‘No such luck. I’ve just made a new contract with those vampires, my rich relatives. But I want to talk to you about something important, Sidore. First, tell me how your legs are? And how long is it since you last saw Saint Costantino on the river bank?’

The old man frowned, because he did not like to hear holy things spoken of irreverently, and he answered in a low voice, ‘If that’s all you came about, you may as well leave now.’

‘Don’t get upset. I’ll tell you why I came. It’s something important. Anyway, if I’ve become a heathen, it’s because of the young master, who’s always slandering the saints, until he thinks he’s going to die. Then he gets terrified. The other night we saw a star fall through the sky, straight to the earth. Brontu threw himself down on the ground screaming, “If this is our last night on earth, have mercy on us, Lord!” He lay there flat on his face. I wanted to kick him.’

‘Weren’t you afraid?’

‘Not me, my chicken! I’ve often seen stars vanish.’

‘Tell the truth. When you saw it move weren’t you afraid?’

‘Oh to hell with you. Of course I was. Anyway, I came to talk to you about my master. If he isn’t mad, then no one is. He wants you to go to Giovanna Era and suggest she separate from her husband and marry him, Brontu.’

Isidoro stopped sewing. A shadow passed over his tranquil eyes. He clasped his hands together, leaned his chin on them and shook his head.

‘You must be mad coming here to tell me that,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘But I understand. You don’t want to lose your job. You’re vile.’

‘Hey!’ cried the other man, pretending to be offended. ‘Do you think you’re talking to your leeches?’

‘Oh, so you’re joking? That’s enough of that. Tell your master it’s enough. The whole town is whispering.’

‘My dear fellow, we’ve only just begun to talk and you want to stop. I’ve had a bellyful of it. Night and day he, that barrel of grappa, talks to me about it. I promised him I’d come and see you, so I came. But not as a favour to him. Only one person can stop this gossip – Giovanna. Go and tell her to silence the filthy dog, I can do no more.’

Isidoro gazed at him, apparently not listening to what he said. Then he took up his work again, murmuring, ‘Poor Costantino, poor lamb, what have they done to you?’

‘Yes, he’s innocent,’ said Giacobbe, ‘and one day he’ll come back. We must put a stop to this obsession of Brontu’s. It’s all Bachisia. She’s hovering like a vulture over its prey.’