That winter he suffered badly from the cold. His face and even his fingernails grew waxen. During the exercise hour when he went out into the sun, his teeth chattered like an old man’s. He kept asking to go to confession and he told the young chaplain of his fears.

‘Who put that idea into your head?’ asked the confessor, his black eyes glinting.

‘A fellow countryman of mine, ex-police inspector Burrai, the King of Spades.’

‘May God bless and protect you,’ murmured the chaplain, becoming thoughtful. He knew the King of Spades well. He then tried to console the prisoner, asking if Giovanna was still writing to him. Giovanna now wrote very seldom. After the child’s death she seemed to have nothing more to say. The last thing she had written was that the weather was very cold. It snowed continually. A man had frozen to death crossing the mountains. There was terrible hunger in the village.

Costantino found all this unbearable. Often he dreamed he was to be taken to Nuoro and freed. From there he was trying to walk to his own village. He was cold, he could go no further, he was dying, dying. He awoke frozen, agony clutching at his heart.

‘You are very weak, dear brother,’ said the confessor. ‘It is weakness that makes you think these ugly thoughts. Your wife is a good Christian. She’d never do you any wrong. Go away now. Put these notions out of your mind. You must build up your health. Eat and drink something. Are you earning any money?’

‘A little. I send it all to my wife. She is so poor. Oh, I eat enough. No, I’m not weak. I don’t like to drink, it makes me sick.’

‘Well, calm down. I’ll have a word with Burrai.’

He spoke to the King of Spades, accusing him of putting gloomy ideas into Ledda’s head.

‘He is a poor, half-starved boy, leave him in peace or he’ll get seriously ill.’

The King of Spades contemplated the priest with his shrewd little pig-eyes. After a while he shook his head and said, ‘I’m doing it for his own good.’

‘Come off it!’

‘Listen to me, my friend. This winter there’s little to fear as far as the young woman’s concerned, because it’s too damned cold. I imagine it’s only the old woman, Costantino’s mother-in-law, who’s working on the girl, advising her to take advantage of the situation. But when spring comes, then just you watch out. Mark my words.’

The chaplain made a long face and began to protest. The other man watched him, his small eyes full of malice. Then he explained the situation clearly, describing the mother-in-law’s greed, the wife’s youth, the dangers of spring. The chaplain became angry.