Doctor Who_ The Myth Makers - Donald Cotton [1]
Listen...
I was a wanderer then, as I am now – and so thoroughly undistinguished in appearance that I could pass unnoticed when men of greater consequence would, at the very least, be asked to give an account of themselves. But I was not blind in those days; and though I could do little to influence, I could at least observe the course of events; and to some extent – not being a complete fool – interpret them.
And what events they were! Troy – this mound of masonry behind us – was then the greatest city in the world. Although I must admit, that wasn’t too difficult a trick, because the world then was not as it is known to be now.
A rather small flat disc, it was considered to be; and the latest geographical thinking was that it balanced rather precariously on the back of an elephant, which, for some reason, was standing on a tortoise! All nonsense, of course; we know now that the disc is very much larger and floats on some kind of metaphysical river; although I must say, I don’t quite follow the argument myself.
At all events, it was bounded to the East by the Ural Mountains, where the barbarians lived; and to the West, just beyond the Pillars of Hercules, it fell away to night and old chaos. And what happened to the North and South we didn’t like to enquire. All we were absolutely sure of was that the available space was a bit on the cramped side.
And the Trojans appeared to have rather more than their fair share of it. In fact, they sat four-square on most of Asia Minor; and that, as I need hardly remind you, meant that they controlled the trade-routes through the Bosphorus. Which left my fellow-countrymen, the Greeks, with no elbow room at all to speak of; and they were, very naturally, mad as minotaurs about the whole situation.
Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, was their war-leader; but the trouble was he couldn’t think of any excuse for starting a war, and that made things difficult for him. Men always need a cause before they embark on conquest, as is well known. Often it is some trifling difference of philosophy or religion; sometimes the revival of an ancient boundary dispute, the origins of which have long been forgotten by all sensible people. But no – in spite of sitting up nights and going through the old documents, and spending days bullying the historians, Agamemnon just couldn’t seem to find one.
And then, just as it was beginning to look as if he’d have to let the whole thing slide, the Trojans themselves handed it to him on a platter! Well, one Trojan did, actually; and it was a beauty – adultery!
The adulterer in question was Paris, second son of Priam, King of Troy. Perhaps you will have heard of La Vie Parisienne.
Well then, I need hardly say more: except perhaps, in mitigation, that the second sons of Royal Houses – especially if they are handsome as the devil – have a lot of temptation to cope with. And then, the unlikelihood of their ever achieving the throne does seem to induce irresponsibility which – combined, of course, with an inflated income – how shall I put it? – well, it aggravates any amorous propensities they may have. And, by Zeus, Paris had them! In overabundance and to actionable excess! He was – not to put too fine a point upon it – both a spendthrift and a lecher. He also had the fiendishly dangerous quality of charm: a bad combination, as you’ll agree.
Well, we all know about princes and their libidinous ways: their little frolics below stairs – their engaging stage-door haunting jaunting? Just so. And if we are charitable, we turn a blind eye. But apparently, this sort of permissible regal intrigue wasn’t enough for Paris. Listen – he first of all seduced, and then
– Heaven help us all! – abducted the Queen of Sparta! Yes, I thought you’d sit up!
Her name was Helen and she was the wife of his old friend Menelaus. And Menelaus – wait for it – just happened