BRIAN GATHERED up Monson’s things and then led him down another highly ornate hallway. Covered in murals, the length of the passage displayed an assortment of Roman military ventures, some historical and others obviously fictional. The murals showed remarkable artistic skill. The soldiers and their commanders remained locked in eternal combat with hordes of barbarians and charlatans, as the fury of the Roman war machine devastated lines of blurred figures in the background. The illustrations suited this hall well. It felt like a culmination of ideas that described the school and the attitudes of a long-forgotten people suddenly reborn in the modern. This mural was Coren and Rome personified in an epic artistic rendition.
“I have never liked these paintings,” Brian said, looking at the murals with distaste.
“Really?” asked Monson with some surprise. “Why is that?”
“Actually, to be completely honest with you, I’ve never liked the whole Roman concept,” Brian replied. “Granted, it’s not like it originated with their society; there has always been such. Probably always will be. The Romans aren’t anything special in that particular regard.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand.”
“My dear young Hero,” Brian said patiently. “What—”
He paused, considering his words. “Let me answer you in the form of a question. Were the Romans great, and if that be the case, for what reason?”
Monson scrutinized Brian, trying to discern his possible meaning. He knew there was a specific answer that Brian was looking for but had no idea what it was.
“Yes,” Monson answered, acting more confident than he felt, but also thinking he had an indisputable fact that proved their greatness.
Brian’s face reflected a polite interest that plainly told Monson to go on. Monson obliged. “I think you need to look at all the different things they were responsible for. I mean, if you think about it, there is hardly an area of science, philosophy, or religion that the Romans didn’t have at least some influence over.”
“Yes, that is true,” Brian said with a wry smile. “But how were they able to accomplish all of those great things?”
Monson paused for a moment, unsure of the question’s meaning. Brian gave him an understanding smile. “Let me ask you this: Do you think the people the Romans conquered thought they were great?”
The answer was obvious.
“Probably not,” Monson answered tentatively.
“Exactly.” Brian looked amused. “Yes, we have many great things from the Romans. Their accomplishments were far-reaching, even everlasting, but their crimes were just as—if not more—far-reaching and everlasting. Always remember, winners are the ones who write the history. There are two sides to every story, but more often than not, we are only party to one side.”
“I guess I never really thought about it,” Monson commented, taken aback.
“It certainly does make you think, does it not? History is supposed to be about the truth and facts. One should not be illustrating any particular action in any particular light, but instead relaying events and analyzing observable facts.” Brian gestured toward the wall. “Now answer me this, young Master Grey: What if the artist had been able to immortalize the innocent people who died in both battle and siege? The women and children who lost fathers, husbands, and brothers in the fury of pointless conflict, or the pain suffered by those who had lost all hope, faith, and the will to live because of a cause they neither knew nor understood? Now that would be a picture worthy of admiration.”
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“Brian,” Monson said, again puzzled, “what exactly do you do here?”
“Oh, I apologize—where are my manners?!” Brian chuckled. “I started to ramble.” He adopted a slightly more formal tone, one that sounded a great deal like Mr. Gatt. “My dear Hero, I am thy manservant.”
Monson thought he heard wrong. “I’m sorry. You’re my what?”
“Thy manservant.”
“And what the bloody hell is that?” Monson said, exasperated. Why did it seem that everyone at this school was reluctant to give him a straight answer?
“As Horum Vir, you are given certain privileges and responsibilities.” Brian adjusted the bags he was carrying for Monson and smoothly pulled out a small envelope, removed a blue key card, and stopped in front of a great oak door.
“I am at the same time a privilege and responsibility. I am here to make sure that you fulfill your responsibilities and that you take full advantage of your privileges.”
“Responsibilities?” Monson grimaced. “That sounds awfully unpleasant.”
“Yes, responsibilities can be unpleasant,” Brian winked. “Then again, privileges can more than make up for this.”
In one fluid motion, the door opened without a sound.
“Whoa,” was all Monson said as Brian slid through and stepped aside. Monson followed. He was instantly impressed.
Monson walked into a handsome sitting area where oversized leather chairs and a sofa were carefully arranged around a sturdy oak coffee table. Sizable floor lamps stood on either side of the chairs, dousing the area with mounds of soft light. Adjacent to the sitting area was a large wooden entertainment center, completely self-contained behind wooden shutters. On the other side of the room, a double window covered by a handsome shade of horizontal slats sat between two sets of double doors.
“Welcome to your quarters.” Brian set the bags down and walked over to the window. He opened it to reveal a breathtaking view of the grounds and national forest at the edge of Coren’s property. “This is where you’ll be staying during your time here. Feel free to explore.”
Monson was happy to oblige.
He moved freely, stopping periodically when he found something of interest. He noticed that besides the sitting area, which could easily be used for entertaining, there was a wet bar complete with a refrigerator and an assortment of labor-saving appliances. Upon closer inspection, he realized the wet bar was more akin to a small kitchen, and although it wasn’t large, it appeared to be fairly well equipped. He also noticed a control panel with commands such as “lights,” “music,” and “movies.” Monson suspected this was a sort of voice-activated feature, as there weren’t any buttons—just a large speaker located in the middle of the panel. It was all very cool.
“Brian, what can you tell me about this position that I have?” Monson walked to one of the plush leather chairs and sat down, looking at Brian intently. “In one day I’ve gone from being the winner of a scholarship to attending a school—a good school—but a school nonetheless, to being a rock star. You spoke of the responsibilities; what exactly are they expecting me to do?”
“Master Grey,” Brian bowed slightly, “I would be happy to enlighten you, but not right now. You still have many things to do. You need to eat something and rest.”
He turned back to Monson. “Though I am curious, why did you not read the information packet you received after you won the Knowledge Bowl?”
Monson flushed. He really didn’t want to talk about that. “It’s a long story.”
Brian did not pursue the subject but instead beckoned Monson to follow him. He walked to the left side of the room to one set of double oak doors and, with a flick of his wrist, opened them to reveal Monson’s bedroom. And what a bedroom it was.
It was spacious, but not ostentatiously so. A massive four-poster bed carved of redwood, complete with silk hangings, dominated the center of the room. A nightstand and dresser to either side of the marvelous bed completed the picture. A half-open doorway directly to Monson’s left revealed a huge bathroom. To the right was a large bay window. Monson looked around the room in awe. What kind of lives were these people living that they could offer such opulence to one such as he?
Brian was next to the bed, parting the curtains.
One look at a fluffy comforter and mountains of pillows, and Monson lost his self-control. He ran and jumped, spinning in midair to land on his back in the center of the bed. He kicked off his shoes as he sank into the mattress.
Brian smiled and gave an appreciative chuckle. “You and I are going to get along just fine, lad. I’ll get you something to eat, and then you should get a bit of rest.”
“Rest?” Monson asked, surprised. “Like sleep? Now? Aren’t there other things I should be attending to, like meeting teachers or something?”
“Most of the other students are getting to know their roommates right now,” Brian replied, his voice calm and reassuring. “About an hour is allocated to this portion of the orientation. You can go and introduce yourself to the various Floor Captains if you wish.”
“No, that’s all right,” Monson said, ignoring the fact that he had no idea what a Floor Captain was.
“You look quite tired. Relax for a moment, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”
