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The last section of the climb had taken a lot out of Francesca, both physically and psychologically. Ben thought grimly that she was probably regretting her blithe decision to climb which she had made that sunny morning.
However he made sure his voice was cheerful. “Well, I think this next section is quite easy. I’ll go right to the top of the crevice now. It’s longer than the two previous pitches but it’s straight. That means I’ll be able to help you a bit more.”
He took Francesca’s two chocks and looped them onto his belt. Then he set off. He went straight up the next pitch in not much more than ten minutes. He put in a single chock at the top. He wanted to keep one spare in case he needed it on the traverse.
He almost pulled Francesca up this next stage, taking a grip on both the lead and the safety ropes to get her up as quickly as possible. She did it in less than half an hour. So, when he checked his watch again, he found it was just after ten past four. That was about three quarters of an hour later than he had intended.
Ben settled Francesca as comfortably as he could, supported by the single nut that he had left. Then he gathered the rope together for the traverse.
“Right. This may take me some time. Unfortunately traversing is a slow old business on limestone like this. You’ll probably be here for an hour or more. There’s a risk that you may get cold and stiff. So make sure you do the exercises I showed you to keep your circulation going and to avoid getting too cold. You’ll need everything about you when you start again.”
Francesca shuddered as she looked at the bare cliff-face. “Have we really got to go across there?”
“You knew that all along.” Ben couldn’t help grinning at the change in her tone now that she was close to the real challenge.
“It didn’t look as big when we were in the boat.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “When you cross there’ll be a fixed rope for you to hang on to. I’ll also have you on the safety rope in case you lose your footing and let go. You’ll probably skate across it in ten minutes or less. At the end you may have a problem going up the three metre wall onto the terrace, but I can pull you up there if you’re getting tired by then.”
She nodded but said nothing. Did she guess that his cheerful tone disguised his own worries? Ben didn’t pretend to himself that this next section wasn’t going to be very difficult. The traverse was at least twice as long as he should have attempted without competent support. But it was too late to worry about that now.
He secured the end of the fixed rope to the nut and looped the rest to the front of his belt. Then he set off.
The surface was bad, as he had known it would be. It was less than five degrees off vertical and the rock was very crumbly and badly weathered. Now that he was out of the protection of the fissure the gusting wind was tugging at him as though to tear him from his precarious hold and throw him onto the rocks far below. His still damp trousers clung to his cold legs. Each hold had to be reached for, laboriously cleared of debris, and carefully tested before he could put his weight on it. It was hard work and he was out of condition. But the wonderful thing was that he no longer felt any fear. He had overcome his weakness. He was determined to get the two of them to the top.
He cautioned himself to be careful not to hurry and make a foolish mistake. Even Francesca, with the help of the fixed rope to hold, was not going to find it easy. They had to go upwards at a slope of approximately twenty degrees from the horizontal. That meant that the fixed rope would be nearly vertical by the time she got to the far end. Coming at the end of the climb, this pitch would demand the last of their reserves of energy and muscular strength.
By the time Ben had reached the pocket just below the corner of the terrace every muscle in his body was quivering like a taught bowstring and the pain was starting to mist his eyes. Luckily there was a small sloping shelf here where he could have five minutes rest before he tackled the last ten feet up the wall.
He checked his watch. It was past five thirty. There was not much more than an hour left before dawn. Flogging his weary limbs into action, he set off again.
He’d been worried about the last bit of wall but it proved to be easier than he had expected. Luckily the masons who had built it had had decided to use ribbon pointing and it was in good condition. There were finger and toe-holds of at least half an inch all over the wall and the slight angle made it child’s play. Just a couple of minutes and he was cautiously peering over the parapet at the garden.
There was nothing much and nobody in sight – just an area of concrete paving in fancy patterns with several flower beds laid out in a formal way. Three feet from this corner was the large creeper which he’d been able to observe from the boat. He had decided that the end of the fixed rope could be safely tied to the main stem with hardly any risk of being seen.
He slid over the parapet, trailing the line behind him, and secured it firmly. That would leave him with the remaining chock to try and gain as much height to the line as possible. Then he went back over the wall again and down to the small ledge. As a reserve he decided to take the trailing end of the fixed line with him to provide an extra aid.
He tugged on the safety rope to signal to Francesca that she could start to cross. He had to do it twice before he saw her get up slowly from the huddle she’d been resting in. As soon as he watched her stretching he could tell that he had left her there for too long. She was cold and her limbs had gone stiff. He could see this by the tense way she was moving. But she started out, grimly hanging on to the rope and with her toes scrabbling for a foothold. The way she was moving made it look as though she had forgotten everything he had told her in their brief training session.
Ben was worried that something was going to happen to her. Keeping the safety rope as tight as he dared, he started to talk her across. With the noise of the gusty wind, he was not worried any more about being overheard. It was essential that he tried to relax her and prepare her for the difficult pull at the end. She edged across the first thirty feet or so. Then, hanging by the full length of her arms, she began the increasing pull towards the shelf where Ben was waiting.
“Remember what I told you,” he urged, as quietly as he could. “Keep your bottom out. Toes up. Remember to keep your elbows bent. Above all – try to relax.”
He kept taking in the safety rope, running it through the figure of eight which he’d fixed above his head, gently keeping the pressure up – as much to give her confidence as to actually help with the pull. He even dared to begin to think she was going to make it. But suddenly, when she was only ten feet below him, her hand slipped.
As she looked up at him her face was white and desperate. “Ben! Ben – I’m slipping! I just can’t hang on any more.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can. Now look, Francesca, there’s no way you can fall. Just stop for a minute and try and rest. Try and find some footholds to take the load off you arms.”
She started to scrabble frantically with her feet.
“Do it carefully, for Christ’s sake.”
But his warning was too late. The next second she had lost her grip and was starting to slide back down the rope, dragging the safety rope with her. The grip failed in her stiff, tense arms and, with a frightened cry, she fell back into space.
The Mafia Emblem Page 43