Doctor Who_ The Myth Makers - Donald Cotton [4]
3
Hector Forgets
You, of course, whoever you are, will probably have heard of the TARDIS. There has certainly been enough talk about it since! At the time, however, I had not, and you may well imagine the effect that its sudden appearance produced – not only upon my apprehensive self – but upon the two posturing fighting-cocks before me. To say we were all flabbergasted is scarcely adequate... but perhaps it will serve for the moment?
Mind you, we Greeks are constantly expecting the materialisation of some god or other, agog to intervene in human affairs. Well, no – to be honest – not really expecting. Put it this way, our religious education has prepared us to accept it, should it occur. But that is by no means to say we anticipate it as a common phenomenon. It’s the sort of thing that happens to other people, perhaps; but hardly before one’s own eyes in the middle of everyday affairs, such as the present formalistic blood-letting. Certainly not. No – but, as I say, the church has warned us of the possibility, however remote.
The Trojans, on the other hand, as you will have gathered from Hector’s nihilistic comments, have no such uncomfortable superstitions to support them in their hour of need.
Oh, they will read entrails with the best of them, and try to probe the future as one does; but as far as basic theology is concerned, they begin and end with the horse. That surprises you? Well, it’s not a bad idea, when you think about it: after all, it was their cavalry that put them where they are today... or rather where they were yesterday. They’d come riding out of their distant nomadic past to found the greatest city in the world; and they were properly grateful to the bloodstock for making it possible. They even had some legend, I believe, about a mythical Great Horse of Asia, which would return to save them in time of peril. But apart from that, they had nothing that you or I would recognize as a god, within the meaning of the act.
So, when the TARDIS came groaning out of nowhere, of the three of us it was Hector who was the most put out; quite literally, in fact.
As he fell to his knees, dumbfounded by this immediate, unforseen acceptance of his challenge to Zeus, Achilles rallied sufficiently to run him through with a lance, or whatever. Very nasty, it was!
The thing pierced Hector’s body in the region of the clavicle, I would imagine, and emerged, festooned with his internal arrangements, somewhere in the lumbar district. Blood and stuff everywhere, you know! I don’t like to think of it.
Well, there’s not a lot you can do about a wound like that –
and Hector didn’t. With a look of pained astonishment at being knocked out in the preliminaries by a despised and out-classed adversary, he subsided reluctantly into the dust, and packed it in for the duration.
A great pity; because, by all accounts, he was an uncommonly decent chap at heart – fond of his dogs and children, and all that sort of thing. But there it is – you can’t go barn-storming around, looking for trouble, and not expect to find it occasionally, that’s what I say! Always taken very good care to avoid it myself... or at least, I had up till then. But I mustn’t anticipate.
So – there lay Hector, his golden blood lacing his silver skin (and that’s a phrase someone will pick up one day, I’ll wager; but it was nothing like the foul reality, of course) when suddenly the door of the TARDIS opened and a little old man stepped out into the afternoon, blinking in the sunshine. And now it was Achilles’ turn to fall to his knees...
At this point I must digress for a moment