Bells pealed, echoing through the ancient limestone village and out over the sea of grapevines that surrounded it. With thousands of spectators, I watched as men and women draped in scarlet robes processed up St. Émilion's main street. They were members of the Jurade, the local winemakers' guild, whose main function seems to be to promote St. Émilion's expensive wines with the occasional burst of pseudomedieval pomp.