I could rest. I could stop being frightened. As I gasped for breath, my brain stopped fearing it would burst.
“Gaia—”
“She’s alive. She’s gone to the doctor. Well done.”
I closed my eyes. The world stilled gradually.
“Do you want anything, Falco?”
“Peace. Merit among my equals. Restraint from the gods. The love of a good woman—that’s a particular woman, by the way. The Blues to beat the bloody Greens into Hades. A home with its own bathhouse. A dog who doesn’t smell. A pork rissole with rosemary and pine nuts, and a large beaker of red wine.” I waited for one or another to tell me that I talked too much. They must all have collapsed with exhaustion too.
“I’m sure we can do you the rissole,” offered young Aelianus after a moment. He sounded tired and remote.
“And the drink,” said Petronius in an interested voice.
“We could fetch his woman for him,” said Anacrites, also rather more friendly than his norm. “Assuming she wants to come.”
I rolled on my back and looked at the three of them. They were all sitting on the turf around me. Despite the jibes, they looked devastated. Their hands, where they had paid out the rope, were lolling limply on their knees, red raw. Their heads hung. Their faces wore the drained and haggard look of men in shock who had been far too close to another’s near death. They stared back, unable to do more.
“Thanks, partners,” I said tenderly. “I’m glad you didn’t leave me down there. I would never have wanted to be on your consciences.”
“Think nothing of it,” said one of them, smiling. I cannot even remember now which of them it was.
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