Relieved, I turned to the next item on my agenda, and tapped Steven on the shoulder – by bad luck choosing rather a crucial moment in his routine, and causing him to drop one of the chairs on his toe.
‘What in Hades are you doing back here?’ he snarled, in welcome.
‘I was too late,’ I told him. ‘And if you’ll stop showing off for a moment, and give your attention to the speciality act at the top of the bill, you’ll see that the horse is waiting in the wings with fun and massacre for all, regardless of expense. Vicki has therefore gone to wait for the Doctor in the TARDIS. Go and do thou likewise!’
To do him credit, he got my drift at once; and pausing only to say he thought it a bit thick that I hadn’t managed to hold up the invading force on my own, he handed me his remaining chair, and set off after the others.
So that was that. Except for Troilus, of course.
I had toyed with the idea of sending him to the TARDIS as well, so that he could live happily ever after with Vicki; but on second thoughts, I realized that wouldn’t do at all. Apart from my not knowing how many passengers the thing was licensed for, I wasn’t, on reflection, at all sure how he would react. Even though he was in love with his Cressida, he was still a loyal Trojan – and might even decide to arrest the whole boiling of them, when he discovered what he would take to be their treachery.
That’s the trouble with these clean-limbed, clear-eyed types, with determined jaws: they’re liable to put Country before Love, and Honour before either of them, if you catch them in the wrong mood. So you have to be a bit careful and sound the ground.
Another thing was that the Doctor was unlikely to find a chance of making his excuses to his new cronies, and sprinting for the TARDIS, until after the battle had commenced, and they were busy with other matters; so it was going to be a close-run thing anyway, without his having jealous young princes arguing the toss about the rights and wrongs of the proceedings.
No – I did what I hoped was the next best thing – and never mind having to live with myself afterwards; I’d got used to that over the years, and you can’t always choose the company you’d like.
‘Dear young Prince of the blood,’ I said; ‘am I right in supposing that my friend Cressida is dearer to you than all the jewels of the Orient, and sweeter than Springtime, to boot?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that myself,’ he mused, ‘but the supposition is sound in essentials.’
‘Then,’ I said, treacherously, but meaning well, ‘I think you should know that she and Diomede have just strolled outside for a moment. They spoke of a short walk in the moonlight – out in the countryside...’
He sagged at the knees, as well he might, poor boy. ‘Thank you, Cyclops,’ he said, ‘I shan’t forget this.’ I knew I wouldn’t, either; or forgive myself, come to that. But it was in a good cause.
I watched him from the balcony, as he elbowed his way through the crowd in the square; then, once clear, he sprinted like a cheetah who’s just remembered an appointment, out through the gates, and into the darkness of the plain – where, Zeus willing, he would be safe from the wrath to come. And – who knows? – it was even possible that Vicki might get to hear about it one day, wherever she was going; and perhaps she might thank me.
Well, I could do no more. I looked round at all the happy, pleasant, and – yes – civilized people I had learnt to be fond of but, of course, there was no way of saving them. In fact, I had probably interfered too much already.
Paris was a charming, intelligent man; but he really did deserve what was coming to him – as don’t we all, when you think about it? Priam was a fairly benevolent old despot, but he’d perpetrated an outrage or two in his time – must have done, to get where he was! And although even Cassandra probably had a point or so in her favour if you looked closely – never mind, she was about to be proved right about most things, which is more comfort that most of us get, in the end.
And, Hades, nobody lives forever, do they? I mean, what do you want – miracles?
So I didn’t say ‘goodbye’ to anyone – but, rather sadly, made my way out into the square. Did I only fancy I saw the Doctor’s wise and worried old face, looking out from one of the horse’s eye-holes as I passed? ‘ Is there a doctor in the horse?’ I wondered, without much humour. Well, I couldn’t be sure – but I waved anyway. And then I wandered slowly out through the gates, and turned my back on Troy for the last time.
Or rather, such had been my intention; but a couple of leagues from the doomed walls, I thought I might as well see the end of the affair from a safe distance – so I sat down on a hillock in the moonlight, and awaited developments. After all, if you remember, that’s what I’d come for. I was a writer – and it would all make good copy one day, wouldn’t it?
And so that was the last of the mistakes I was to make in this whole sorry saga. Because I’d forgotten about Achilles, hadn’t I?
The scruff of my neck was seized in what is known as a vice-like grip; and I was flung, struggling and spitting like a kitten, into the heart of a gorse-bush.
‘Well, little Cyclops,’ he enquired, ‘whose side are you on this time?’
And, under all the circumstances, I found it very difficult to say.
Chapter 27
Armageddon and After
Achilles wasn’t in the best of moods anyway – you could see that. No doubt he felt he’d been passed over in favour of an older man; and furthermore, an older man he heartily disliked. Why, he wondered, should Odysseus get all the glory; while he, Achilles, the best damn’ warrior in the regiment, had to skulk about away from the action, in charge of the reinforcements? So he took it out on me.
‘We quite thought you were dead, you know,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘Odysseus thought he’d killed you the other evening: then apparently your body disappeared, and he began to wonder. That’s the trouble with Odysseus; the poor old boy gets delusions – half the time he doesn’t know his breakfast from Wednesday! Well, as usual, I suppose I shall have to finish the job off properly for him. We don’t want to leave any loose ends, do we?’
He didn’t bother with blank verse for me, you notice? Oh no – they save that sort of courtesy for each other. A class thing really, I take it. But it’s the sort of slight which hurts.
‘Now then,’ he continued, ‘any last requests, before I see the colour of your tripes?’
I couldn’t think of any; and after waiting patiently for a bored second or so, he drew his sword. ‘Well then, we’d better get on with it. No point in hanging about, is there, when a thing’s got to be done?’
The blade glinted in the moonlight – Damascus steel, I noticed; very smart! – as he raised his arm for the thrust. I mean, you don’t expect steel in the bronze age, do you? And I would like to say that my whole past flashed before me – but it didn’t. In fact, I wouldn’t let it – I wanted no part of my past, since it had brought me to this! No, I just had time to think that, after all, I’d be seeing Priam and the boys in Hades any moment now, when there came one of those unexpected interruptions, the gods are fortunately so good at.
‘Diomede!’ called Troilus, approaching at a gallop. ‘You and I are going to settle this Cressida business, once and for all!’
With a muttered apology to me for the delay, Achilles turned to face him, smiling like a scimitar. ‘Wrong hero, I’m afraid, my little cadet! Diomede is dead – so perhaps Achilles can oblige you?’
For a moment Troilus looked a bit like a very young terrier who’s stumbled on a tiger, sleeping it off in a fox-hole. But only for a moment. He was made of good stuff, that boy!
‘My brother Hector’s murderer? Well, it seems you feared to face Paris’ – loyal to the last, you see? – ‘but I thank Zeus for setting you before me! Now, go to seek your friend Patroclus...’ And he flew at the sneering muscle-man like a falcon on a good day.
Well, a falcon he may have been – but Achilles was an eagle, make no mistake about that! And it
seemed to me there could be only one end to this ill-advised encounter, as they whirled and pirouetted about the plain, swapping insults and carving the occasional slice out of each other. Troilus was game, all right, but he wasn’t an Odysseus by any means, and that was the sort of solid oak article the situation called for. He was also inexperienced at this sort of thing, while Achilles was the best the Greeks had to offer. Even Hector hadn’t found him a walk-over, if you remember? No – I had grown fond of Troilus, and I didn’t think I could bear to watch.
And pretty soon I couldn’t anyway – because a back-hand 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 kn
ow – 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.
Doctor Who: The Myth Makers Page 12