He was sitting on the floor with his back against the door. The mustached mouth was spread in a triumphant grin, as if to say, so much for your guards, so much for the security of your sanctuary.

He turned over in the bed, and it seemed to him there was a lighter pool of blackness on the floor nearby. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. The pool became the severed head of the black Madonna. He thought it had fallen off the table and the sound had brought him awake. He relaxed and smiled with relief. At that moment he heard a small rustling sound at the door. He turned toward it, and in the shadows the dim orange light of the lamp did not quite reach, he could see the dark bony face of Aspanu Pisciotta.

Michael was deep in sleep, then suddenly came awake. It was as if he had wrenched his body out of a pit. The bedroom was completely black; he had closed the wooden shutters to bar the pale lemon light of the moon. There was no sound, just an eerie stillness broken now by the racing of his heart. He could feel the presence of someone else in the room.

Michael looked at his wristwatch on the night table. It was three o'clock. "You keep strange hours -- what were you waiting for?" he asked. He got out of bed and dressed quickly, then opened the shutters. The moonlight entered the room like a ghost, appearing and disappearing. "Why didn't you wake me up?" Michael said.

They were silent. Then Pisciotta said, "Did you ever get the Testament?"

Pisciotta rolled to his feet like a snake raising its head on its body to strike. "I like to watch people sleep. Sometimes in their dreams they shout out their secrets."

"Yes," Michael said.

"I never tell secrets," Michael said. "Not even in my dreams." He stepped out on the terrace and offered Pisciotta a cigarette. They smoked together. Michael could hear Pisciotta's chest rattle with suppressed coughs and indeed his face looked ghastly in the moonlight, the bones skeletal.

Pisciotta sighed. "Turi trusts me more than anyone on earth -- he trusts me with his life. I am the only person who can find him now. But he did not trust me with the Testament. Do you have it?"

"The Testament is in America," Michael said. "It is safe with my father." He did not want Pisciotta to know it was on its way to Tunis simply because he did not want anyone to know.

"Tomorrow night," Pisciotta said. "But not here."

Michael hesitated for a moment. Pisciotta laughed. "You are like Turi," he said.

Michael almost dreaded to ask the next question. There could be only one reason for Pisciotta to be visiting him so secretly. Only one reason he had risked evading the guards surrounding the villa: or had he been passed through? It could only be that finally Guiliano was ready to appear. "When is Guiliano coming?" he said.

"Why not?" Michael asked. "This is safe ground."

Pisciotta laughed, "But I got in here, didn't I?"

Michael was irritated by this truth. He wondered again if Pisciotta had been passed in by the guards under the order of Don Domenico, or even brought here by him. "It's for Guiliano to decide," he said.

"No," Pisciotta said. "I must decide for him. You promised his family he will be safe. But Don Croce knows you are here, so does Inspector Velardi. Their spies are everywhere. What do you plan for Guiliano? A wedding, a birthday party? A funeral? What kind of foolishness do you tell us? Do you think we are all donkeys here in Sicily?" He said this in a dangerous tone.

Pisciotta laughed and said, "Spoken like a true Sicilian -- you haven't wasted the years in this country." He sighed. "I can't believe it will finally be over," he said. "Almost seven years of fighting and running, of betrayals and killing. But we were the Kings of Montelepre, Turi and myself -- there was glory enough for both of us. He was for the poor and I was for myself. I never believed at first, but in our second year as outlaws, he proved it to me and all of our band. Remember I am his second in command, his cousin, the man he trusts most. I wear the belt with the golden buckle as he does; he gave it to me. But I seduced the young daughter of a farmer in Partinico and made her pregnant. Her father went to Guiliano and told him the story. Do you know what Turi did? He tied me to a tree and beat me with a whip. Not in front of the farmer or any of our men. He would never expose me to such disrespect. It was our secret. But I knew if I disobeyed his orders again, he would kill me. That is our Turi." His hand shook as he brought it to his mouth. In the fading moonlight his tiny mustache gleamed like a thin sliver of black bone.

"I'm not going to tell you my plan of escape," Michael said. "You can trust me or not as you choose. Tell me where you will deliver Guiliano and I will be there. Don't tell me and tomorrow night I will be safe in America, while you and Guiliano are still running for your lives."

"Yes," Michael said.

They went back into the bedroom and Michael closed the shutters. Pisciotta picked up the severed head of the black Madonna off the floor and handed it to Michael. "I threw this on the floor to wake you," he said. "The Testament was inside, isn't that true?"

Pisciotta's face sagged. "Maria Lombardo lied to me. I asked her if she had it. She said no. Then she gave it to you in front of my very eyes." He laughed bitterly. "I have been like a son to her." He paused for a moment and then said, "And she has been like a mother to me."

Michael thought, What a strange story. Why does he tell it to me?

Pisciotta asked for another cigarette. There was still some wine left in the jug on the night table. Michael poured a glass for both of them, and Pisciotta drank it gratefully. "Thank you," he said. "Now we must get down to our business. I will turn over Guiliano to you outside the town of Castelvetrano. Ride in an open car so I can recognize you, and come directly on the road from Trapani. I will intercept you at a point of my own choosing. If there is danger, wear a cap and we will not appear. The time will be as soon as dawn breaks. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes," Michael said. "Everything is arranged. There is one thing I should tell you: Stefano Andolini did not keep his appointment with Professor Adonis yesterday. The Professor was very worried."

Pisciotta was startled for the first time. Then he shrugged. "The little man was always bad luck," he said. "Now we must say goodbye until tomorrow at dawn." He took Michael's hand in his own.

Michael said impulsively, "Come with us to America."

Michael was strangely moved by these words. Even with his scant knowledge of Pisciotta, he sensed that this was a man who could never be transplanted from the earth and mountains of Sicily. He was too fierce, too bloodthirsty; his coloring, his voice were all of Sicily. He could never trust a strange land.

"I'll pass you through the gate," Michael said.

Pisciotta shook his head. "I have lived in Sicily all of my life and I have loved my life. And so I must die in Sicily if I must. But thank you."

"No," Pisciotta said. "Our little meeting must remain a secret."

After Pisciotta had left, Michael lay on his bed until dawn, unable to sleep. He would finally meet Turi Guiliano face to face; they would travel to America together. He wondered what kind of man he would find Guiliano to be. Would he be his legend? So much larger than life that he dominated this island and affected the course of a nation? He got up from the bed and opened the shutters. Dawn was finally breaking and he watched the sun move up in the sky and throw a golden highway across the sea, and riding on that broad beam of light he saw the motor launch speeding toward the dock. He rushed out of the villa and down to the beach to greet Peter Clemenza.

They had breakfast together, and Michael told him about Pisciotta's visit. Clemenza did not seem surprised that Pisciotta had penetrated the guarded villa.

They spent the rest of the morning making their plans for the meeting with Guiliano. There might be spies watching the villa for any extraordinary movement; a column of automobiles would surely attract attention. Also Michael would certainly be under close observation. True, the Sicilian Security Police under Inspector Velardi would not interfere, but who knew what treacheries might be afoot?

Michael closed the shutters in his bedroom and lay on the bed. His body was rigid; he could not sleep. Within the next twenty-four hours many terrible things could happen. He had a sense of foreboding. But then he weaved a dream of returning to his home on Long Island, his mother and father waiting for him at the door, his long exile at an end.

When they had finished their planning, they had lunch, and then Michael went to his room for an afternoon sleep. He wanted to be fresh for the long night. Peter Clemenza had too many details to attend to -- giving orders to his men, arranging transport and briefing his brother, Don Domenico, upon his return home.