Cardinal Monteria stood in the very centre of his room, his head held aloft, his arms angled away from his body, as if receiving a divine blessing. About him Silas, his personal servant, hurried, dressing the Cardinal in the vestments for Holy Mass, an exact and ordered procedure, long studied by the young man who dreamed one day of being dressed in such a manner by his own servant.
Usually early morning Mass would be held at Notre Dame, a short walk from the Cardinal’s residence, but whilst preparations were being put in place for the Mass for Peace within Paris’ main cathedral, one of the smaller churches close to Notre Dame would have to suffice for today’s service. Monteria closed his eyes and contemplated that it might be standing room only for most of the congregation in the smaller building. A church filled to the rafters. There was no more gratifying sight for a Cardinal.
Silas buttoned the last tie of the Cardinal’s starched white alb and turned to the cupboard to gather the cincture to tie around his master’s waist, the hint of a tune on his lips.
“Something cheers you, Silas?” asked Monteria, following the young man with his eyes, a smile coming to his own face.
“One is always happy ahead of Mass, sir,” Silas replied, approaching with the long cord of white in his hands, which he proceeded to fix round Monteria’s middle. “A chance to reflect on the sacrifice of Christ at Calvary.”
“Ah, yes! Sacrifice!” announced the old man, nodding his head knowingly. He turned back to the window and looked over the morning streets of Paris. “To sacrifice something in order to show others the true path. It is the greatest act of all.”