Doctor Who: The Myth Makers Page 2

  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 to explain that I have met the Doctor on several occasions since, and find him a most impressive character. But he didn’t look so then, my word! I believe he has grown a great deal younger since, but at the time he looked – I hope he’ll forgive me if he ever hears about this – he looked, I say, like the harassed captain of a coaster who can’t remember his port from his starboard. A sort of superannuated Flying Dutchman, in fact: and not far out, at that, when you think about it.

  I gathered later, that for some time the TARDIS had been tumbling origin over terminus through eternity, ricochetting from one more or less disastrous planetary landfall to another; when all the poor old chap wanted to do was get back to earth and put his feet up for a bit!

  Well, he’d found the Earth all right, but unfortunately, several thousand miles and as many years from where he really wanted to be: which was, I gather, some place called London in the nineteen-sixties – if that means anything to you? He’d promised to give his friends, Vicki and Steven, a lift there, you see; because they thought it was somewhere they might be happy and belong for once. All very well for him, because he didn’t truly belong anywhere – or, rather, he belonged everywhere; being a Time Lord, he claimed, or some such nonsense!

  But the trouble was, he couldn’t navigate, bless him! Oh, brilliant as the devil in his time, no doubt – whenever that was – but just a shade past it, if you ask me!

  He blamed the mechanism of course – claimed it was faulty; but then don’t they always? We’ve all heard it before – ‘Damned sprockets on the blink!’ or something; when all the time, if they’re honest, they’ve completely forgotten what a sprocket is!

  At all events, he was apparently under the impression that he’d landed in the Kalahari Desert, and he was having a bit of trouble with the crew in consequence. So you can imagine his confusion when, expecting to be able to ask his way to the nearest water-hole from a passing bush-man, he found himself being worshipped by a classical Greek hero, with, moreover, a Trojan warrior bleeding to death at his feet.

  Achilles didn’t help matters much by immediately addressing him as ‘Father!’ Disconcerting, to say the least.

  ‘Eh? What’s that? I’m not your father, my boy! Certainly not!’ objected the Doctor, lustily. After all, Vicki and Steven were probably listening... ‘This won’t do at all – get up at once!’

  Achilles was glad about that, you could tell. Sand burning his cuirasses, no doubt.

  ‘If Zeus bids me rise, then must I do so...’ He lumbered to his feet, rubbing his knees.

  ‘Zeus?’ enquired the Doctor, surprised. (And I must say he didn’t look a lot like him.) ‘What’s this? Who do you take me for?’

  ‘The father of the gods, and ruler of the world!’ announced Achilles, clearing the matter up rather neatly.

  ‘Dear me! Do you really? And may I ask, who you are?’

  ‘I am Achilles – mightiest of warriors!’ Yes, he could say that now . ‘Greatest in battle, humblest of your servants.’

  ‘I must say, you don’t sound particularly humble! Achilles, eh? Yes, I’ve heard of you...’

  Achilles looked pleased. ‘Has my fame then spread even to Olympus? Tell me, I pray, what you have heard of me...?’

  Not an easy question to answer truthfully, but the Doctor did his best. ‘Why, that you are rather... well, sensitive, shall we say? Or, perhaps, yes, well, never mind...’ He gave up and changed the subject. ‘And this poor fellow must be... ?’

  ‘Hector, prince of Troy – sent to Hades for blasphemy against the gods of Greece!’

  ‘Blasphemy? Oh, really, Achilles – I’m sure he meant no particular harm by it!’

  ‘Did he not? He threatened to trim your beard should you descend to earth!’ He’d done nothing of the sort of course. Unpardonable.

  ‘Did he indeed? But, as you see, I have no beard,’ said the Doctor, putting his finger on the flaw in the argument.

  ‘Oh, if you had appeared in your true form, I would have been blinded by your radiance! It is well known that when you come amongst us you adopt many different shapes. To Europa, you appeared as a bull, to Leda, as a swan; to me, you come in the guise of an old beggar...!’

  ‘I beg your pardon. I do nothing of the sort...’

  ‘But still your glory shines through!’

  ‘So I should hope indeed...’

  Yes, but obviously such conversations cannot continue indefinitely, and the Doctor was aware of it. He began to shuffle, with dawning social embarrassment.

  ‘Well, my dear Achilles, it has been most interesting to meet you... but now, if you will excuse me, I really must return to my – er – my temple here. The others will be wondering about me.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Er – yes – the other gods, you understand? I have to be there to keep an eye on things, so I really should be getting back’ And he turned to go.

  With one of those leaps which I always think can do ballet-dancers no good at all, Achilles barred his way. ‘No,’ he barked, drawing his sword. The Doctor quailed, and one couldn’t blame him. Gods don’t expect that kind of thing.

  ‘Eh?’ he enquired, ‘do you realize who you are addressing? Kindly let me pass. Before I – er, strike you with a thunderbolt!’

  Achilles quailed in his turn. He didn’t fancy that.

  ‘Forgive me – but I must brave even the wrath of Zeus, and implore you to remain.’

  Well, ‘implore’ yes – but still difficult, of course.

  ‘I really don’t see why I should. I have many other commitments, as I am sure you will appreciate...’

  ‘And one of them lies here – in the, camp of Agamemnon, our general! Hear me out, I pray: for ten long years we have laid siege to Troy, and still they defy us.’

  ‘Well, surely, Achilles, now that Hector is dead...’

  ‘What of that? Oh, they will be jubilant enough for a while, my comrades. Menelaus will drink too much, and songs will be sung in my honour. But our ranks have been thinned by pestilence, and the Trojan archers. There they sit, secure behind their walls, whilst we rot in their summers and starve in their crack-bone winters.’

  All good stuff you see?

  ‘Many of the Greeks will count the death of Hector enough. Honour is satisfied, they will say, and sail for home!’

  Ever the pacifist the Doctor interrupted; ‘Well, would that be such a bad idea?’

  He wished he hadn’t. Always a splashy speaker, Achilles now grew as sibilant as a snake...

  ‘Lord Zeus, we fight in your name! Would you have the Trojan minstrels sing of how we fled before their pagan gods?’

  The Doctor smiled patiently, wiping his face. ‘Oh – I think you’ll find Olympus can look after itself for a good many years yet...’

  ‘Then come with me in triumph to the camp, and give my friends that message.’

  Well, reasonable enough, you know, under the circumstances. And how the Doctor would have talked himself out of that one, we shall never
know. Because just then the bushes behind them parted in a brisk manner, and out stepped a barrel-chested, piratical character, whose twinkling eyes and their sardonic accessories belied a battle-scarred and weather-beaten body – which advanced with what I believe is called a nautical roll. He was followed by a band of obvious cut-throats, whom any sensible time traveller would have done well to avoid.

  I suppose, at that time Odysseus would have been about forty-five.

  Chapter 4

  Enter Odysseus

  He and Achilles were technically on the same side, of course, but you could tell that neither of them was too happy about it. Different types of chap altogether. Achilles groaned inwardly; rather like Job, on learning that Jehovah’s had another idea.

  ‘What’s this, Achilles?’ Odysseus enquired, offensively. ‘So far from camp, and all unprotected from a prisoner?’

  Achilles made shushing gestures. ‘This isn’t a prisoner, Odysseus,’ he said in tones of awestruck reverence.

  ‘Certainly not,’ contributed the Doctor, hastily.

  ‘Not yet a prisoner? Then you should have screamed for assistance, lad; we wouldn’t want to lose you. Come, let us see you home... Night may fall, and find thee from thy tent!’

  ‘I’d resent his attitude, if I were you,’ said the Doctor.

  Odysseus spared him a scornful, cursory glance. ‘Ah, but then, old fellow, you were not the Lord Achilles. He is not one to tempt providence, are you, boy?’

  ‘Have a care, pirate!’ warned Achilles, ‘Are there no Trojan throats to slit, that you dare to tempt my sword?’

  Odysseus considered the question, and came up with an undebatable answer. ‘Throats enough, I grant you. A half score Trojans will not whistle easily tonight. We found ‘em laughing by the ramparts, now they smile with their bellies. And what of you?’ He wiped the evidence from his cutlass. ‘Been busy have you?’

  Achilles played his ace. ‘Nothing to speak of,’ he said modestly, ‘I met Prince Hector. There he lies.’

  Astonished for once in his life, Odysseus noted the bleeding remains – and you could tell he was impressed. ‘Zeus,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Zeus was instrumental,’ acknowledged Achilles grace-fully, with a bow to the Doctor. Perhaps not surprisingly, the significance of this escaped Odysseus.

  ‘No doubt,’ he said, ‘no doubt he was. But what a year this is for plague! The strongest must fall... Prince Hector, eh? Well, that he should come to this! You stumbled on him here, you say, as he lay dying?’

  ‘I met him here in single combat, Odysseus.’

  ‘The deuce you did? And fled him round the walls, till down he fell exhausted? A famous victory!’

  ‘I met him face to face, I say,’ scowled Achilles, stamping. ‘I battled with him for an hour or more, until my greater skill o’ercame him! Beaten to his knees, he cried for mercy. Whereat I was almost moved to spare him...’

  ‘Oh, bravo,’ rumbled his appreciative audience.

  Well, I could have said what really happened, of course, but I didn’t like to interrupt – Achilles was all too obviously getting intoxicated by his talent for embroidery...

  ‘But, mark this, Odysseus; as I was about to sheathe my sword in pity, there was a flash of lightning – and Lord Zeus appeared, who urged me on to strike.’

  ‘And so, of course, you struck – like lightning? Well, boy – there, as you say, Prince Hector lies, and there your lance remains in seeming proof of it! I must ask your pardon...’

  ‘So I should think,’ hissed Achilles through pursed lips.

  ‘But tell me, Lightfoot, what of Zeus? He intervened, I think you said? And then?’

  ‘Why there he stands – and listens to your mockery.’

  ‘Yes indeed, I’ve been most interested,’ said the Doctor, getting a word in edgewise.

  I wouldn’t have advised it myself. A cut-throat or two did look vaguely apprehensive, but their leader rocked with the sort of laughter you hear in Athenian taverns at closing time.

  ‘What, that old man? That thread-bare grey pate? Now, come, Achilles.’

  ‘Odysseus, your blasphemy and laughter at the gods is very well in Ithaca. Think, though, before you dare indulge it here! Forgive him, Father Zeus – he is but a rough and simple sailor, who joined our holy cause for booty.’

  ‘Aye, very rough, but scarce as simple as you seem to think!’ growled the gallant captain, snapping a spear between his nerveless fingers.

  ‘Oh, but there’s nothing at all to forgive,’ the Doctor hastened to assure him, ‘I’ve no doubt he means well.’

  ‘Then will you not come with us?’ begged Achilles. Abject now, he was.

  ‘Well, no – I hardly think... thank you, all the same...’ Useless. Odysseus stumped forward, and siezed him by the scruff.

  ‘What’s that. You will come with us, man – or god, as I should say! If you indeed be Zeus, we have much need of your assistance! Don’t cower there, lads. Zeus is on our side – or so Agamemnon keeps insisting. And since he has been so condescending as to visit us, bear him up, and carry him in triumph to the camp!’

  The Doctor struggled, of course; but it was plainly no use. A bunch of tattooed ruffians tossed him aloft like a teetotum in a tantrum, and set him on their sweating shoulders. To do him credit, Achilles at least objected . ‘Odysseus, I claim the honour to escort him! Let him walk to the camp with me!’

  But not a bit of good did it do. Odysseus glowered like the Rock of Gibralter on a dull day. ‘You shall have honour enough, lad, before the night’s out. And, who knows? maybe we shall have a little of the truth as well. Father Zeus, we crave the pleasure of your company at supper. And perhaps a tale or two of Aphrodite, eh?’

  The Doctor spluttered with indignation: ‘Nothing would induce me to indulge in vulgar bawdy!’

  ‘Well then,’ said Odysseus, reasonably, ‘you will explain why you are lurking near the Graecian lines – and how you practised on the slender wits of young Achilles. That should prove equally entertaining.’

  Rather foolishly, in my opinion, Achilles drew his sword. ‘You will pay for this, Odysseus!’ he shouted. The latter was unimpressed.

  ‘Will I, Achilles? Well, we shall see... But meanwhile, lads, do some of you take up that royal carrion yonder. At least so much must we do for Lord Achilles, lest none believe his story. Nay, put up your sword, boy! We comrades should not quarrel in the sight of Zeus.’

  And they marched away over the sky-line, carrying with them the helpless Doctor, and the mortal remains of Hector, Prince of Troy; while the echoes of Odysseus’s laughter reverberated round the distant ramparts.

  Achilles, for his part, looked – and, no doubt, felt – extremely foolish. At length, when the war-party was out of earshot, he spat after them: ‘You will not laugh so loud, I think, when Agamemnon hears of this!’

  Well, you have to say something don’t you? Then he sprang nimbly off towards the Graecian lines by an alternative route. And, always having a nose for a good story, I followed at a more leisurely pace.

  Chapter 5

  Exit the Doctor

  Meanwhile, as they say, back in the TARDIS, the Doctor’s situation was giving rise – as again they say – to serious concern. For, as they told me later, Vicki and Steven, his two companions, had been watching the progress, or rather, the retreat of events on the scanner, and they were pardonably worried. After all, he had only stepped out for a moment to enquire the way; and now, here he suddenly wasn’t! You can imagine the conversation...

  ‘They didn’t look like aboriginal bushmen, Steven,’ mused Vicki. ‘Do you think this is the Kalahari Desert – or has he got it wrong again?’

  ‘Of course he has!’ snapped the irritated ex-astronaut. Sometimes he found Vicki almost as tiresome as the Doctor. After all, he hadn’t joined the Space-Research Project to play the giddy-goat with Time as well! And if he didn’t get back to base soon, awkward questions were gong to be asked. I mean, compassionate leave is one thing, but this was bec
oming ridiculous.

  ‘If only,’ he said, ‘the Doctor would stop trying to pretend he’s in control of events we might get somewhere! Why isn’t he honest enough to admit that he has no idea how this thing operates? Then perhaps we could work out the basic principles of it together – after all, I do have a degree in science! But no – he’s always got to know best, hasn’t he? Now look at him – trussed like a chicken and being taken to God knows where!’

  ‘Well, if they are bushmen,’ said Vicki, looking on the bright side, ‘perhaps they’ve taken him to see their cave drawings?’

  Steven regarded her with the sort of explosive pity one does well to avoid. ‘Oh, do use what little sense I’ve tried to teach you! Those men were Ancient Greeks – that’s who they were. Don’t you remember anything from school? Its my belief we’ve gatecrashed into the middle of the Trojan War – and, if so, Heaven help us! Ten years that little episode lasted as I recall!’

  ‘Well, whoever they were, they seemed to treat him with great respect...’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Vicki, they were laughing at him!’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘perhaps he made a joke?’

  ‘If so, let’s hope it was a practical one for a change! They didn’t look as if they’d appreciate subtle humour...’

  ‘I don’t know, Steven... I thought the Greeks were civilized?’

  ‘Only the later ones. I imagine these sort of people were little better than barbarians!’

  ‘But I’ve always been told they were heroes. Magnificent men who had marvellous adventures. You know, like Jason and the Argonauts.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve been reading too much mythology, Vicki – real life was never like that. But I suppose, in a sense, these characters would have been the original myth makers...’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean the ruffians whose rather shady little exploits were magnified by later generations, until they came to seem like heroes. But they were certainly nothing of the sort – and that’s why I’m worried about the Doctor.’

  ‘All right then, Steven. Have it your way. So, what can we do?’