Doctor Who: The Myth Makers (16 page)

BOOK: Doctor Who: The Myth Makers

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And pretty soon I couldn’t anyway – because a backhand swipe by Achilles caught me across what was left of my ruined face. And that was the end of my surviving eye!

I was thinking as I lay there, bleeding in the dust, that, while wishing Troilus all the luck in the world, I would rather Achilles finished him off as quickly as convenient; so that he could turn his attention to me, and end the matter as promised. Life had not had my best interests at heart for some time, I considered; and the sooner I was out of it, the better.

One does think like that, at times. A passing mood, of course.

And before long I heard what could only be a death-cry – a thoroughly unpleasant gargling noise; then the crashing collapse of an armoured body, sounding like a felled tree, screaming to ruin in the sudden silence; and I braced myself for my coming quietus.

‘Come on, little Cyclops,’ said my friend Troilus. ‘You can get up now – it’s all over!’ And he took my shattered head in his arms, bless him!

‘Forgive me, Troilus,’ I said, once I could speak again, ‘but what happened? Please don’t think I haven’t every confidence in you, but how in Hades did you bring
that
off?’

‘Achilles caught his heel in the brambles – stumbled, and that was it. I had him.’ His heel? Wouldn’t you know? Those oracles can tell us a thing or two, can’t they, if we’ll only listen!

‘And now,’ said Troilus, ‘let me help you back home, where you can be looked after properly.’

Well, of course,
that
was the last thing I wanted; and I was about to explain that current medical thinking would incline to the suggestion that I rest where I damn’ well was for a bit, when the most appalling racket I ever heard erupted in the far distance, as Odysseus and his men started operations.

And soon there was no place like home – or nothing to speak of, anyway. Armageddon just wasn’t it in, for nations furiously raging!

And so we sat there, the two of us, alone in the darkness; while Troy, and all the sane sophistication it stood for, disappeared amongst what are laughingly called the myths of antiquity.

Ironic, isn’t it? Your man in Scamander, with the greatest scoop of his life being enacted before him, unable to see a blind –

forgive me – thing!

So I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much about it, after all.

But as far as ear-witnessing is concerned, I could do that all right

– and soon began to wish I couldn’t: the roar and crackle of flames, the crash of masonry as the topless towers tumbled to rubble, and the bubbling sobs of the slaughtered.

And then,
above
all that, if you’ll believe me, there rose that extraordinary noise I’d heard once before – could it only, have been three days ago? – when the TARDIS first appeared on the sun-baked plain; and the great Hector, finest warrior of them all, met his undignified end as a consequence.

So I knew that my pathetic little plans had worked; and out of all the chaos at least the Doctor and his friends were away and clear – off to their next appointment in the Fourth Dimension, if that’s what it’s called. And I was glad; becaue I’d grown fond of them all – especially little love-lorn Vicki!

And so I explained to Troilus about the TARDIS; and about how I had deceived him, but only to save his life; and how his Cressida had loved him – but that it wouldn’t have worked in the long-run, because time-travellers are really a different class of person, and you never know where to look for them next.

Then suddenly he sat up, and stopped crying for everything he’d lost; and I thought, ‘Right! So this is where I get it in the thorax – and about time, too, after the mess I’ve made of things!’

And then I heard, close at hand, the sound of something he’d already seen – light footsteps pattering towards us across the plain; and the next minute Vicki – his little Cressida –

rushed into his arms with what is usually described as a whoop of joy!

And after that, I couldn’t get much sense out of either of them for quite a while.

Well, of course, as I might have guessed if I’d had time to think about it, she had very sensibly decided to let Katarina go adventuring with the Doctor and Steven in her place; and to settle down where her heart was. Because you’ve got to make up your mind where you really belong sometime, haven’t you? And the sooner the better, once you’ve fallen in love. A splendid outcome, I call it. The only problem being that they couldn’t belong to Troy, because it wasn’t there!

So for three days we stayed starving in our hide-away, while the vultures circled in the packed rapacious sky, and the smoke rose from the ruins. And they told me how Odysseus – who was now half-convinced that the Doctor
was
Zeus by the way! – and Agamemnon and the rest of the surviving heroes carried their booty of art treasures back to the galleys; one day to form the nucleus of the Parthenon collection, no doubt. And how Menelaus and Helen – so she
was
all right: good! – gesticulated angrily at each other all the way down to the beach. And then, how they all sailed away for home. And so the story was over at last. And where did that leave
us
, you may ask?

Well, soon after the Greeks had gone, we saw horsemen approaching: and, heaven be praised, it was Aeneas and the Trojan cavalry, come back too late to do anything but save our skins for us.

And as Aeneas readily agreed, there seemed little to detain us: so we set off together to found a new Troy elsewhere. And we thought of calling it Rome.

Only
we
looked in at Carthage on the way, and one thing led to another, as usual – and that will be several more stories I must write one day, when I’ve time.

Yes, Troilus and Cressida have looked after their blind friend very well, over the years. I suppose they felt that they owed me something – which makes a pleasant change!

And I haven’t been idle: my great epic about the Trojan War has sold extremely well. But if you ever read
The Iliad
– snappy title, don’t you think? – you mustn’t be surprised if you find no mention in it of the Doctor and the TARDIS.

No, I’ve put all that side of things down to Zeus and the Olympians.

Because that’s what the public expects – and you have to give them
that
, don’t you? But just once, before I die, I thought I’d like to come back here and remember what
really
happened...

and tell it like it was...

And so, that’s what I’ve done.

Epilogue

After the old blind poet had finished speaking, there was silence in the olive-grove for a while. Well, silence except for the cicadas; and a steady munching noise as his audience of one finished off the last of the goat-cheese.

Having done so, he cleared his throat, and clambered rather laboriously to his feet: because he was an old man, too; although not so old as Homer.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I must say I was glad to get out of that horse.

The nastiest contraption I’ve ever had the misfortune to travel in

– and that’s saying something!’

The poet smiled, and turned his sightless eyes towards him.

‘So it is you? I thought so. I’ve always known! Once in the market place at Alexandria, you caught my arm, and led me off before the mob burned the library.’

‘So I should hope! A distinguished author, like you.’

‘And another time, in Carthage – you saved Aeneas, didn’t you?’

‘He needed saving! He’d wasted far too much time with that woman – and he had a city to build. Well, I’m glad to find you so well. And tell me: how is Vicki?’

‘Middle-aged, I’m afraid.’

‘Ah yes, I suppose she would be by now. Should have stayed with me, you know – then she’d still have been eighteen!’

‘But not in love.’

‘Great Heavens, is she still? You do surprise me! Well, give her my regards, won’t you?’ And the Doctor brushed the crumbs off his frock-coat, and stumped away to try and remember where he’d parked the TARDIS.

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