no satisfaction or conceit… rather, a sort of melancholy hollowness. Because from that moment, I knew, our relationship would never be the same.

Even as I was thinking this, the front of the column had emerged from the forest; and since the ground there was easier to cover, the ranks became dispersed. By the time I and the last women in line reached the cul-de-sac in front of the Temple, the first arrivals were already kneeling on the dew-damp grass on the far side, in a rough semicircle. But even before we had left the trees, a weird, almost creepy noise greeted our arrival — a low-key, guttural rumble of voices every so often pierced by a high-pitched screeching laugh and now and then the harsh metallic squawk of a megaphone.

On the portico of the Temple, and spilling out onto the edge of the lawn, the rest of the Knights were gathered. Collected at the entrance to the Annexe, but no lower than the steps, were forty or fifty girls. I scanned the faces of the latter and recognized Sabrina and Lucy and Hannah and Libby. Their expressions, for what I could see in the dull glow of the porch lights, were of curiosity mingled with arousal and disgust, seeing their senior sisters so humbled. I didn’t spot Kate. She and many of the second- and third-year maidens had chosen to stay in bed. They had viewed this spectacle before; most would experience it one day for themselves. Still, I felt a twinge of disappointment that not all were there to witness my triumphal advent with my prisoners.

The Knights assembled in front of the Temple began to clap and cheer with salutes and tributes, chants and whistles; but none ventured near the captives. Rick, Tom and Mike organized the last of the girls while the Senior Master, the only one besides us four resplendent in his scarlet cape, stepped out of the crowd, strode up to me and shook my hand.

“Congratulations,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “on a job well done. The successful completion of your mission is a fitting end to your Cadetship.”

I didn’t bother to tell him how easy it had been made for us. He no doubt knew. But once again, like my admission to the Templars and my election to the Council, I felt that the credit belonged elsewhere.

“You have earned your place in the noble fraternity of Knights.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I didn’t feel so noble… actually rather numb. Not what I expected. Not what I’d been told I’d feel.

“Let’s go inside,” he continued in a quieter voice, “and get out of these silly costumes.” It was the first time I had heard him refer to the habits and habiliments of the Templars without the de rigueur pomposity and solemnity. “Call your men.”

“The prisoners…” I began to say.

He waved his hands dismissively, and for just an instant his face darkened.

“Not your… They will be taken care of.”

“Not your concern,” he’d been about to say. “Taken care of” did not sound much better.

I thought of Sam and the other girls shivering in their skimpies on the lawn, their hands still bound behind their backs, many still gagged. Their ordeal was not yet over… far from it, I was certain. I pitied them, was worried from them. But there was something else, something that gnawed away at the self-satisfaction and self-importance I should have been feeling as I basked in my prestige.

That was the moment when I first began to really understand the nature of the Order, to peer past the veils of seduction, to see what lay behind the illusion. And I realized, with a startling and unnerving clarity, that the illusion was all there was. The Temple, for all its grandeur and grandiloquence, stood upon a foundation of sand.

VIII.

In this account so far, I have probably made it sound as if, in the weeks since I was inducted into the Order, it was the very centre of my existence. In reality, most of my time, energy and attention were devoted to my studies, and I rarely encountered my fellow Knights or any of the maidens beyond the Temple precinct. On the other hand, my social life, such as it was, did revolve around it, since these were the only people with whom I had regular contact outside of my classes. Ben and the other guys on my floor became my best friends by default.

I got to know a few of the girls. We never socialized in the Annexe, although not because it was out of bounds. It was the Temple proper which had the space and the amenities; and the girls were allowed to use most of the facilities. I occasionally called on Kate, but sadly there was no repeat of that first-time spectacle. Nevertheless, her roommates treated me like visiting royalty, even if it was obvious that it was mainly teasing. Lucy remained her usual shy and retiring self.

Since it was becoming the pivot of my campus life, and also because my enlightenment over coffee with Sam that Thursday had stimulated my interest, I began to research the history and traditions of the Temple. It was not an easy task to dig out the relevant information, so the account which follows was pieced together after months of intensive effort. However, the problem was not that the Order was particularly secretive or sensitive about its origins and evolution. Indeed, if anything, there was too much material to digest. No one had bothered to organize it into a coherent, systematic record. It was therefore somewhat disillusioning to discover that most Templars — Ben a good example — were indifferent to the Order’s fascinating backstory.

Its history dates to the founding of the university, more than half a century ago. Temple Hall was the official residence for male students at what was then the University College. A few years later, it was amalgamated with nearby Women’s College, a move which ignited controversy at the time. Then, after UC became a fully-fledged university in the 1960s, it was rechartered as a private institution, managed by a corporation of alumni and “friends” (supporters from the local business community). As a result of this historical role in the establishment of the university, its considerable resources and a fifty-year tradition of solidarity and self-reliance, the Temple has exercised, down to the present day, an influence in campus and extramural affairs vastly disproportionate to its size.

Yet not everything ran smoothly. The first major upheaval occurred ten years after the merger, and this set the direction which the Order has taken ever since. Never reconciled to their union with the Temple, the female residents finally rebelled against a host of stringently enforced, petty, restrictive and discriminatory rules and regulations that governed their lives and from which their male counterparts were exempt, like dress codes and curfews. Back when women were a minority on campus and knew their place, that would not have been much of an issue. But this was the age of liberation, and a sit-in protest that began over some grievance escalated into a year-long confrontation. At first sympathetic and supportive, the males became alienated as the dispute dragged on and the adverse publicity began to take its toll. The stand-off eventually came to an end with intervention by campus security officers, the crushing of the revolt, numerous suspensions and the expulsion of alleged ringleaders. However, the embarrassment the affair had caused led to the dissolution of the corporation and the withdrawal of most of the business patronage. It took several years to rebuild. The alumni association renamed itself the Guild and took full control of the Temple.

Eventually, a new constitution was adopted, and in it was employed for the first time the unwieldy appellation “Knights and Maidens of the Order of the Temple” (although “Templar” had been in use unofficially for some years). This proved no more than a cosmetic change, and over the next half-decade the Order experienced severe financial difficulties and a precipitous decline in membership. It was during this period that the Annexe was built, to serve as the new residence while the Temple itself was leased to a private consortium providing prestige on-campus accommodation. Such ignominy represented the nadir of the Order’s fortunes.

What saved the Templars was the dramatic growth of the university which took place during these years, driven by an influx of out-of-towners and the resulting surge in demand for residential places. At the same time, the forfeiture of outside patronage provided the incentive for the Order to become self-sufficient; and within a few years, through good management and some good luck, it had grown into a wealthy and powerful institution. By extracting a tithe from its members, the Guild was able to pay out the leaseholders and reclaim the Temple for its own use. Thereafter it amassed the resources to provide free accommodation and tuition. This not only gave a boost to recruitment but also allowed the Order to be selective (or, one might say, elitist) in its recruiting policy.

The members, in the meantime, got themselves organized. They set up self-help academic programs, such as tutorial groups, by means of which seniors advised and assisted their juniors. Work duty rosters were introduced so precious funds would not have to be spent on housekeeping staff. They also made the strategic decision to stay out of campus politics, forestalling accusations by outsiders of undue influence. However, these reforms were nearly undone by the female secession.

A turning point had been reached when women began to outnumber men on the wider campus and feminist candidates won seats on the students’ council. It was no longer possible for the Temple to disregard the needs and ignore the aspirations of half its members. Yet the leadership tried to do just that, and a decade after the first, failed uprising, the women took the bold step of seceding from the Order to found their own society.

If there is a “secret history” of the Templars, the events of the next few years comprise it. Nothing is censored or suppressed, but almost nobody I spoke with seemed to be aware that the radical changes which created the Order as we know it today were impelled by the mayhem of the mid-1980s. Most people I talked to had not even heard of the schism, comparatively recent though it was.

The women were already complaining that they were being disrespected and exploited. As a result, when the males moved back into the Temple, the females stayed behind to take over the Annexe. They called themselves the Maids of the Temple. Because of its modern meaning, their adopted name may have had unfortunate connotations, but it was inspired by the Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc. Nevertheless, one year later, they changed their name to the “Society of Maidens”.

At first, the new association was a spectacular success. Within a short time the Maidens significantly outnumbered the Knights. Their status within the Templar organization improved when, in the face of substantial resistance, women were admitted to the Guild as equal rather than auxiliary members. However, the occupation of the Annexe was legally problematic, and the Temple leadership initiated moves to expel them. Realizing what a public relations disaster this would be, the Guild intervened, confirming the Society’s right to use the building. But it only made matters worse by then charging rent. The Maidens refused to pay, and the scene was set for a potentially self-destructive court battle.

In the end, the Maidens were the ones who made the concessions, under intense financial pressure, and the Knights were ultimately rewarded for their intransigence. The women agreed to rejoin the Order, annul their independent charter, abandon self-management and acknowledge the authority of the (all-male) executive. It was about this time that the qualities of loyalty and obedience were added to their name. And in what seems to me a churlish and small-minded reprisal, in the newly drafted charter the name of “maidens” was relegated to lower-case lettering. The Templars take their symbolism very seriously.

After that, as its alumni and alumnae spread across the nation and into influential sectors of social, political, commercial and cultural life, the Order of the Temple grew ever more wealthy and more powerful, while the maidens became increasingly subordinate to the Knights. Even within the Guild, while technically enjoying equal rights, women have remained until recently in the background.

Except for a few minor details, these revelations brought my research up to the present day. During this quest, my most reliable source of information had been Sam. It was not that she was privy to secrets hidden away in underground vaults, or encoded in cryptic documents, or anything like that. It was simply that, as a student of history with an inquisitive mind, she had been accumulating all this material. It was not until our chance encounter that she found someone with a similar interest. Our mutual curiosity was not shared by most of our fellow members. Nevertheless, I think there were two additional barriers in the way of our investigations. One was a disinclination to pry too deeply into the past. This was the “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” syndrome, to which even I had not been entirely immune.

For Sam there was also the concern that her investigations might be misinterpreted as an attempt to dig up skeletons that might be best left buried. At first I did not appreciate this. There were occasions when she was reluctant to continue, and once she even used the phrase “let sleeping dogs lie.” That irritated me, and her response was shocking, because it was the closest I ever saw her come to losing her temper.

“It’s easy for you!” she snarled.

It took me a while to understand. Wrapped up in the Templar cocoon, it was so easy to take for granted the privileges of my gender. And yet it was obvious, because all these details were not adding up, that I was still missing something… or rather, that Sam was keeping something from me, something important. So that’s when I realized, with a shock, that Kate had been doing the same. For years.

But despite the reluctance to revive old memories and stir up past grievances, neither I nor anyone else were kept deliberately or completely in the dark about the Temple. On the day after our arrival, we novitiates were each assigned an instructor, one of the older Knights whose job it was to show us the ropes. They never held back about anything, so far as I could tell, and were more than willing to answer all questions. However, the information was limited to general and routine matters like rules and schedules. To that end, the history of the Order was basically irrelevant; and any really important insights into its workings we might wish to acquire were apparently to be gained through personal experience. Well, that was precisely what the Senior Master had told us on our very first evening.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Sun Dec 07, 2014 5:41 pm

IX.

It was almost dawn by the time I got to bed. Despite my curiosity about the shouts and laughter coming from downstairs, outside and on the other side of the wall in the Annexe, I was too fatigued for anything but sleep. By the time I awoke, around noon, everything had gone quiet.

After weeks of uninterrupted sunshine, the weather had turned dismal. A blustery wind rattled the windows and a gloomy drizzle dappled and fogged the glass. On the other side of the demarcation line across the room between order and chaos, Ben was still insensate. If he kept to his routine, I wouldn’t see him up and about until mid-afternoon. After I had showered and shaved, I went to get something to eat. The foyer was deserted. In the dining hall, a group of Knights were standing about munching sandwiches, sipping coffee, gulping juice. All had, like me, the listless, unfocused, just woken look. They were languidly watching a dozen maidens who were setting up the tables for lunch and studiously ignoring their audience. Among them was Sabrina.

Although it was strictly against protocol to disturb the girls as they worked, I had not spoken to her in a long time.

“Good morning, Sabrina.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

I chuckled and she lifted her head to stare at me, quizzically. I didn’t explain that I had deliberately said “morning” even though it was well after midday. I wanted to see if she’d correct me — the way she would have when we’d known each other for just a few days. It was a trivial and pointless point to prove; but when she humbly lowered her gaze towards the floor, I had the strangest sensation of regret. It felt like something was leaving us both, like an exhaled breath, like a shadow that fades as the light dims.

“Carry on,” was all I could say.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied.

“Have you chosen one yet?” Mike asked through a mouthful of bread, cheese and tomato.

“They’re in the common room,” someone else called out.

The corridor leading to the common room was, in contrast to the rest of the house, packed with people and noisy with idle chatter. There seemed no good reason for the congestion; but as I approached the crowd parted and all heads turned to follow my progress. That should have made me feel self-important, but it just made me self-conscious.

Inside the room, the women abducted from the Maidenhall were arranged in a square, twelve on a side, sitting on the floor facing outwards, close enough that their shoulders were touching. They were still in their undies and nighties. Their wrists and elbows were bound stiffly behind their backs with what appeared to be silk rope. All wore blindfolds, of various kinds. I was glad that, for these, at least, the gags had been removed. But in the middle of the square, three of the captives were lying on their bellies, hog-tied as well as blindfolded and ball-gagged. Around the throat of each was tied a black ribbon with a name tag. One of them was Laura, Ben’s stunning, long-suffering sister. Beside them was a pile of ropes and gags, ribbons and tags, awaiting application.

Except for a few soft moans and whimpers, the room was unnervingly quiet. Two young maidens were in attendance, with water bottles, sponges and towels. They stood back respectfully, their eyes downcast, as I entered the square through a gap in the line nearest the doorway. One of them was Libby, and as she crouched beside the three prostrate bodies I thought — in a moment of ill-at-ease conceit — that she was genuflecting. But she picked up one of the ropes and handed it to me. I took it and looked about, at all the young women facing away from me. I paused, though my decision had been made days before.

Sam was in the line opposite the door. I’m sure she knew what was coming, because her fists were clenched so firmly that her knuckles reddened; her body was slightly rocking and her head slowly rolling. When I nodded in her direction, Libby and the other maiden helped her to her feet, guided her to the centre of the square next to the other chosen ones, and assisted her to lie down on her stomach. She went limp and uttered not a sound as I lifted her heels up to her backside and bound her ankles to her wrists.

Though sightless, she knew it was me. Who else would have selected her? For a second or two, our fingers touched and intertwined. The hem of her teddy had ridden up to bare her buttocks, and as my fingertips brushed across the soft warm flesh, I felt it quiver and heard her gasp. Her face was flushed and sweaty; her hair was disarrayed and moist with perspiration. The soles of her feet were begrimed with dried dirt and grass from the midnight trek through the forest; her knees were still pink from what I guessed had been hours of kneeling. To my shame, all I could think was that I had never seen Samantha so sexy.

When I released my hold and the tension of her bindings pulled on her arms and legs, she groaned and squirmed. I took the gag and pressed the ball to her lips. She made a weak gurgling sound as I pushed it gently in, and she grunted as I wrenched her head backwards to tighten and buckle the strap. I carefully tied the black ribbon about her throat, printed my name and hers on the plastic tag.

Having done my duty, I left the room as one of the senior Commanders came in to perform his. In the doorway I turned back for another look. Sam had stopped wriggling, but her shoulders heaved as she puffed and panted. It bothered me that she might not be able to breathe properly through her nose; but I saw that the delicate froth at the corners of her mouth bubbled as she sucked in air past the edges of the ball that filled it. Nevertheless, she was clearly stressed and I felt guilty that I had made her hog-tie so strict (though no more than on the women who lay beside her). Her body was flexed and arched backwards; and her head, instead of resting on one side, was facing directly ahead, putting strain on her neck. One of the attending maidens was dabbing her forehead and cheeks with a wet sponge.

A weird thought flitted through my mind, that the sponge was soaked in vinegar; and it wasn’t until I was back in the corridor that I understood the message. If a cock had crowed thrice I would not have been surprised. I had left Sam — my friend, my confidante, my mentor, the unsung heroine of my rapid rise in the Order of the Temple — lying on the floor bound and helpless and awaiting her fate.

X.

In my quest to uncover the hidden history of the Templars, I felt like I was in Plato’s famous allegory of the cave. For people trapped inside, their only perception of the reality outside are shadows dancing on the walls. That was how it seemed to me. I had not yet discerned the true nature of the Order and my role in it.

But for practical purposes, even more valuable than my meetings with Sam and lessons from the instructor were the tutorial groups to which all the first-year students were allocated. Attendance at the initial session was compulsory, but after that participation was optional, although for a while at least we all took advantage of the opportunity to expand our horizons.

All thirty novitiate Knights were freshman students, as were thirty of the maidens. (This larger intake of thirty-six females each year was a puzzle at first, until it occurred to me that it was intended to offset the higher resignation rate expected for the maidens. The Temple holds a second recruitment later in the year, to maintain male numbers and increase female numbers to forty. Again, the gender disparity is to make up for the anticipated attrition. But the policy is founded on the expectation — itself a cogent commentary on the nature of the Order — that more girls will indeed quit than males, when in reality this is not the case. As a consequence, the maidens outnumber the Knights by a substantial margin. At the end of my first year, the tally was 121 Knights and 152 maidens – that is, 56 per cent female. Of course, this disparity in numbers brings into starker relief the inequality between the sororité and the Compagnie.)

Lists assigning us to the ten groups were posted. Each consisted of three males and three females, plus the group leader. And what stood out immediately was that the latter were all maidens, although I am not sure why this was so. Kate’s name was at the top of one list, and I was glad that mine was not on it. Unlike our instructors, she and the other leaders served principally as academic counsellors, rendering advice and assistance on research and writing skills, citation conventions, computer usage and library procedures, the stuff our course lecturers never got around to teaching us (because they seemed to think that we absorbed it through some process of intellectual osmosis).

The guys in the group besides myself were Zach and Jason, who were essentially facsimiles of me and Ben, the nerd and the ne’er-do-well. As for the girls, Nicole, Libby and Hannah, each possessed what I call the Temple trifecta — beauty, brains and appealing personality. On the whole, we were an engaging and attractive bunch. I don’t want to come across as arrogant in saying this, but the fact is that it was hard not to think of us as an elite, and that was due to the selective recruitment policies of the Temple.

Yet the truth of the matter is that I felt in no sense part of a patriciate. Indeed, I found the very idea absurd as well as unsettling. For as dissimilar as guys like Zach and Jason, Ben and I were in many ways, in others we were very much alike, socially awkward over-achievers, the walking wounded of the high school popularity wars, who suddenly found themselves the cool kids. The girls seemed to be more worldly wise and serious-minded, but we all, to some extent, had absorbed the “in-crowd” mentality.

Although we were enrolled in similar courses, we hardly ever ran into each other on the way to and from our classes. I rarely saw the girls around the Temple, except every eighth day when they served dinner, and on a couple of occasions when I found one of them on laundry duty. On the other hand, I already knew our leader, Devashni, because she was one of my sister’s roommates. Devi, as she was known, personified her name, which means divine. She was an exotically beautiful girl, half Indian and half something else, with glossy black hair, intensely expressive eyes and a rich, melodic accent. Our introduction had been memorable, that Saturday morning when I first visited Kate in her dorm. Devi was insanely sexy in a tiny white mesh and lace teddy that almost glowed against her smooth-as-silk, dark olive skin. Of course, at that time my attention was diverted by the outrageous Lucy, but when our group met for the first time a few days later, I made a half-witty reference to our previous encounter. Devi responded with a mystified frown and then a diffident smile, as if trying to recall the occasion; but she must have known who I was, so she was just being coy. In any case, it threw me off kilter, which was probably her intent. The other three girls gave us each in turn a funny look. Zach and Jason stared at me and then at our lovely leader, at once baffled and impressed.

As our leader, Devi cultivated a rather stand-offish manner, but when she let her guard down I found her to be warm and whimsical. Apart from Kate, she was the girl in the Annexe with whom I had the most contact, my friendship with Sabrina having inexplicably cooled. Extremely intelligent, she was very knowledgeable about the university and supportive in her counselling; and I regretted that after three months the tutorials ended. Their usefulness in aiding our transition from school to university had reached the point of diminishing returns; but I missed the camaraderie that the weekly meetings provided. Of course, I could still speak to Devi when I visited Kate.

Nicole was the girl who came directly after me at the interviews in Lakeside Village. I was intrigued by what motivated the daughter of a professor to join the Templars, but she appeared reticent about the subject. However, I learned — after discreet inquiries — that her mother had been a member of the old Order, before there were Knights and maidens, and one of the very first residents in the Annexe. Everyone of my generation looked upon those pioneers who stood firm during the darkest days of the Temple, with awe, inspiration and appreciation. She was one of a handful of veterans remaining on the campus, and I was determined to secure an audience for my historical investigations.

Nicole was oddly self-conscious about her heritage. She bristled defensively whenever I inquired, a reaction I found perplexing, because well over half of all the members of the Order were protégés, including myself. But I began to see that there was another factor at work here. Neophyte maidens generally behaved coolly towards novice Knights. When we socialized, like during that first-weekend party, they were friendly enough; but when it came to formal events or official business, such as our tutorial sessions, they tended to be more aloof. And I soon got to understand why.

We seldom talked specifically about our gender roles in the Temple. At first I thought this was due to an unwritten, unspoken law, that it was just too sensitive an issue to discuss openly. However, things are rarely so simple. On the few occasions when the topic did come up, Nicole in particular could be quite animated in her criticism of our — that is, the males’ — sense of entitlement. This was always in a good-humoured, tongue-in-cheek way, but the barbs were prickly nonetheless. Libby and Hannah, although more restrained, expressed similar thoughts. But most significantly, the misgivings and disapproval were never directed at the Templar culture itself, only at how we males did not fully appreciate our advantages, to be, in Nicole’s words, “the best you can be.” When she said that, she continued with something that has stuck with me.

“What separates us [Knights and maidens] is that your status is defined by what you are, and what you can be. Whereas our place is defined by what we are not. We occupy the negative space.”

At first I dismissed the analogy, since negative space in its artistic context can be more interesting and relevant that the object it surrounds. But eventually I discovered just how apt the parallel really is.

But what at the time fascinated me about the Temple and the Order in general, and has continued to do so, is that everyone takes his or her role in stride. The girls are smart, self-assured and assertive, and yet their place is to be subordinate and submissive. A few, such as the irrepressible Lucy, revel in that persona. Most, like Kate, Sam and Devi, take pride in their service, their sacrifice, sense of duty and acceptance of tradition. In fact, for this reason I came to see the maidens, and not the Knights, as forming the bedrock of the Temple. The loyalty and obedience celebrated in the name of their sisterhood were the very source of the Order’s strength, solidarity and continuity. That seems counterintuitive. But in the course of my research into its history, I’ve observed that the relationship between the sexes has evolved, via both natural and self-selection, into something more symbiotic than cooperative… with ultimately detrimental consequences for the Knights.

Of course, we rookies were still in the earliest phase of adjustment — the girls to their obligations and auxiliary status as maidens, we males to our privileged rank as Knights. The contrast was as stark as that, and each time we met as a group there was always the tacit acknowledgement that Zach, Jason and I, deserving or not, had certain prerogatives which the girls — not just the new ones but the long-serving maidens like Devi — did not share but were obliged to recognize and to honour. Our exalted status was a prize which we had done nothing to earn, an approbation we did not merit, a reward for responsibilities not yet taken up and for potential not yet fulfilled.

Indeed, rather than blurring the gender disparity, the elitist nature of the Order brought it into sharper focus. Nicole, Libby and Hannah were formidable young women who had arrived on campus very much accustomed to success, familiar with awards and accolades. And I cannot, in all honesty, say that Ben or Zach or Jason or I necessarily measured up to their standard. This is not false modesty; it was the reality. So it must have taken a major adjustment of ideals and habits for the girls to adapt to life in the Annexe. It most likely explained what had gone wrong between me and Sabrina.

But what I also noticed was how the girls compartmentalized their lives. For instance, few had boyfriends in the Temple. There was a good deal of interaction and social intercourse between the Knights and maidens. While the promiscuous reputation of the Commune was well-earned, we were not far behind in this respect. Yet serious relationships were, by and large, reserved for outsiders. And this was due to the power dynamic which erected a permanent barrier between the sexes.

On the evening after our third tutorial group meeting, all four girls were on dinner duty. It probably was not a coincidence that they were on the same roster. I had seen Devi waitressing before, but not the others. New girls were sensibly not put on the work schedule right away. On this night, I almost missed them because Lucy was also serving. As usual, she attracted the most attention of any of the maidens. She was just as feisty and provocative soaking up the attention in the packed hall as in the dorm. Like her fellow maidens, she had to work to keep her dress from slipping down to her waist, but she had a distinctive technique, thrusting out her chest to give it something to cling to (but also increasing the strain and therefore the chances of failure). That made her popular enough, but she flirted with everyone in trousers as she went about her chore. And when she took extra special care of me, I received some envious and admiring looks from the guys around me. I was acquiring a reputation which I did not deserve.

Devi, on the other hand, barely acknowledged my existence… but that was how she treated all the diners. I could see it on her face that she did not enjoy waitressing, of any kind, let alone in these circumstances. Nevertheless, three years of attending to the whims of a roomful of self-satisfied, entitled young males showed. She forced a smile whenever she got a compliment or a proposition. As she was standing next to my seat and reached across the table to refill a pitcher, the straps of her dress rode up onto her shoulders. In a move that had become automatic through long repetition, as she straightened up she drew them back down her arms. But just as she did so, her eyes and mine met, and I think she suddenly realized what she had done in pure reflex, because I detected just a shade of embarrassment.

Nicole and Libby appeared and acted reserved. They never feigned amusement or pretended to like their chore. It was Hannah who surprised me, because she was the most even-tempered and hard-to-faze member of the group. She went about her duties with a haughty expression, as if looking down on those whom she was so diligently serving. Maybe she did, and I could hardly blame her. For this was something I began to pick up on, when I could finally see past the obvious… just as Kate had advised me to do that first morning. One of the things I started to discern was that the girls found a source of pride in what they were and what they were not. Genuine solidarity arises from adversity, and strength comes from struggle. But the maidens’ struggle was not against the rules and customs of the Order, and certainly not against the Knights. It was against weakness, irresolution and elusion of responsibility. Which sounds very portentous, and I imagine that if I had presented these thoughts to any of the girls, most would have dismissed them with a metaphorical pat on the head. In fact (and I am getting ahead of my story here), when I later embarked on my quixotic campaign to reform the Templars, I never anticipated that the decisive opposition would come not from the overprivileged Knights but from the underprivileged maidens.

(But for the record, I should add also that the rather despicable way the maidens could be treated at mealtimes was never common, almost always came from newbie Knights and was only tolerated for a short time. I never saw anyone actually reprimanded for copping a feel or making inappropriate remarks, or whatever, because a quiet word on the side was the Templar modus operandi, and this usually worked.)

At our final tute group meeting, the girls were coming from some sort of ceremonial gathering in the Annexe and were in their maiden uniforms. When we had found a shady spot on the grass, as we sat down Devi slowly pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders. I thought at first that she was just being playful, but she looked serious and the other girls followed her example. It was such a telling gesture. This afternoon, Jason, Zach and I were three Knights being paid tribute by their four loyal and obedient maidens.

***

In the meantime, my friendship with Sam blossomed. She and I made it a habit to meet for coffee at least once each week, when we would discuss all sorts of things but in particular the course of my research on the Templars. She did not make it easy, however, volunteering almost nothing without prompting and leaving it for me to raise topics of interest. She wasn’t being secretive or mysterious, just mischievous; but nevertheless I detected a hesitation to disclose too much potentially sensitive information to a novice like myself. While her misgivings were understandable, I found her attitude rather irritating, and even a little insulting. That’s when we had our “It’s easy for you!” exchange. However, it became a game, as I contrived ways of teasing as much knowledge as I could out of her.

I also, finally, discovered where Sam lived. Not too far from the Temple, almost hidden amongst the adjacent trees, is an unpretentious building that from the outside looks just like any of the apartment blocks which provide low-rent accommodation for students on the campus periphery. This is the Maidenhall, and here reside the forty to fifty senior women of la sororité. I had no idea, at the time, why they needed a separate residence, but assumed that it was nothing more than a space issue. The Annexe is too small to house all the women without serious overcrowding. I tried a few times to broach the topic of my visiting Sam in her quarters, but she skilfully avoided a definite reply. So we stuck to our conversations on the Templars. There was enough of that to keep us occupied.

Yet as time passed and I settled into the routine of university life beyond the Order, I began to break out of my Templar-oriented existence. In the seventh week of the academic year, the real action on campus was not to be found in the classroom. Saint Patrick’s Day is an especially prominent event on the calendar, partly because the local community has a large Irish component, but also because it provides such a worthy excuse — if any is actually needed — for ingesting copious amounts of alcohol and engaging in diverse public indiscretions. This year, the seventeenth of March was mid-week, and the Templars celebrated with a gargantuan banquet. There was the usual contingent of serving girls, and I was not surprised to see their dresses coloured emerald green, though offering no more comfort or covering than the conventional white.

A couple of days earlier, I was leaving one of my lectures when I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey bro, got time for a beer?”

A lanky, dishevelled form pushed through the crowd.

“Hi, Perry. Afraid not now... got another class.”

“Fair ʼnuff. How’s it hangin’?”

“It’s... hangin’ just fine. Thanks for asking. And yours?”

“Outstanding!”

I didn’t need that imagery.

“So, you still living in that dump?”

“The boarding house? No, I’m with my sister.” Well, in a way it was true. I did not really need a cover story, but I had heard, albeit not from disinterested sources, that there was bad blood between the Templars and the Communards (as the denizens of the Commune styled themselves).

“So how’s life where you are?”

Perry grinned and slapped his thigh. “The parties, man! The chicks, man!” A couple of months of university was not enough to change him.

“Well, must go,” I said. “I’ve got a class starting... You do know what classes are?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “I’ve heard of ’em. I try not to get too close.”

“That’s the spirit. See you around?”

“Yeah, bro. Here, take this. See ya.”

“Cheers.”

Then he was gone. I studied the leaflet he had thrust into my hand. It was a strange piece of artwork, ornately decorated with shamrocks and faux-Celtic runes that spelt out a day (Friday), a time (after five o’clock) and a place (Richmond Hall). The centrepiece was very odd, a picture of a lecherous-looking leprechaun wielding a shillelagh and riding a cow.

Mystified, I showed it to Sam. If anyone could decipher it for me, it was she. Indeed, she took one look at the sheet, giggled and shook her head.

“This confirms everything I already knew, all you need to know, about those guys in Richmond Hall.”

“Eh?” As much as I liked being around her, sometimes she made me feel so mentally challenged.

“The cow,” she explained, “is part of the iconography of Saint Brigid. She’s...”

“Yeah,” I interrupted. “This I know. Irish saint, patroness of poets and blacksmiths… the female version of Saint Patrick...” I trailed off as I thought about the shillelagh, a symbol of manhood and fertility. Templar symbology had at least some subtlety.

“Hey, that’s pretty blasphemous.”

“As I said, hanging around those guys will rot your brain, ruin your liver and blight your soul.”

“And despoil your womenfolk,” I added.

“So naturally you will be going.”

“Of course. Where there’s womenfolk to be despoiled, there you will find me.”

“Good luck with the hellfire.”

I was almost tempted to ask Sam to accompany me, except that (firstly) I had already twice felt her vicious right jab; and (secondly) I had someone else in mind.

By this time any fantasies I had of being with Sabrina had evaporated; but that was all they had ever been, fantasies. I did get to see her serving dinner every eight days and also doing our laundry once a month, and I encountered her in the Annexe a few times; but that was as far as it went.

However, I had begun to get close to a girl in one of my regular classes. Her name was Rachel, and she was a “townie” — a local girl who lived at home, off-campus. She was quiet, sweet-natured and very pretty. We were not yet boy- and girlfriend, but we were “study buddies” and the relationship was evolving quickly. I had not told her about the Temple. She knew of its existence, of course, but not my involvement.

I was reluctant at first to show her the profane pamphlet, she being a good Catholic girl and all; but like Sam she laughed, then shrugged it off with an invocation against “Richmond HELL!” And thus we entered the inferno. However, hopes of winning my fair lady’s heart by saving her from being ravished by the drunken hordes were dashed; not because she was indeed ravished, but because the party was almost tame by the standard set by the myth, even in comparison with that first Saturday evening in the Temple. In fact, in its aftermath I began to suspect that the popular perception of Richmond Hall, as a pit of perdition seething with satyrs and satanists, was more figment than reality.

After that, our bond developed to the point that I spent her birthday with Rachel and her parents on the weekend before Easter. I then went home to my parents for the holiday.

I had now been at university for just over two months, and a member of the Order of the Temple for six weeks. And upon my return to the campus, I entered a new and unexpected phase of my Knighthood.


To be continued...
Last edited by sarobah on Tue Dec 16, 2014 2:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby xtc » Mon Dec 08, 2014 3:08 am

Sorry I was a bit busy and so didn't reply to your previous post. However, it's nice to see how thing are developing.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Tue Dec 09, 2014 3:29 am

XI.

Around mid-afternoon, all but twelve of the captive senior maidens were sent back to their residence. The chosen ten, plus Annabel and Donna, were released from their bonds, blindfolds and gags. They were ordered to form a single line with their hands clasped behind their heads. All twelve were bunched up so they were pressed snugly against each other. Annabel was in the lead, statuesque Donna directly behind, her splendid breasts nestled between the tiny woman’s shoulder blades. Keeping in step to avoid treading on each other’s heels, they were marched into the Annexe to get cleaned up for the next phase of their ordeal. Sam was in the middle, her body proudly and defiantly erect. Her lavender teddy was stained with purple patches of sweat; the sides had ridden or been pulled up above her hips so far and firmly that the gusset was wedged in the creases it was meant to hide. The effect was to turn her shuffle into a sort of waddle, and I anguished to see her discomfort and humiliation.

As they made their way out of the common room, down the corridor and into the lobby, the women stared straight ahead, trying to remain oblivious to the spectators, both Knights and maidens. Nobody spoke except for a few whispers and nervous giggles. I saw Kate and most of her roomies, silently watching. I tried to read my sister’s face, comprehend her thoughts and feelings. And then, for a couple of seconds, we looked into each other’s eyes, and what I saw unnerved me. It was an expression I had rarely seen before… disapproval, almost disappointment. We had come a long way from that proud hug and kiss at my interview, just three months before.

I turned away, and in my moment of upset did something I immediately deplored. Jane was at the very end of the line. (I knew her vaguely, she was 24 years old with a PhD in something esoteric like analytical philosophy.) She had fallen behind the girl in front, by just enough that they were no longer in physical contact. Urging her to catch up, I whacked her hard on the backside with my open hand. The sound of the slap seemed to fill the great room and echo off the walls. She jerked, but not a word nor a note issued from her pursed lips as she closed the gap. I glanced back at Kate in time to see her slowly shake her head.

Yet I don’t feel too much remorse, because that momentary manifestation of weak-minded malice was to prove a turning point in my understanding of the Templars and my relationship with both the maidens and my fellow Knights. For as odd as it felt, as glad as I was to not be one of them, in a way I envied those dozen young women, indeed everyone in the Annexe and the Maidenhall. I saw in their faces, in their stoical expressions and dignified stances, what I did not recognize in my brothers. They had what I had not found during my short time in the Temple, what none of the Knights had found, what I could not discover, what I believe none of the Knights would ever come to know, because the very institution which promoted it as a virtue was incapable of instilling it.

In adversity the maidens found strength.

XII.

At dinner on the week after the Easter break, the Senior Master announced that nominations were open for election to the Temple Council. There were nine seats to be filled, and we novitiates were allocated one of these positions. I had no interest in standing as a candidate, but Ben was, as were three or four others. The poll was scheduled for seven days hence; and in a constituency of a mere thirty voters, the campaign consisted of some half-hearted informal lobbying and free beer. No one bothered with a platform containing actual policies. Nobody even seemed sure what purpose the Council served — whether it wielded real authority or just nominal power.

This was a fitting topic for my next coffee shop conversation with Sam. But just as our caffè macchiatos arrived, my sister walked up.

I started to introduce her. “Kate, this is...”

“Rachel?” she interrupted.

Blank look.

“Sabrina...”

“Sam!” I interjected, lest word get out that I owned a harem.

Kate had some inconsequential news to deliver, a cousin getting married or divorced or something. Sam invited her to stay for breakfast. I gritted my teeth and concurred.

I returned to the subject. I described how the election campaign was progressing, my roommate’s involvement, the corrupt canvassing and the barefaced bribery. Sam and Kate listened indulgently, straight-faced, making no comment.

Casually, I asked how the election was going over on their side. They both just laughed.

I asked what the joke was.

“David, there’s no election. We don’t have a vote.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“We’re girls.”

“Of course you are,” I replied. “What was I thinking?”

Then how are females chosen for the Council, I inquired, in my customary innocence.

“Which females would those be?”

It was my turn for the blank stare.

“You must realize,” Sam tried to explain, “the Knights and the maidens are separate organizations. We have different charters.”

“But who runs the maidens?”

“You, of course... Not you personally… the Knights.”

“David, what is our full name?”

“The loyal and obedient sisterhood,” I said.

“Exactly,” Kate replied, with a hint of impatience.

Sam was more tolerant of my naïveté. “Both Knights and maidens are governed by the Council. The Knights choose the Council.”

“Well, sorry for stating the obvious, but that doesn’t seem fair.”

Neither of them responded.

“The two of you together have… what? ... seven years in the Order. I’ve been in it for less than two months. Yet I get to vote and you don’t. What’s the deal?”

“If you expect me or Kate to defend the indefensible, forget it.” Sam sounded a little exasperated, once again; but it was a strange way of putting her case. I was beginning to suspect that I understood even less about the Temple than I thought.

“The deal is that when we’ve finished uni, we join the Guild. Women in the Guild have equal rights with the men. There are females on its Council, did you know? But until then we accept that Knights and maidens have different... roles.” The hesitation, however slight, said a lot; but she anticipated my next question. “What do we get out of it in the meantime? Same as you — free board, free tuition.”

“Free dinner service, free laundry service?”

“Don’t get smart,” Kate growled, furiously stirring her coffee. “Okay we pay our dues. Maybe more than you. That’s how it is.”

“So what is it I have..?” I paused at just the wrong moment.

Sam giggled as Kate leaned sideways to peer under the table. “You’ve had it all your life, brother.”

“What I was going to say is — what is it I have to do in return?”

“Be a noble Knight.”

“Aaargh!” We were going in circles.

It was Sam’s turn again. “Look, David, at the moment you are a novitiate, which means you’re on probation until you make it as a full Knight. Kate and I are on a sort of permanent probation, until we graduate and can join the Guild. Until then, we and you have different rights and separate duties. Fair or not, that’s the reality.”

Kate broke in. “I live in the Annexe and Sam in the Maidenhall. Both belong to the Temple; and everything in them belongs to the Temple.”

It took me a few seconds to get her drift. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Every... one?”

The girls just grinned, and Kate blushed ever so slightly.

“So I’m doing pretty good out of this.”

Sam regarded me with a mocking, wide-eyed incredulity. “And you’re complaining?”

“Not complaining. Wondering if maybe there’s a catch.”

“No catches. Get over it.”

I could see them getting just a little irritated with my persistence, especially Kate. We had already had more than one conversation like this. But it was nevertheless weird, hearing my self-assured sister and the lovely, self-possessed Sam referring to themselves, if obliquely, as property.

“You’re okay with this?”

“It is what it is. We are what we are.” Sam paused. “Look, it’s really sweet that you care. But it’s not going to change anything.”

I was not so sure about that, and I thought there was something they were still not telling me; but our conversation had come to a dead end.

“Well, I’ve got to go. Say hello to Rachel.” Kate drained her cup. “It is still Rachel?” she added with a wink.

***

The week of the election, Sam and I missed our coffee shop rendezvous. She had an appointment and I had a busy schedule. I had the feeling that our close connection was beginning to dissolve, which was sad; but now I had Rachel, and in any case, I had reached the point where I decided not to ponder too deeply the ways and workings of the Temple. My fellow Knights never did. They took their rights and prerogatives for granted, while Kate, Sam, Devi, Sabrina and all the girls carried out their duties without gripe or grievance. No one questioned, let alone challenged, the status quo. And the fact was that, despite some reservations, I relished the privileges which came with being a male, and I accepted that the philosophy of the Order — which might have been “a place for every man and every woman in her place” — appeared to satisfy both sexes.

Being completely honest about it, I was most troubled by my own swelling sense of self-importance, and worried that it might adversely affect my relationship with Rachel. For it was at this time that I revealed to her my Templar membership. Yet her response was not what I expected, indifference rather than approval or disapproval. And having built up to the big announcement, I was left feeling somewhat deflated. Obviously, the Temple looms larger in your consciousness the closer you are to it. From a distance, it is just another fraternal society on campus. I decided to invite her to the next get-together. However, my life was about to take another dramatic turn.

We had our election. Ben did not get voted in but appeared unfazed, maybe even pleased. A sense of responsibility did not weigh heavily upon his shoulders. The next evening, at dinner, the successful aspirants were due to receive their formal commissions. Our Captain, the officer responsible for the novitiates, left me a message saying it was imperative that I be in attendance. Since I rarely made plans for dining other than at the Temple, for the simple and practical reason that meals were free of charge, this was not a problem. Nonetheless, I was greatly intrigued.

We gathered in the great hall. The maidens brought out our meal and then retreated to the kitchen. I knew the occasion was a big deal when, for only the second time since my arrival, the Grand Master had joined the high table.

After the dinner was finished, instead of adjourning, the Senior Master announced that a “plenary assembly” of the Order was in session. Following a declamation on the “historic traditions” of the Temple, he read the list of names introducing the new members of Council. Each in turn accepted the acclaim and a scroll. I was not really paying much attention to the proceedings, when suddenly I heard my name called.

Who? What?

Ben, sitting next to me, poked me in the side with his elbow. Uncomprehending, I made my way to the front of the room, followed by applause and a few cheers. I was still trying to get my bearings when the Senior Master declared that I had been nominated as Councillor Designate. I might as well have been made Celestial Emperor, for all that it meant to me. However, he explained. Since Knights recruited later in the year would otherwise have no representation, the novitiate who has shown the most promise and potential is appointed to speak for them in the Council. That made sense, except for that bit about promise and potential. How did it apply to me?

Yet in retrospect it was obvious. My historical research had not gone unnoticed amongst the Powers That Be. This, apparently, was exactly the sort of initiative and commitment which made a first-class Knight. Once again my preconceptions had been overturned. Far from being at all secretive about its origins or hypersensitive about its history, the Order rewarded those who made the effort to delve.

My modest acceptance of the honour was not feigned. I remained bemused, as well as amused. Had it been offered in private, I would probably have turned it down… which is why, no doubt, it was not offered in private. I returned to my seat for a pat on the back from Ben — who seemed more pleased that his roommate was a Councillor than upset that he had missed out on a place — and some good-natured ribbing from the other guys. The Senior Master concluded by admonishing everyone that we were not to discuss Temple business with “outsiders” and in particular not reveal the composition of the new Council. Since the maidens did not return to the hall until all the formalities were concluded, the prohibition obviously included the female majority within the Order.

The following night, Saturday, there was a celebration in the Temple, with the upper-storey Knights putting on the kegs. It was one of the few occasions when girls were not in attendance. Once we had reached the requisite level of inebriation, I and my fellow Councillors were each presented with our robe and emblem of office, one of those kitschy luridly crimson capes and a chintzy gold-coloured badge with the crest of the Order framed by laurels. I looked ridiculous, a fact of which I was constantly reminded by my fellow Knights.

Before we returned to the matter of the kegs, there was one more piece of business. The Senior Master announced that the first phase of our probation was over. We were no longer lowly novitiates, but slightly less lowly Cadets.

Once more, with regard to the investment ceremony, we were issued strict instructions to keep all Templar business to ourselves. I did not understand the need for such confidentiality, and it was hard holding back the news from Kate and Sam. Not that I was especially keen to take my seat; it was just that Kate would be proud of her brother, and Sam would be so pleased to learn that our discussions had borne this unexpected fruit. However, the reason we had to keep the secret became known to me the following Tuesday.

The Council was not scheduled to meet formally, for official deliberations, until June, and I put it out of my mind most of the time. There was, nevertheless, one piece of preliminary business to take care of. On Monday evening, the Senior Master, Ross Parnell, called us in for a meeting in his office. It was the first time I had a chance to speak with him face to face, and I finally got to know what he was Warden of — the Temple, of course. It’s an honorary title that recalls the days when the Temple was still an affiliated college of the university.

We were each handed a folder embossed with the seals of the Compagnie and the sororité, marked in large black letters: CLASSIFIED CONFIDENTIAL. Inside were half a dozen folios, dossiers on nominees for the position of maîtresse, the head female in the Order. There was no clue to the pre-selection procedures, and no personal statement from any of the candidates, just a photograph of each, her academic and service records, and a brief recommendation from one of the senior Knights. Choosing one would be the very first item on the agenda of the incoming Council, and my job in the meantime was to scrutinize the rather sparse files. I did not know if I was allowed to approach the nominees personally or bring the subject up with any other maidens or Knights. I decided that the classified nature of the Council appointments meant that I shouldn’t.

And yet a mere three days later, the pretext for confidentiality was completely undermined. I was informed that I should once again be available on Thursday evening. Instead of joining the rest of the Knights, we Councillors plus the Senior Master and a couple more officers of the Temple gathered in the lobby. Matthew, the other Cadet, and I were still in the dark as we were met by a contingent of twenty young women coming through the passageway from the Annexe. Leading them was Donna, the strawberry-blonde beauty who was the maiden who had greeted us on our first day as Templars. The dress she wore now was not the usual white but magenta; and I suddenly comprehended the meaning of the tiny burgundy rose embroidered on her black choker. It was the insignia of the maîtresse. (It was breathtaking how out of touch I had been with the day-to-day operations of the Temple even as I was becoming its historian.)

One of the delegation was my sister, with as joyful a smile as I have seen on her face, and Devi who was beaming with pride that her apprentice had reached such heights so early. The girls separated into pairs to escort the new Councillors. Kate winked and smiled but Devi kept her eyes downcast. They both offered the now familiar gesture of obeisance, sliding their dress straps off their shoulders. They took up positions of either side of me and, arm in arm, we joined the procession into the Annexe.

I was gratified that I did not have to wear my cheesy robe. In fact, I later learned that it was regarded as unseemly to wear ceremonial garb inside the Annexe. On the other hand, this was the first time I had seen every girl in the Annexe wearing her little uniform. All respectfully stood at attention, baring their shoulders as we passed. I did not see Sabrina, but Lucy was at the foot of the stairs. She flashed me a cheeky grin as she slid the straps down her arms. Her neckline was slumped lower than most, which surprised me not at all.

We climbed to the top floor, where the maidens’ dining and meeting hall is located. It is, in typically stark contrast to the Knights’, small and unadorned. Whereas ours catered for well over a hundred, this room seated no more than fifty. It was packed with twice that number of young women, sitting at the tables, standing against the walls, crowding in the doorway. And if any of us puffed up Knights had expected them to fall into deferential silence as we entered, the rising din quenched any such conceit. Above the commotion, I even heard wolf-whistles.

I scanned the tables, hoping to see Sam, but there were only the faces I had become familiar with during the past few weeks. At the back of the room was Sabrina, her expression priceless as she recognized me. The bulging eyes, raised eyebrows and drooping jaw said it all.

We men took our places at the high table. Kate, Devi and the other escorts occupied seats reserved for them along one of the side walls. The maîtresse, who was the only female seated out the front with us, rose to speak. She introduced “our” new Councillors, and she was anything but reverential. Given the nature of some of the risqué innuendo she inserted into her remarks, it was more of a roast than a tribute. And as we stood in turn to be acknowledged, the acclaim evolved from polite applause for the senior Knights into rousing cheers — and a few more wolf-whistles — for us younger ones.

The ceremony took about half an hour, after which those maidens not allocated places at the tables departed. I’m not sure how the fifty or so privileged to join us in the meal were selected. I saw that Libby from my tute group was among them. The meal was served by Kate and the other escort maidens.

I was seated next to Donna. She was as pleasant to talk to as she was to look at. She had a dry wit, and she seemed genuinely interested in my research on the history of the Temple. She informed me that she was a third-generation member of the Order. Yet I feel somewhat ashamed that much of my attention was focused on her delightful décolletage. The front of her dress had sagged so low that I could see... well, never mind. Anyway, it was hardly my fault that I was distracted. And she did not appear to mind. I guess she was used to it.

When it was over, we returned relatively unimpeded to the Temple. Our passage was not flanked by admiring, obeisant females. That suited me fine. All in all, the differences between the two induction ceremonies — in the Temple and in the Annexe — were a telling indication of the relationship between the Compagnie and the sororité, and also of each institution’s self-perception.

The following morning was Friday, when Sam and I were scheduled to have breakfast together. I was not at all surprised when Kate invited herself along.

“So why didn’t you tell us?” they both demanded.

“I wasn’t permitted to.”

“Oh yeah, the sacred secrets of the Righteous Holy Order. I’m your sister!” Kate scolded.

“And I’m your... confidante,” Sam continued. Her brief pause intrigued me. I wondered if she had been about to say something else.

“All your beer buddies in the Temple knew, I bet.”

“Well yes, but you’re...” I started to say, then petered out.

“Yes, we get it.”

Kate allowed me to stew for a few more seconds. “Just teasing, sweetie.”

“Of course you couldn’t tell us. We understand,” Sam reassured; but there was a sting in the tail. “We’ve been around long enough to know how it works. Altogether for us it’s... how many years, Kate? Seven? And how long has David been a Templar? Seven weeks?”

“Eight weeks, actually.”

Using my own words, more or less, from two weeks before, was underhanded. I had to return the lob.

“And by the way, Sam, news sure travels fast, doesn’t it?”

She shrugged and sniffed indignantly. I decided to needle her further.

“I thought you might have been there last night, you know, for the special occasion.”

She started to explain, but I cut her off.

“No, no, I get it. It’s just that it would have been nice to see you...”

“Yes, that would have been nice.”

“I was really, really hoping to see you.”

She gave me a quizzical look. “Well, I’m sorry...”

Kate, who knew me so much better, sniffed and rolled her eyes. She patted Sam on the shoulder.

“He’s talking about the dress.”

“You do have one?”

Sam shrugged. “Oh, I get it. So you’re a typical male after all!”

I didn’t know if that was an insult or a compliment, so I had to retaliate.

“Well, if it’s anything like Kate’s, it’s more than you had on the first time we met.”

It was Kate’s turn to give each of us each a strange look, until Sam explained.

So I thought it best to change the subject; and being outnumbered, I determined that retreat to higher ground was the better part of valour. In any case, there were other issues to discuss. The first week of May is a festive time on campus, the last chance for students to let loose before the countdown to exam season. There are no classes but plenty of parties. Tomorrow was also Kate’s birthday, and we were planning a trip back home to celebrate with our parents. We were leaving that night, straight after my sister finished her serving duties in the Temple.

I had challenged her on that, because she had worked earlier in the week.

“I swapped shifts with Maryanne, because she has some urgent engagement.”

“You’re allowed to do that, swap shifts?”

“Of course we are,” she said with more indignation. “We’re not slaves, you know.”

Sam coughed, and decided that this was an opportune time for her to excuse herself, so we ended the breakfast on that note.

That evening, Kate managed to get away just after nine o’clock, early for the dinner roster. Still, it was rather inconvenient since I had invited along Rachel, and Kate was bringing her girlfriend. While she went up to her room to change into her civilian clothes, I rang Vanessa and told her to meet us out the front. When my sister came down she looked exhausted and, since Vanessa was doing the driving, slept the entire trip. We picked up Rachel along the way, and she was a bit peeved by the lateness; but after some kissing and cuddling in the back seat, she also nodded off. I transferred to the front, leaving the girls to snooze and keeping Vanessa company as she drove. It was the first time that we had exchanged more than a few words. She was disconcertingly taciturn, and it was hard to tell whether she was shy or surly; but after a while I decided she was a suitable match for my sister… by which I mean tough enough to survive the ordeal. (Kate’s previous relationship had ended in tears, and I cannot help but feel sorry for poor Philip.) It did not surprise me that Vanessa was not a maiden.

As usual, our parents were disappointed that we could spend only Saturday with them. Kate tried to explain that her roommates were planning a party for the next night, but I could tell by her somewhat evasive response that there was more to it than that; and it seemed strange that she would not want to have the entire weekend with Vanessa; but I didn’t pry.

We got back to the campus at about seven in the evening. There was a barbeque, dance party and beer festival in progress on the front lawn of the Temple. Rachel and I joined it and afterwards I took her up to my room. For better or worse, there was a tie hanging on the doorknob, signifying that Ben was inside — inside the room and inside... well, I decided not to speculate. Anyway, it was probably a good thing, because Rachel and I were not really quite ready yet to take our relationship to the next level. So we went back downstairs. Her dad picked her up after a couple of hours and I earned some points for keeping his daughter sober and chaste.

I woke at about eight o’clock with a mild hangover and a brooding resentment of Ben, since I didn’t get to bed until around two in the morning. Almost no one else was moving on the second floor, or for that matter in the lobby. I traversed the passageway into the Annexe, and it also appeared to be empty. The reception desk was unattended and I passed just a couple of girls, who recognized me and nodded a respectful greeting. It was starting to feel just a little spooky, until I reached Kate’s dorm. All of her roommates were there, flitting about excitedly and twittering breathlessly. On my sister’s bed was a stack of opened presents and over the floor was spread a deep, multi-coloured litter of shredded wrapping paper. The gifts were the usual things a twenty-one year-old female would get from her friends for her birthday — cosmetics, chunky jewellery, jokey stuff, cuddly toys and toys of a less innocent design.

I did not surprise me at all that Lucy was the first to see me, nor that she was the least dressed of the roomies. She strutted up to me in her inimitable fashion, showing off pink satin knickers and black lace bra with an “I’ve been waiting for you”, faux-bashful, come-hither smile that only the likes of she could pull off with such effortless — and oddly ingenuous — aplomb. We shared cake and some inexplicable fizzy drink that tasted like nutmeg. Devi bragged endlessly about her young acolyte the Templar Councillor, and I was showered with all sorts of advice, opinions, requests and demands. Julia asked who was to be their next maîtresse, and unexpectedly it was Lucy who answered “That’s none of our concern.”

But I was not surprised. I was finding, as a Templar, that surprises were no longer so surprising.

To be continued...

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Sun Dec 14, 2014 4:21 pm

XIII.

Once they had been cleaned and fed in the Annexe, the prisoners were returned to the Temple and put on display for passers-by and a more permanent audience of a dozen or so Knights and half a dozen maidens who appeared to have nothing better to do than loiter in the lobby.

Now in their white dresses, their hands still bound behind their backs, they stood rigidly at attention, facing towards the big bay windows which flanked the great oak doors, half on each side. Sam was positioned before the left-hand window, closest to the door. Blindfolded, not permitted to speak or to move, there was nothing they could do to alleviate the enervating tedium or the enveloping fatigue. The only noise was an occasional sigh and some heavy, deep breathing. Every so often one of the women would sway, just a little, and because they were close enough to be touching it sent a mild tremor or ripple through the other five in the row. I wondered what they might be thinking about to occupy their minds, or if it would have been better to try to blank out all thought processes. It must have been torture.

They had been thus immobile for several hours when Ben and I stopped to inspect them on our way to dinner. Their stamina and perseverance was admirable, and I said so to Ben.

“Uh, I dunno,” he scoffed. “No big deal.”

“I bet neither of us could last as long as they have,” I replied.

I realized I was speaking louder than necessary. So that Sam could hear me? Was that all I could do to assuage my guilt?

Ben just harrumphed. “We don’t have to.”

“That’s my point.”

He gave me a mildly contemptuous look — as if I were saying something irrational or perverse — so I said “Let’s go” and headed for the dining hall. When we returned the women were still there, and there they remained for the rest of the evening. I had no idea why this was necessary. If the intent was to degrade our captives in the eyes of the onlookers, I think it did the opposite. If it was meant to fortify their will in preparation for the tribulations to come, it probably worked. If it was punishment for some uncodified offence, it was simply and gratuitously cruel.

It was around ten o’clock that the Senior Master announced that all the first-year Knights should assemble in the lobby. It had been almost empty for some time; the novelty of the static tableau of bound females seemed to have worn off. But many of the other Knights now came as well, in addition to a considerable number of maidens, to witness the next part of the show. The prisoners were arranged in a single file. The two maidens who had been in attendance for most of the day brought out a long rope with twelve loops, or nooses, attached at short intervals, and the women were leashed once more. They were thereupon led down the passageway into the Annexe. The stiffness and soreness from hours of standing stock-still caused them to slowly shamble, but they kept their backs straight and held their heads high. There was scattered applause from the spectators, and some quiet words of encouragement from some of the maidens. There were no heckles or taunts, which was, in a way, gratifying.

The Senior Master called for the Councillors to follow the tethered line.

“Have fun,” Ben snickered, and nudged me in the side with his elbow. The fact that his sister was one of the twelve did not seem to faze him. But all we did was witness the dispersal of the hostages amongst the dormitories for the night. The halters were removed, and each of the women was taken away, still bound and blindfolded, by a pair of girls. Kate and Julia claimed Sam, which caused me a momentary anxiety, because it was the first time that the two females who best knew my secrets and weaknesses would be together without my presence. But I needn’t have worried.

I followed them upstairs. All the roommates were there. A thin mattress had been placed on the floor. Sam’s hands were untied but then bound again in front, in a fairly loose manner so she could sleep without too much discomfort. The blindfold remained in place. The girls were somewhat brusque in their treatment, which surprised me. While her hands were unrestrained, Sam had been told to free her arms from the straps of her dress. I realized that she was now to be stripped.

Kate looked up from where she was crouching in front of the kneeling captive, scowled then smiled and slowly shook her head.

“Time to go,” she said.

Downstairs, in the Annexe and in the Temple, all was quiet.

XIV.

The new Templar Council took office almost immediately after the election. We convened in the first-floor conference room and the truth be told, my experience as Councillor was not exactly a life-changing experience. Most of the business we attended to was mundane. Five of my colleagues were first-timers but we were treated no differently from the veterans. The “learn as you go, do what we do” approach was very much in line with the principles of the Knights.

Ross Parnell had retained his seat but resigned as Senior Master. A single term is the convention. Another is that the new appointment be by consensus decision. So it did not surprise or bother me that the only nominee for the office was Andrew Chase and there was no deliberation, just a progression of nods around the table with sufficient gravitas to formalize the fait accompli. The decision did not become official until ratified by the Grand Council the following month. The GC is the governing body of the Order, which includes the Guild, and there has only ever been one occasion when it overturned an election by the Templars. I learned about this episode later.

The transition to new leadership was low-key. Andrew was considerably more laid-back and less concerned with protocol than his predecessor. He dispensed with the formal procedures as quickly as possible, but at the same time he was in no sense cavalier with the rules or the customs of the Order. Indeed, he was the inheritor of a distinguished Templar pedigree. His grandfather was a Knight and one of the founding members of the Guild; his parents were members during the turbulent early 1980s; he had two sisters who had already served as maidens and a brother who was a second-year Knight; and so he had a lot invested in the continuance of the Temple and its traditions.

The other item of significance on the agenda for that first meeting was the selection of the maîtresse. Andrew made an interesting statement, that this would be one of the most important decisions we’d be making all year. I noticed that more than a couple of my fellow Councillors visibly and audibly sniffed at this, but he let it go. Even so, there was no discussion or debate. Since the subject had been deemed confidential, I had not exchanged views with anyone, nor sought out opinions or information to guide my choice. All I had to go on were the vague impressions I had picked up from the rudimentary files we had been given. So much for the weighty decision.

We conducted an exhaustive ballot and after the third round the winner was a third-year law student named Alice. I had voted for her, but given the paucity of my knowledge that didn’t mean much. She was one of the youngest maîtresses in the history of the Temple, and like Andrew was a third-generation member of the Order. I had seen her in the Annexe a handful of times and remembered her serving dinner on the same nights as Sabrina. She was a sweet-faced Chinese girl, athletic but graceful, with a small jagged scar near her left eyebrow. (She later told me this was acquired in a schoolgirl catfight. I’ve chosen to believe her, but she was, as I discovered with respect and consternation, a champion kick-boxer.) Not surprisingly, her file showed her to be a chronic overachiever — an honours student, accomplished sportswoman, gifted musician, community organizer for several causes, and so on. I felt intimidated just reading the list of achievements.

Once the decision was made and confirmed, we were again admonished to keep the result to ourselves. Then my first Council meeting came to a close. Andrew’s exact words were: “I propose we adjourn to the common room for a few beers.” The motion was carried unanimously.

***

That same week, Alice was invested with her new office. Because the maîtresse has her quarters in the Annexe, and Alice was a third-year student, she did not have to move. In fact, she occupied the room next to Kate’s, so we were already seeing a lot of each other. I found her to be friendly enough, if somewhat ascetic. I think I maintained a rock-hard poker face, because she never caught on that she was the new head of the maidens… or at least she never let on that she had found out.

On Friday evening she received her investiture, although she would not actually assume the responsibilities of office until June. The formalities were typically Templar. At sunset — I presume the timing was symbolic — we Councillors assembled inside the corridor leading to the Annexe. A few other Knights had gathered to observe the proceedings, while a dozen or so maidens watched from their end of the passageway. Everyone must have been aware that the ceremony was taking place, so I was more than a little surprised, and concerned, at the apparent lack of interest, especially in light of the reception the Councillors-elect had received not long before.

Donna and Alice came forward to meet us, both wearing the little magenta-coloured dress. Donna still wore her collar with rose and chain. The retiring maîtresse performed her customary shoulder-baring ritual, but Alice had not and it took me a few seconds to realize that her wrists were bound behind her back. I had no idea (at the time) why. So Donna stood directly behind her successor and, keeping her line of sight fixed in our direction, drew the straps of Alice’s dress down her arms. They both then joined our procession as we marched into the lobby, down the steps of the Temple and through the forest, along a path that led to the Maidenhall. The two of them were starting to shiver. Alice looked predictably nervous, and with her hands tied endearingly vulnerable.

This was the closest thing I had experienced so far to the sort of bizarre ritual I had been expecting since my first day as a Templar. And fortunately for the vestiges of my self-respect (clad as I was in my ridiculous uniform of gaudy scarlet cape and slick black breeches), at this time of the evening and the year, this part of the campus was deserted except for our quaint little pageant. As we approached the Maidenhall, it appeared eerily quiet. The building is nondescript — not in the sense of shabby or dilapidated, but rather characterless, which accorded with the discreet exterior profile the senior maidens like to keep — and, sheltered by the edges of the forest which curved about it in a crescent shape, it was easy to miss by casual pedestrians. An orange lamp glowed feebly over the portico. Most of the windows were in darkness.

In the small vestibule, however, about thirty women were awaiting our arrival, and amongst them was Samantha. I had been looking forward to seeing her in her home environment… and in her tiny white dress. I was not disappointed, at least in terms of the latter. I had seen her wearing less — the very first time we met, in fact — but the sensual symbolism of the maidens’ outfit is extraordinary. When she, along with the other senior maidens, bared her shoulders to greet us and do us honour, I felt conflicting emotions about such an act of obeisance from the young woman who had become my best friend and was still in many ways my mentor. I could console myself with the adage that these gestures are to salute the rank and not the man, but I worried that our connection could no longer be what it was.

The ceremony itself was brief and inconsequential. I guessed that Alice’s hands had been bound as either a mark of her submission to the Temple (in other words, the Knights) or an expression of her ostensible reluctance to take on the duties of the maîtresse. And I wondered if anyone really knew which was the case. However, once the official proceedings had been concluded, the residents hosted a celebration that turned out to be anything but formal. The previous signs of deference were no more in evidence. The stupid capes came off, everyone relaxed and when the alcohol started flowing I was beginning to picture more things coming off. (For better or worse, that did not happen.)

It felt weird, in a way, revelling alongside these women who were, on average, five or six years older than me, and outnumbering us males by three to one. Sam was soon tipsy and somewhat rowdy, boasting about our relationship the way Devi had done during my induction, only louder. Noticing that Alice was glaring, I defused the situation by taking Sam aside and engaging her in trifling conversation until her head started to clear. Then I heard Laura, also a little unsteady, prating on about how I was her brother’s roommate — as if that conferred some sort of reflected glory. I took responsibility for steering her to a quiet corner for a timeout as well.

It was peculiar how quickly the behaviour of so many of the senior maidens had changed, as if they were determined to let off steam, to be provocative and showcase their indecorum. I found myself intervening several times — I felt like a fireman hosing down little incendiary bombs before they went off. But I was already feeling a big-brotherly protectiveness towards these women who were so far ahead of me in age and experience. When we left, around midnight, I decided that my Knighthood would be served in shining armour.

The very next day we held our next Council meeting. Andrew assured us newbies that the normal schedule would not be so demanding. We debated and voted on a number of items, generally to ratify existing policies so as to maintain continuity with the previous administration. I queried a couple of items, and was outvoted on one, but there was no acrimony, and not much passion. Donna attended for her final time in an official capacity. She participated freely in the discussions and could be quite vocal, but she was not permitted a vote, even on matters directly affecting the maidens, and never reacted when the decision went against her recommendation.

Andrew then passed around a list of executive “portfolios” in which each of us would take a special interest and prepare regular reports to the Council. I was impressed that we neophytes were given our preference, but it actually made sense to have the seasoned members take the more difficult or less glamorous assignments. I felt inclined to go with my strength which was in “accounts, records and archives”, but decided that would be more a bookkeeper’s job than historian’s, so instead I opted for “general management, welfare and services”. I had not the slightest idea what that entailed, but it sounded down-to-earth and uncomplicated, albeit tedious. I was quite chuffed to be given the title of committee chairman, even if for the time being it was a committee of one.

As we adjourned, Donna asked me to remain behind. The other Councillors, in particular Matthew, gave me envious looks as they departed. We chatted for a few minutes and she seemed genuinely interested in my experiences as a young Knight. She informed me that until Alice took over she would be my assistant.

“Oh, I’m sure you will tell me exactly what to do,” I said, only half in jest. I was already feeling out of my depth.

She frowned and shook her head, and her strawberry blonde brushed delicately across her bare shoulders, just like ten weeks ago when she had been part of the reception for my first day in the Temple. Again, I could only think of the contrast — between her age, sophistication and expertise, my youth, naïveté and ignorance. (I learned later that she had been a maiden for eight years.)

“That’s not how it works,” she answered, in a melodramatically hushed tone. “I follow your orders.”

“You’re right,” I replied.

She laughed and the tension broke. “Of course, if you choose, purely on your own volition, to take my advice…”

“Of course.”

Then Donna acquainted me with the two people I would be working most closely with. To my surprise — and, I confess, my delight — she introduced me to Alice and Annabel, who had been waiting outside to be summoned. The new maîtresse was very serious, self-possessed and businesslike, but with a carefully crafted charm that I suspected straight away was part of her toolkit. Diminutive, elfin-faced Annabel was in many ways the opposite of Alice — feisty, animated and passionate. She had large, hazel-green eyes that seemed to bore right through you. Her dark hair was chopped short in a spiky, almost punk-like style. A veteran around 24 years old, like Alice she had an undeniable charisma, radiated energy and intelligence. Annabel was the first maiden ever (and only the second Templar) to be elected president of the university’s Student Union. As a result, she was probably the most powerful member of the Order, male or female, on the campus. Talking with these formidable young women, I was sure my tenure as Councillor would not be a dull one.

That was to prove one of my more memorable underestimations.

To be continued…

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby jsherwood » Mon Dec 15, 2014 2:52 am

nice continuation

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby xtc » Mon Dec 15, 2014 5:03 am

I like the world you have created. It almost seems to make sense but it would be nice to read a story with the roles reversed.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Tue Dec 16, 2014 2:17 pm

I hope to be able to continue in the near future... but this is the busiest time of the year.
At the risk of sounding Scroogelike, I always look forward to the second day of January.

Error alert! I have corrected a spelling mistake in one of the instalments. No big deal, but it is one of those words that I hate to see misspelt/misused. (Thanks, John.)
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby sarobah » Wed Dec 31, 2014 3:00 pm

I offer my abject apologies for not finishing this story. My time and energy have been diverted by some unexpected commitments. While I will try my hardest to complete the story in the near future, in case of further delays, here is a synopsis of what’s planned. However, my fictional imaginings tend to take on lives of their own, so the final result (if/when concluded) may be different.

David (the narrator) learns that each year in May the Templars take part in the “Mayday” ritual, when novice Knights “earn their spurs” by occupying the Maidenhall and abducting the senior maidens. Ten hostages, among them David’s friend Samantha, are held captive in the Annexe for five days before life returns to normal.

As the months go by, David becomes increasingly disillusioned. He begins to wonder if the privileged lifestyle of the Knights is undermining the virtues which have made the Order of the Temple such an important institution. So, as a member of the Council he campaigns for reform, not so much to raise the status of the maidens as to restore the enterprise and vigour of the Knights. In his quest he finds unexpected allies in Annabel Torrens, the president of the Student Union, and Jennifer Calvert, the new head of the Guild (the woman who was present at the inaugural dinner).

At the same time, David finds himself being subtly corrupted. He persuades his girlfriend Rachel to join the Order as a maiden. But not long after, while working on a history project with Professor Hayden (the woman at the admissions interview), he begins an affair with her daughter Nicole. Feeling guilty at his betrayal of Rachel (who has adapted surprisingly well to her role as maiden), he runs for re-election to the Council with a plan to restructure the Temple. Not unexpectedly, he loses.

Halfway through his second year as a Knight, David comes into direct conflict with the powers-that-be when Annabel is expelled from the Order. After he confronts the Senior Master, as a reprisal Samantha is also expelled. But to his surprise, David is appointed Master of the Maidenhall. By now his sister Kate and most of her roommates have moved in there. In the Maidenhall he discovers a lesbian and BDSM subculture (of course!) which forces him to re-assess his understanding of the maidens.

He also learns that the maidens had intervened on his behalf, and that for years they have been acting behind the scenes to control the Council’s decision-making. Kate informs him that his naïve attempts at reform have been interfering with their task, and that Annabel and Samantha have paid the price. The Knights, he is told, have been corrupted beyond redemption, and it is up to the maidens to uphold the Templar traditions. David does not accept their evaluation, but agrees to work with the maidens in their covert efforts to restore the Temple to its former prestige and power.

The story ends with David ensconced in the Maidenhall lording it over his harem but wondering if he is master or minion.

Re: KNIGHTS AND MAIDENS

Postby jsherwood » Thu Jan 01, 2015 4:25 am

thanks for the update