It was a mild and moonlit night at the village of Castleburn. Three figures came into view, bearing stout staves and either clad in tartan or not, and stumbled towards the candlelit gates. “Halt,” cried Gawain, brave gatekeeper-for-the-day. The strangers identified themselves as three Knights Templar, exiled by the Pope and travelling homewards from the crusades. The town’s mayor, Ignatius, looking very swanky in his fine brown velvet robe and jingly chain, invited them to enter. After they had quaffed some cider and had their wounds healed, they partook of some refreshments and their leader regaled the wide-eyed villages with news from their travels. Refreshed from supping, the Knights were sufficiently enlivened to trip their heels with the villagers, until the darkness came down upon them. Toasts were haled to Venus, Jupiter and the Moon, and then quaffing resumed.
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