Doctor Who_ The Myth Makers - Donald Cotton [38]
‘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.
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