‘They’ve done it now,’ Giacobbe went on, as if talking to himself. ‘It’s done, finished. The drunkard didn’t even come to the sheepfold today. I went home too. Well, why should I waste my time? I couldn’t care less about the sheep. I came here. Isidoro, we must do something. Leave that rope alone, Isidoro, and listen to me. We must do something. Do you agree?’

‘I agree. But what can we do? We’ve done everything we can. We’ve shouted, prayed, threatened. The mayor tried, the clerk, Father Elias.’

‘That Father Elias. What’s he done? He prayed, but he sugared his prayers. He’s the one who should have threatened them. He should have said, “I’ll bring the holy books and curse you, I will excommunicate you. Neither water, nor bread, nor any other thing will ever satisfy you. You will live a life of hell.” Then you’d see what would happen. But no, Father Elias is a fool of a milksop priest. He didn’t do his duty. Don’t talk to me about him. It makes me want to fly into a rage.’

Isidoro put down the rope. ‘There’s no point in working yourself up,’ he said. ‘Father Elias should not have threatened them and he didn’t. Believe me, excommunication will fall on that house of its own accord.’

‘I’m leaving, I’m off. I don’t want any more of their cursed food,’ said Giacobbe, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘But first I want the pleasure of thrashing that vile pair.’

‘You’re out of your senses, my little chick!’ Isidoro said, with a sad smile.

‘So I’m going mad. What do you care? You didn’t lift a finger to prevent this unholy thing from happening. What a disaster! I’ve lost all my happiness.’

‘And you’ve aged ten years.’

‘I keep thinking that Costantino will tell us we should have stopped it. Is it true he’s ill?’

‘Not now. He was. But he is certainly suffering a lot,’ said Isidoro, shaking his head. Then he took up the rope again, murmuring, ‘Excommunication, excommunication.’

‘I’m so angry it makes me froth at the mouth,’ went on Giacobbe, raising his voice. ‘I want to be there when the excommunication comes, as it surely will. God punishes in life and death, this I know. I want to be there at the punishment. What are you working on?’

‘A horsehair rope.’

‘Oh, a horsehair rope. Who are you going to sell it to?’

‘I’m going to take it to Nuoro and sell it to the peasants, who will use it to make halters for their oxen. Why are you looking at it like that? Do you want to hang yourself?’

‘No, my little chicken, you can hang yourself, if God wishes. So,’ he went on raising his voice, ‘it looks as if they’re already as good as married.’