Doctor Who: The Myth Makers

by Donald Cotton

  But to resume: it was dark by now, Zeus be praised; except where a lantern illuminated the Doctor’s designing board, and a selection of brooding evil-looking faces. Because Odysseus had obviously sent out the formal invitations as arranged; and Agamemnon and Menelaus were now among those present. A couple of death’s head moths were fooling about in the lamp-light, I remember. All very well for them, I thought – but somehow ominous, all the same. Not that I go much on signs and portents as a rule – but you know what I mean.

  The genial host was excited as a schoolboy, and busy explaining the whole horrendous scheme to his dubious guests.

  ‘I tell you, it’s revolutionary,’ he was saying, ‘war will never be the same again!’

  ‘Show them the working-drawings, Doctor. There! What do you make of that?’

  Understandably, no one seemed very impressed at the outset – and you couldn’t blame them. Surprisingly, Menelaus was the first to venture a diagnosis.

  ‘It’s a horse,’ he said, ‘isn’t it?’

  ‘Well done, Menelaus,’ said Odysseus, patronisingly. ‘Now, come on – what sort of a horse?’

  Menelaus tried again: ‘A big horse?’

  ‘Precisely. A very big horse. A horse at least forty feet high!’

  ‘But,’ objected Menelaus, ‘they don’t grow that big – do they? I mean, not even that Great Horse of Asia the Trojans worship.’

  ‘Ah, now you’re beginning to get the point! They don’t grow that big. The Great Horse of Asia doesn’t exist. That’s why we’re going to build one for them – as a sort of present!’

  ‘Go on,’ said Agamemnon, his slow brain stirring in its sleep.

  The Doctor took over the sparkling exposition: ‘We build it of wood, and we build it hollow. And what’s more we build it as quickly as possible, so as to rescue my friends. And then we fill it with a picked team of your best warriors.’

  ‘I’m with you so far. What next?’

  ‘Why, the rest of you take the fleet, and you sail away!’

  Menelaus lit up a bit at that. ‘Marvellous!’ he said. ‘A first rate idea! Oh, yes – I like it very much!’

  ‘And then, after dark, you sail back again.’

  Menelaus subsided. ‘Why is there always a catch?’ he grumbled. ‘No, I’m afraid I’ve gone off it now!’ But nobody cared what Menelaus thought.

  ‘Now,’ said Odysseus, ‘we come to the difficult bit. Because someone has to winkle Achilles out of his tent for long enough for him to take his Myrmidons, and hide out there in the plain. As a covering force,’ he explained patiently, before anyone could ask him why.

  ‘But I thought you said that the best warriors were going to be inside the horse?’ objected Agamemnon, rooting about in his beard, where something had come to his attention.

  ‘So they will be,’ agreed Odysseus; ‘I shall be there with my Ithacans. Oh, yes, and the Doctor, of course.’

  The Doctor leaped like a gaffed salmon. ‘That wasn’t part of the plan!’ he objected.

  ‘It is now. I’ve just thought of it. Don’t you want to be on hand, to rescue your friends?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But can’t I join you later? I’m afraid I should only be in the way...’

  ‘You’d better not be, that’s all. No, Doctor, I prefer to keep my eye on you. And then the rest is up to the Trojans. They see we’ve all gone home, or so they think; and naturally assume it’s the Great Horse which has driven us away. So they dance around it like maniacs; cover it with garlands, I should think; and then they drag it into the city!’

  ‘Are you sure they do?’ enquired Agamemnon, not unreasonably. ‘Suppose they set fire to it? In my experience, you never know what those damn’ fellows are going to do...’

  ‘That is a calculated risk,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I’ve given the matter some thought, and they’d hardly destroy one of their own gods, would they?’

  ‘All right – but once they’ve got the horse inside, won’t they close the gates again?’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Odysseus. ‘Yes, Agamemnon, old war lord, of course they will. But during the night, my men will leave the horse and open them again, won’t they? Thus, if you follow me closely, letting the rest of you in. Nothing could be simpler,’ he concluded triumphantly, rolling up the battle plan.

  Well, of course it couldn’t: provided, that is, the Trojans were working from the same script! But I’d heard enough to be going on with: and while they were all busy, slapping each other on the back, and saying how clever they were, I dragged my bleeding remains over the bulwarks; and, sobbing and stumbling, I set out for Troy once more.

  Chapter 20

  Paris Stands on Ceremony

  A silly thing to do, you may think – but remember, I wasn’t reasoning too clearly at that time: and the only thought in my throbbing head was that if Vicki and Steven had to wait for the doctor to get his ridiculous horse built before they were rescued, what was left of them might not be worth the effort. So I trudged back across that damn’ plain – keeping a wary look-out, with my remaining eye, for the beasts of the field; because a jackal or so had picked up my blood-trail, and were following along, nudging each other and chuckling in anticipation. Well, one can cope with jackals – but one doesn’t want lions, or things of that nature; and in those days there were a good few of them about. So, as I say, I was careful.

  And just as well, too – because I nearly trod on my old friend Paris, who was sensibly taking a little time out from war, under a hibiscus bush.

  ‘Hello, again,’ he said, ‘so there you are. I was wondering where you’d got to. What on earth’s that on your face?’

  I told him it was probably the remains of my eye – and explained as much of the circumstances as seemed advizable, without mentioning the Doctor, of course. He was most sympathetic; and, as far as he could without proper facilities, helped me to clean up the mess. As I say, he was a decent enough chap at heart – I doubt if his sister would have done as much; probably made some crack about blind Fate, or something equally tactless.

  But even so, I wasn’t going to tell him about the Trojan horse – not while it remained the only chance of getting the Doctor’s friends back – and as he babbled resentfully away about how he’d always wanted to be a shepherd, and how difficult his father could sometimes be, I managed to gather just what had happened after I left the royal apartments. Apparently Steven and Vicki hadn’t been killed outright; so that was encouraging for them.

  Now, remember that what follows is the story as I had it from Paris, out there on the plain that night, with the jackals yapping about us, and birds of ill-omen shouting the odds – and by Zeus, I wish I’d paid more attention to them! – so you mustn’t be surprised if he comes out of it rather well.

  Cassandra, you will recall, had just launched one of her well-known and popular diatribes culminating in a death-wish; at which point I had held it tactful to withdraw my brooding presence from the proceedings. But Paris, if we are to believe him, stepped forward as angrily and boldly as a boa-constrictor about to be robbed of its breakfast.

  ‘Since when have you given orders to the military, Cassandra? Guards – put up your weapons! I am in command here!’

  ‘Of everything but your senses, it seems,’ she sneered.

  ‘It pleases you to make frivolous observations? So be it. Nevertheless, since Hector’s death, I am officer commanding all Trojan forces in the Middle East; and I will not tolerate interference from a fortune-teller of notorious unreliability!’

  That shook her. ‘How dare you? I am high-priestess of Troy!’

  Well, she was, of course; but apparently nothing could stop Paris now.

  ‘Then get back to your temple, before you give us all galloping religious mania! I really cannot face another of your tedious tirades at the moment!’

  The church’s one foundation rocked on its heels.

  ‘Father,’ she appealed, ‘do you hear him?’

  Priam smiled into his napkin: ‘Yes, it’s
most refreshing. Perhaps there is a man lurking behind that flaccid facade, after all.’

  Having got so far without being struck from the records, Paris went further. ‘And I would be obliged, father, if you would refrain from patronizing me in front of the prisoner!’

  Helen, of course, didn’t say anything, but her looks spoke slender volumes. You could tell she was impressed. Priam, on the other hand, wasn’t. ‘The prisoner? Yes, of course, that’s it! One pathetic prisoner, and he thinks he’s Hercules, already! Success has gone to his head!’

  ‘Before you start sneering at the prisoner, you’d better hear who he is. This is Diomede! Steven Diomede, possibly – but a lot of us have damn’ silly first names. And if you’ll take the trouble to look in the Greek Army Lists, you’ll discover he’s quite a catch!’

  Flattered, Steven decided to take a hand. ‘Which none but you could have caught, O lion of Troy!’ he said humbly.

  This went down like ipecacuanha after sago! The audience choked as one.

  ‘Eh?’ enquired Priam, rotating a finger in his ear.

  ‘What was that?’ demanded Cassandra, rotating in her turn, but through ninety degrees.

  ‘Yes, I thought you might be surprised,’ said Paris. ‘Want to tell them about our little spot of sabre-rattling, Diomede?’

  Steven delivered a modified digest of their late encounter. ‘We fought; I was defeated; I am not ashamed. There is none in all our ranks who could stand against the wrath of Paris, when he seeks revenge!’

  ‘You see?’ Paris appealed to the company at large. ‘I am treated with more respect by the enemy than by my own family!’

  ‘Perhaps they don’t know you as well as we do,’ explained Cassandra, helpfully.

  ‘On the other hand, perhaps they know me rather better,’ said Paris, imperturbably, knocking back a nectar in one, ‘and perhaps the time has come, dear sister, to revise your opinions?’

  ‘I am perfectly familiar with my opinions, thank you; and revision will not be necessary. And the first of them is that Cressida and Diomede have clearly met before: so how do you explain that?’

  ‘My dear old entrail-watcher, how in Hades should I know? But since Cressida says she pops about in Time as her whimsy wafts her, I should think she’s met lots of people, haven’t you, Cressida?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Vicki, rising to the occasion, ‘of course, I have. Surely, Diomede, it was at the Olympic Games, last year? You won the Pentathlon, didn’t you?’

  ‘So I did – I mean, so it was,’ said Steven, ‘and then we all went on to Diana’s Grove, afterwards; and you told everybody’s fortune, I remember. What a night that was! All came true, too! Goodness knows how you did it.’

  ‘Just a knack!’ said Vicki, modestly.

  ‘Sorcery!’ snarled Cassandra, reverting to her main thesis.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Priam. ‘Well, whether it’s sorcery, or palmistry, or tea-leaves, or just time-travelling, or whatever it is, we could use some of it right now. So, if you are who you say you are, Cressida, now’s your chance to prove it: you must either give me information which will lead us to a speedy victory – or, if you prefer it, you can use your supernatural powers to turn the tide of battle in our favour. It’s entirely up to you.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, of course,’ said Vicki, ‘but you must promise not to harm Diomede.’

  ‘I suppose that could be arranged – or, at any rate, postponed. Tell you what I’ll do: I’ll give you a whole day to come up with something. How about that?’

  ‘Well I’ll try,’ said Vicki, doubtfully, ‘but it’s not very long. What happens if I can’t?’

  Cassandra knew the answer to that one. ‘You will be burnt, as a sorceress, a false prophet, and a spy!’

  ‘Well, as one of them, anyway,’ conceded Priam, reasonably, ‘we don’t want to overdo things. And now, unless Paris has any objections, of course, I think you should both be taken away!’

  ‘No, I must say, I think that’s very fair,’ said Paris, honour being satisfied. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the dungeons quite comfortable, Diomede. I often spend a quiet hour or two down there myself, when I want to get away from things. Yes, Cressida – you’re bound to find them the perfect place for thinking.’

  So off they were taken to the dungeons. And there, presumably, they still were.

  Chapter 21

  Dungeon Party

  Well, I was pleased to know they were still alive, of course; but I can’t say I liked the way things were shaping one little bit. You see, even if it were possible to get word through to Vicki that the Doctor’s fortunes were riding on a horse, so to speak – thus enabling her to warn Priam, and do herself a bit of good thereby, think what that would do to the Doctor! He was going to be inside the infernal machine, if you remember; so that if the Trojans decided to burn it – whoops! And if they just decided to leave the thing where it was, looking foolish, or dance round it jeering, then Odysseus was going to be extremely cross at the farcical failure of the plan; and I had every reason to know what he was like in that mood! I wouldn’t wish to be cooped up with him in a horse’s stomach under those circumstances, thank you! So either way the Doctor was for it, it seemed to me.

  But if I didn’t do anything , then the first thing the Trojans would do, once they realized they’d been tricked, would be to get their revenge on Vicki and Steven, because she hadn’t warned them. Never let surface charm fool you – they weren’t as decadent as all that, believe me! So it was all very difficult, as you will appreciate.

  I couldn’t help wishing I hadn’t got myself involved in the first place. Zeus knows, it was nothing whatever to do with me; and I must say, the thought of Hesperides grew more attractive by the minute. But it was too late for that now. Here I was, a one-eyed poet, in rough country with lions, no doubt, about – not to mention blood-crazed myth makers – and the only person at all likely to help me was the ineffable Paris, confound him!

  Although why he should bother, I was unable to say: unless he thought he recognized a kindred spirit, who hated the war as much as he did? Yes, I take the ‘confound him!’ back. Because, at all events, he had bandaged my face with some sort of soothing herbs he’d found, and been generally pleasant; so I thought I’d better stick with him – at least until I saw my way clear to hopping over the horizon, under my own power.

  And what was he on about now? Oh, my name? Yes, of course – and quite reasonable, really. But I’ve always found it a very good rule to be a bit cautious about handing out the label unless unavoidable – which is why, I’m told, to this day, nobody is entirely convinced that Homer ever existed – so I temporized, as they say. But the only thought which came to me, being rather below par at the time, was what Odysseus had called me, shortly after the operation. So, ‘Cyclops,’ I said. ‘As you observe, one of the Titans.’

  Well, he laughed a good deal at that; having had a classical education, and being anxious to prove it, as one always is. ‘Oh, that’s very good,’ he said. ‘Cyclops, the one-eyed – couldn’t be better! Well, my little Cyclops, my tiny Titan, I think you’d better come back to Troy, and get that wound properly seen to, before you start to fester.’

  Just what I wanted, of course; so I went along with that, all right. And then a nerve-scraping thought struck me: ‘You don’t mean by Cassandra, do you? Because if so, I’d really rather not: I’d sooner just decompose quietly where I am, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Paris flinched in turn. ‘Great Heavens, no! Wouldn’t trust her to so much as put a snail on a wart! No – tell you what – that other young sorceress – what’s her name? – Cressida, that’s it! She’ll have you fixed up in no time.’

  I couldn’t believe my luck – or have agreed more! So off I went, with a comparatively high heart, prepared to give Fate another of my helping hands.

  As officer commanding, Paris had no difficulty in getting us down into the labyrinthine catacombs below the city. Not the place I’d have chosen for a convalescen
t home, left to myself: our guttering, bat-attracting torches, showed only too clearly that several previous patients hadn’t come out of it too well. Now they stood skeletally in their recesses, grinning at nothing particularly funny for the rest of eternity: my friend’s ancestors, no doubt. Pleased to meet them.

  Here and there we passed a guard, who’d been given the crypt concession to serve him right for something or other. And I noticed that, although saluting in a friendly enough way, they did seem rather surprised to see us. And then I realized that – of course! – Paris was supposed to be out and about on his Achilles blood-feud business – and that’s why he was so ready to help me: anything at all to postpone the fatal encounter! So I needn’t flatter myself that he enjoyed my conversation or company all that much. Which was something of a relief – because it meant I needn’t feel all that indebted to him: and to be going on with, I had quite enough people to try and help out of a mess, without worrying about what was likely to happen to Paris if the Doctor’s plan worked. No – he’d just have to take his chance with the rest of them, and the very best of luck!

  We eventually found Steven and Vicki in adjacent cells with communicating grating; through which, as we arrived, they were swapping a certain amount of vitriolic back-chat, about whose fault it was they were so situated. Tactless of them, under the circumstances; but fortunately Paris was preoccupied with trying to find the right key, and didn’t hear half of it.

  ‘I know quite well how to look after myself,’ Vicki was saying, ‘there was no need at all for you to come galloping to the rescue! Who do you think you are – the American cavalry?’

  I must say, I didn’t quite follow that, myself. However, I can only report what I heard.