Giovanna knew who had composed the hymn, and a great sadness flooded her. Taking her arm again, Brontu started to joke and make up stories. He was in a good mood, but he laughed alone for Giovanna would not utter a sound.

To anyone who saw them go by and heard the jokes and Brontu’s laughter, it might have seemed that despite everything Giovanna was a lucky woman. But she was lost in thoughts of Costantino.

XII

On the following day the Mass did not start until after ten o’clock. They were waiting for a young priest from Nuoro, a friend of Father Elias. He was coming at his own expense to preach to the people of Orlei on this Feast Day.

By ten o’clock the little church was so crowded it was groaning at the seams. Inside, it was vibrant with colour. Bright turquoise bands streaked the pink walls. The honey-coloured wood of the pulpit and the fair-haired, red-cheeked saints in their pink niches glowed brightly. Only Saint Costantino, the village’s patron, in his soldier’s armour, glowered, dark and severe. According to local legend, Saint Nicodemo himself had carved the ancient statue to which many miracles were attributed.

A shaft of light came through the open door, throwing a dusty halo over the heads of the crowd. The altar stood in semi-darkness but for an ‘M’ picked out in lighted candles, each flame a golden arrow on a haft of white wood. Father Elias was celebrating the Mass. His friend in his lacy surplice, his face like that of a shrewd child, sang in a clear voice. The people were surprised to see the young priest singing. Many had come especially to hear him preach, although they listened with scant attention, whispering and peering round in curiosity. It was suffocatingly hot, and innumerable insects pestered the crowd. Having sung the Gospel, Father Elias turned his calm, pale face to the congregation and opened his mouth to speak.

At that moment, a figure appeared silhouetted against the bright blue of the open doorway. It was Giacobbe Dejas, a sneer of triumph on his face. Observing that the priest was speaking, he halted on the threshold, his black cap in his hand. But, unable to hear from where he was, he came forward. ‘What’s he been saying?’ he whispered to an old man.

‘I couldn’t hear,’ the old man replied testily. ‘They’re all babbling away as if this was the village square.’

A young man turned and, observing Giacobbe’s new suit and malicious smile, said, ‘I think Father Elias said the other priest is going to preach the sermon.’

‘Did you hear him?’ asked the old man petulantly. ‘I didn’t hear a word.’