I went forward to the opening that led into the tower. The flames had died down now and in the light of my torch I saw the door was charred but still solid. ‘We need more petrol,’ I said. I didn’t dare pour it down. I needed some sort of a container. Hilda still had her handbag looped over her arm. ‘Give me that,” I said. I opened the bag, filled it with petrol and tossed it down through the opening. There was a sound like an explosion and flames leapt up through the square again.
I stood watching them, praying that the fire would soon burn through the door. Another section of the monastery fell in a blaze of sparks. I glanced across to where I had been imprisoned on that other roof. I could gauge the spot by the position of the monastery. There was nothing there, just the flat desolation of the lava. ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.’
‘What do you say?’
I realised then that I had spoken aloud.
She must have read my thoughts for she said, ‘What happened over there, before I found you? Did you catch that man?’
‘No. He caught me.’
‘What happened? You looked terribly hurt.’
‘Nothing happened,’ I said. She wanted to talk — anything to take her mind off the waiting. But I couldn’t tell her what happened. It was too close to our present situation.
At last the flames died down again. I went to the battlements and called down, ‘Can you break your way out now?’
I could not hear their answer. It was lost in the sound of the lava. ‘They are kicking at the door now,’ Hilda called. She was leaning over the hole. A shower of sparks shot up and she flung back, coughing, her face black with smuts. ‘I think it breaks down now.’