Doctor Who_ The Myth Makers - Donald Cotton [36]
‘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.
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