The other men of Guiliano's band had sprung to their feet leveling their guns. Andolini, sitting on the ground, raised his hands in the air and looked around him beseechingly. But the other picciotto lunged for his weapon and tried to bring it around. Passatempo, standing behind him and grinning with enjoyment, emptied his pistol into the man's head. The shots echoed through the mountains. They all remained frozen, Andolini pale and shaking with fear, Passatempo holding his pistol. And then Guiliano's voice from the edge of the cliff said quietly, "Get rid of the bodies and tie that Malpelo to a tree until my father comes."

The bodies were wrapped in bamboo nets and carried to a deep crevice. They were thrown in with stones tumbled down after them to keep the stench from rising, according to old superstition. This was a task for Passatempo, who robbed the bodies before he buried them. Guiliano constantly fought against his distaste for Passatempo. No amount of rationalization could turn that animal into a knight.

It was after dusk, almost seven hours later, that Guiliano's father was finally brought into the camp. Stefano Andolini was released from his tree and brought over to the cave lit with kerosene lamps. Guiliano's father was angry when he saw Andolini's condition.

"But this man is my friend," he said to his son. "We both worked for the Godfather in America. I told him he could come and join your band, that he would be well treated."

He shook hands with Andolini and said, "I apologize. My son must have misunderstood or heard some gossip about you." He paused for a moment, troubled. It distressed him to see his old friend so full of fear. For Andolini could barely stand.

Andolini was sure he would be killed. That this was all a charade. The back of his neck ached as the muscles tensed to receive the bullets. He almost wept at his own brashness that had made him underestimate Guiliano. The quick killings of his two picciotti had sent him into shock.

Signor Guiliano sensed that his friend was in mortal danger from his son. He said to him, "Turi, how often do I ask you to do something for me? If you have anything against this man forgive him and let him go. He was kind to me in America and he sent you a gift when you were christened. I trust him and hold his friendship dear."

Guiliano said, "Now that you have identified him, he will be treated as an honored guest. If he wishes to remain as a member of my band he is welcome."

Guiliano's father was taken back to Montelepre by horse so that he could sleep in his own bed. And after he was gone Guiliano spoke to Stefano Andolini alone.

"I know about you and Candeleria," he said. "You were a spy for Don Croce when you joined Candeleria's band. A month later Candeleria was dead. His widow remembers you. From what she told me it wasn't hard for me to figure out what happened. We Sicilians are good at putting together puzzles of treacheries. Bands of outlaws are disappearing. The authorities have become amazingly clever. I sit on my mountain and think all day. I think of the authorities in Palermo – they have never been so clever before. And then I learn that the Minister of Justice in Rome and Don Croce are hand in glove. And we know, you and I, that Don Croce is clever enough for both of them. So then it is Don Croce who is clearing away these bandits for Rome. And then I think soon it will be my turn to be visited by the spies of Don Croce. And I wait and I wait and I wonder why the Don is taking so long. For, with all modesty, I am the biggest prize of all. And then today I see the three of you in my binoculars. And I think, 'Ha, it's Malpelo again. I will be glad to see him.' But I must kill you all the same. I won't distress my father so your body will disappear."

Stefano Andolini lost his fear for a moment in his outrage. "You would deceive your own father?" he shouted. "You call yourself a Sicilian son?" He spat on the ground. "Then kill me and go straight down to hell."

Pisciotta, Terranova and Passatempo were also astonished. But they had been astonished many times in the past. Guiliano who was so honorable, who prided himself on keeping his word, who spoke always of justice for everyone, would suddenly turn and do something that seemed to them villainous. It was not that they objected to him killing Andolini – he could kill a hundred Andolinis, a thousand. But that he should break his word to his father and deceive him seemed to them unforgivable. Only Corporal Silvestro seemed to understand and said, "He can't endanger all our lives because his father is softhearted."

Guiliano said to Andolini in a quiet voice, "Make your peace with God." He motioned to Passatempo. "You will have five minutes."

Andolini's red hair seemed to bristle all over his head. He said frantically, "Before you kill me speak to the Abbot Manfredi."

Guiliano stared at him with amazement and the redheaded man spoke in an outpouring of words. "You once said to the Abbot that you owed him a service. That he could ask you for anything." Guiliano remembered his promise well. How did the man know about it?

Andolini continued, "Let us go to him and he will beg for my life."

Pisciotta said contemptuously, "Turi, it will take another day to send a messenger and get his answer back. And does the Abbot have more influence with you than your own father?"

Guiliano astonished them again. "Bind his arms and put a halter on his feet so that he can walk but not run. Give me a guard of ten men. I'll bring him to the monastery myself, and if the Abbot does not ask for his life, he can make his last confession. I'll execute him and give his body to the monks for burial."

Guiliano and his band arrived at the monastery gates as the sun was rising and the monks were going out to work the fields. Turi Guiliano watched them, a smile on his lips. Was it only two years ago that he had gone into the fields with these priests, wearing his brown cloak and the crumpled black American fedora on his head? He remembered how this amused him. Who would have dreamed then of his future ferocity? A nostalgia came for those old days of peace working in the fields.

The Abbot himself was coming toward the gate to greet them. The tall black-robed figure hesitated when the prisoner stepped forward, then opened his arms. Stefano Andolini rushed to embrace the old man, kissed him on both cheeks and said, " Father. these men are going to kill me, only you can save me."

The Abbot nodded. He held out his arms to Guiliano, who came forward to embrace him. Guiliano understood everything now. The peculiar accent on the word "Father" was not how a man addressed his priest but as a son addressed his parent.

The Abbot said, "I ask you for this man's life, as a boon to me."

Guiliano took the ropes off Andolini's arms and feet. "He is yours," Turi Guiliano said.

Andolini was sagging to the ground; the fear rushing out of his body made him weak. The Abbot supported him with his own frail frame. He said to Guiliano, "Come into my dining room. I will have your men fed and the three of us can talk about what we must do." He turned to Andolini and said, "My dear son, you are not yet out of danger. What will Don Croce think when he learns of all this? We must take counsel together or you are lost."

The Abbot had his own small coffee room and the three men sat comfortably. Cheese and bread were brought for the two younger men.

The Abbot turned and smiled sadly at Guiliano. "One of my many sins. I fathered this man when I was young. Ah, nobody knows the temptations of a parish priest in Sicily. I did not resist them. The scandal was covered up and his mother was married to an Andolini. A great deal of money passed and I was able to rise in the Church. But the irony of heaven no man can foretell. My son grew up to be a murderer. And that is a cross I have to bear though I have so many of my own sins to answer for."