Doctor Who_ The Myth Makers - Donald Cotton [21]
‘Wait! It’s not for me to tell you how to run things, of course, but before you actually initiate an irreversible conflagration, should we not pause to ascertain if such a gift would be acceptable to the gods? It may, of course, be exactly what they’ve always wanted, but, on the other hand, if it does harbour treachery, as Cassandra maintains, then might it not seem as if you’re trying to shuffle it off on them? Because they’d hardly be likely to thank you for that, would they? Just an idea – thought I’d mention it.’
Not easy to say that sort of thing in a populist bellow, but I managed fairly well, I think, because it certainly held them for the moment. Paris tipped me the wink and gave me the thumbs up, and even Priam stopped in mid-ignition to consider my remarks.
‘Yes, that is a point – we don’t want a lot of offended gods to deal with, on top of everything else. Have a word with them, will you, Cassandra? Better to be on the safe side.’
She wasn’t that pleased, but could hardly refuse, under the circumstances. Once more she struck that long-suffering attitude of hers. ‘O, hear me, you Horses of the Heavens, who gallop with our destiny! If you would have us take this gift, then let us see a sign. Show us your will, I pray you, for we are merely mortal, and we need your guidance.’
Well, Vicki, as I had hoped, must have been glued attentively to the scanners watching the preparations for her incineration with some concern, because she very sensibly took Cassandra’s harangue as a cue to come amongst us. She stepped out through the doors like a sylph from a sauna, and inquired politely, ‘You need my guidance? I shall be prepared to help in any way I can.’
The effect was electric. Paris beamed and would certainly have twirled a moustache, if he’d had one about him. ‘This is no Horse of Heaven,’ he noticed approvingly.
‘This is no Spartan soldier either,’ Priam observed.
‘Then who is she?’ demanded Cassandra, obviously prepared to object, whoever she was.
‘Ah, I’m no one of any importance,’ said Vicki, decisively,
‘but I do know a bit about the future, if that’s what interests you?’
Well, of course it did – like anything! Except that Cassandra naturally felt that she should have a monopoly on that sort of thing, and bristled accordingly. ‘How do you so? You are no Trojan goddess. You are some puny, pagan goddess of the Greeks.’
‘Don’t be silly – of course I’m not! I’m every bit as human as you are.’
‘How comes it then, that you claim to know the future?’
‘Oh, really, Cassandra,’ said Paris, before Vicki could answer, ‘you know you’re always going on about it yourself.’
Having already bristled, Cassandra now bridled. ‘I am a priestess, skilled in augury!’
‘Yes, yes, yes – all those dreary entrails, flights of birds and so on. We know. Well, perhaps this young lady’s read the same ones?’
‘Are you a priestess?’ demanded Cassandra, prepared to make an issue of it.
‘Not as far as I know. I mean, I never took any examinations, or anything.’
‘Then how dare you practice prophecy?’
‘Well, I haven’t done yet, have I?’ said Vicki, reasonably.
‘You are some drab of Agamemnon’s sent to spread dissension.’
It was Vicki’s turn to bristle or bridle. She did both. ‘What an idea! I’m nothing of the sort. Don’t be coarse.’
‘Of course she isn’t,’ said Paris ‘I can tell.’
‘Why, I’ve never even seen Agamemnon,’ persisted Vicki, ‘I wish I had, but I haven’t.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t like him at all,’ said Paris, ‘not at all your type.’
Priam coughed. ‘Your judgement of young women, Paris, is notoriously unsound!’
Paris joined the bridling bristlers. ‘Well, I don’t care what anyone says – she’s as innocent as she’s pretty!’
‘Then you’d better