They talked long into the night, Cardinal Bishop Monteria barely pausing for breath as he unveiled his plans, Cardinal Poré listening to his every word, his eyes growing wider as the night grew darker and the Cardinal Bishop’s vision became more daring and clearer. For most of the time Poré sat in silence, his hand fixed to his chin, his mouth dry, his wine standing untouched to the side in his goblet. How could he think about drinking at this time when such revelations were being unveiled. Only occasionally did he interrupt Monteria’s flow, interjecting with suggestions of his own, raising occasional doubts, posing questions, both of faith and logistics.
But mostly he found himself congratulating the Cardinal Bishop on his audacious vision. “It is brilliant!” he muttered, when at last Monteria finished talking, tears coming to his eyes at the wonder of such a plan. “A Mass for Peace to bring all the peoples of the world together!” he exclaimed, candlelight flashing in his glistening eyes.
“To leave a lasting legacy for all to remember,” replied Monteria gently.
“We have no time to waste.” Cardinal Poré could feel the urgency rise like an energy inside him.
“Leave all the arrangements at Notre Dame to me,” said the old man, reaching for his wine to clear his parched throat. He paused and looked hard at Poré. “Are you sure I can rely on you to carry out your side of the bargain?”
“Don’t worry,” Poré replied, lowering his head so that shadows gathered in his eye sockets, “leave everything else to me.”