“Jove! Falco, this job of yours seems to consist entirely of climbing into and out of places…”After a few groans and compaints he was off. I heard him thump down on the other side, then his footsteps at once ran off. He was certainly athletic. He must exercise somewhere, some rich boys’ gym with a high joining fee and a fitness instructor who looked like a Greek god slathered in dripping.
I should have known somebody else would not miss out on a crisis: Anacrites was the next to turn up. I showed him the layout, told him not to cause panic, and asked him to go back indoors and fetch torches.
“And ropes, surely, Falco.”
“If you can find any. Not much hope of it as a Flamen Dialis is forbidden to see anything that indicates binding. But ask the builders to bring out any wood they have that could be used for supports.”
He pottered off. Sometimes he was sensible. In an hour or two he might find me an oil lamp and a piece of string.
I sat down by the well, Nux fretting beside me; I began to talk in a reassuring voice to the invisible Gaia. “Don’t answer, sweetheart. I’m just talking to you so you know that I’m still here. People have gone to fetch equipment so we can lift you out.”
I was starting to wonder how we could do that. The more I viewed the situation, the more difficult it looked.
I heard the welcome voice of Petronius Longus on the far side of the wall just as Anacrites returned. It had seemed an age. Soon the vigiles were raising ladders. Anacrites shouted out to them, then he joined me. We were about two feet below ground level, on the last step. He had brought out a couple of flares, ready lit, and one short length of filthy rope that the builders had been using for some halfhearted purpose. Straightaway I tied one of the torches to the end of the rope and tried lowering it down the well. I had to stand, leaning forwards above the shaft. Anacrites lay out flat beside me, peering over into the murk.
“The side walls are in bad condition. Keep going,” he urged. The flickering light revealed only a small area. When the rope was all played out we still had not seen Gaia. “Not good news,” muttered Anacrites in a low voice to me. He sat up again, but he stayed there, ready for another go. His tunic was covered with dirt. Ma would have a good flap over that when he went home. Still, he could say he had been out with her rascal son.
Petronius had come up behind me, almost silently. He gave no greeting. He made no jokes. He walked to the far side, looking down from above us. He whistled once, very quietly to himself; then he stood still, assessing the problem. Some of his men lined up with him. Aelianus appeared too. He passed me more rope, which I knotted onto the torchline. I continued lowering it slowly while the others watched.
“Stop there,” ordered Anacrites, now flat on his face again.
I stayed my hand. He scrambled even nearer to the edge, leaning out as far as he dared. Petro muttered a warning. Aelianus bent to a crouch, ready to grab hold of Anacrites by his belt if he slipped. Anacrites shifted, splayed on the ground. Foolishly perhaps, he reached out across the shaft and supported himself against a side wall.
“I can see something.” I paid out a couple more inches of rope. “ Stop-you’ll hit her.”
“Pass it this side,” said Petro. I pulled the rope back up slightly and leaned over to give him the free end, keeping one hand on the taut length. When Petro had taken hold, I let go gently.
“Whoa-it’s swinging madly-wait! Right. More slack-yes, she’s there. She is not moving. The boarding has lodged, and she’s clinging on.”
“All right, Gaia-we can see you now!”
“No. Too late. The torch has gone out.”
Anacrites pushed off from his suspended position, and we hauled him back. He scrambled to his feet, white-faced. He looked around the group of us and shook his head. “It’s a miracle she stuck at that point-and that she has managed to stay there. One false move and the whole lot will slip down further. I couldn’t see how deep it goes.”
Petronius came to life.
“We have to try-is that agreed?” He did not, in fact, wait for an answer. He was going to make the best attempt, whatever anyone else felt. “Right, lads; this is a bearer-and-brattice job.” He was talking to his men. “We want anchor points for the ropes, and the head of the shaft will need lining too. I’m not sending anyone down there only to have the hero and the girl both swept away by shit and rubble from up top. Time we spend stabilizing the head of the shaft won’t be wasted.”
The problem was physical, logistic, a teamwork task. It was natural that the vigiles took over. They had the expertise for reaching inaccessible places in a hurry. They dealt with fires and with collapsed buildings. I had labored in a mine once, in Britain, but it had been surface worked. Even there, proper experts had designed and installed the props in the seams.
