Pisciotta gave his evidence to Guiliano in the presence of Terranova, Passatempo and Corporal Silvestro. They were in their camp in the mountains, and Guiliano went to the edge of one of the cliffs that overlooked Montelepre and stared down at the town.

Master Frisella, the barber, had been a part of that town ever since Guiliano could remember. As a little boy he had gone to Frisella to have his hair cut for Holy Confirmation, and Frisella had given him a small silver coin as a gift. He knew Frisella's wife and son. Frisella had shouted jokes to him in the street and always asked after his mother and father.

But now Frisella had broken the sacred law of omerta. He had sold secrets to the enemy; he was a paid informant of the police. How could he have been so foolish? And what was he, Guiliano, to do with him now? It was one thing to kill the field police in hot combat, it was another thing to execute, in cold blood, an avuncular older man. Turi Guiliano was only twenty-one years of age and this was the first time he had to use the cold cruelty so necessary in great endeavors.

He turned back to the others. "Frisella has known me all my life. He gave me lemon ices when I was a child, do you remember, Aspanu? And maybe he just gossips with the Maresciallo, doesn't really give him information. It's not as if we told him I was coming to town and then he told the police. Maybe he just gives theories and accepts the money because it is offered. Who would refuse?"

Passatempo was looking at Guiliano with narrowed eyes, as a hyena would regard the body of a dying lion, wondering if the time was ripe and safe to dash in and tear off a piece of flesh. Terranova shook his head slightly, a smile on his lips as if he were listening to a child tell some foolish story. But only Pisciotta answered him.

"He's as guilty as a priest in a whorehouse," Pisciotta said. "We could give him a warning," Guiliano said. "We could bring him over to our side and use him to give false information to the authorities when it suits our purpose." Even as he spoke, he knew he was wrong. He could no longer afford such gestures. Pisciotta said wrathfully, "Why not give him a present, a sack of grain or a chicken while you're at it? Turi, our lives and the lives of all the men out there in the mountains depend on your courage, on your will, on your leadership. How can we follow if you forgive a traitor like Frisella? A man who breaks the law of omerta. The Friends of the Friends would have his liver and heart hanging from the barber pole by this time and on less evidence. If you let him go then every greedy traitor will know he can inform once without punishment. One of those 'onces' could be our death."

Terranova spoke judiciously. "Frisella is a stupid buffoon, a greedy and treacherous man. In ordinary times he would only be the village nuisance. Now he is dangerous. To let him off would be foolhardy – he is not intelligent enough to mend his ways. He would think we are not serious people. And so would many others. Turi, you have suppressed the activities of the Friends of the Friends in the town of Montelepre. Their man Quintana moves very cautiously, though he makes some imprudent statements. If you let Frisella off with anything less than death, the Friends would think you weak and test you further. The carabinieri would become bolder, less afraid, more dangerous. Even the citizens of Montelepre would think less of you. Frisella cannot live." He said this last almost with regret.

Guiliano listened to them thoughtfully. They were right. He was conscious of Passatempo's look and read to the man's heart. Passatempo could never be trusted if Frisella lived. There was no going back to being one of Charlemagne's knights, there was no going back to resolving differences in honorable combat on the Fields of the Cloths of Gold. Frisella would have to be executed and in such a way as to achieve maximum terror.

Guiliano had an idea. He turned to Corporal Silvestro and asked, "What do you think? Surely the Maresciallo would have told you his informants. Is the barber guilty?"

Silvestro shrugged, his face impassive. He did not speak. They all recognized that it was a point of honor for him not to speak, not to betray his former trust. That his not answering was his way of telling them that the barber certainly had some contact with the Maresciallo. Still Guiliano had to be sure. He smiled at the Corporal and said, "Now is the time to prove your loyalty to us. We will all go to Montelepre together and you will personally execute the barber in the public square."

Aspanu Pisciotta marveled at his friend's cunning. Guiliano had always surprised him. He had always acted nobly and yet he could plant a trap worthy of Iago. They had all come to know the Corporal as a truthful and honest man with a sense of fair play. He would never consent to perform the execution if he was not sure the barber was guilty, no matter what the cost to him. Pisciotta saw that Guiliano had a little smile on his face – that if the Corporal refused, the barber would be judged innocent and go free.

But the Corporal stroked his bushy mustache and looked them all in the eye. He said, "Frisella cuts hair so badly he deserves to die for that alone. I'll be ready in the morning."

At dawn Guiliano and Pisciotta and ex-Corporal Silvestro took the road down to Montelepre. An hour before them Passatempo had left with a squad of ten men to seal off all streets emptying into the central square of the town. Terranova was left in charge of the camp and prepared to lead a strong band into the town if they ran into serious trouble.

It was still early morning when Guiliano and Pisciotta entered the town square. The cobbled streets and narrow sidewalks had been flushed with water and some children were playing around the raised platform where the donkey and mare had been mated on that long-ago fateful day. Guiliano told Silvestro to chase the children out of the square so they could not witness what was about to happen. Silvestro did so with such temper that the children scattered like chickens.

When Guiliano and Pisciotta entered the barber shop with machine pistols at the ready, Frisella was cutting the hair of a wealthy landowner of the province. The barber assumed they had come to kidnap his customer and he whipped off the cloth with a cunning smile as if to present a prize. The landowner, an old Sicilian peasant who had grown rich during the war by selling livestock to the Italian Army, stood up proudly. But Pisciotta motioned him to one side and said with a grin, "You don't have enough money to pay our price and for us to take the trouble."

Guiliano was extremely alert and kept his eyes on Frisella. The barber was still holding his scissors. "Put them down," he said. "You won't need to cut hair where you're going. Now get outside."

Frisella dropped the scissors and turned his wide buffoon's face into a clown's grimace as he attempted to smile. "Turi," he said, "I have no money, I've just opened the shop. I'm a poor man."

Pisciotta grabbed him by his full bushy hair and dragged him out of the shop and into the cobblestoned street where Silvestro was waiting. Frisella fell on his knees and began to scream.

"Turi, Turi, I cut your hair when you were a child. Don't you remember. My wife will starve. My son is weak in the head."

Pisciotta could see Guiliano wavering. He kicked the barber and said, "You should have thought of those things when you informed."

Frisella began to weep. "I never informed on Turi. I told the Maresciallo about some sheep stealers. I swear on my wife and child."

Guiliano looked down at the man. At that moment he felt that his heart would break, that what he was about to do would destroy him forever. But he said gently, "You have a minute to make your peace with God."

Frisella looked up at the three men surrounding him and saw no mercy. He bowed his head and murmured a prayer. Then looked up and said to Guiliano, "Don't let my wife and child starve."