Free Doctor Who: The Myth Makers by Donald Cotton Page B

remember thinking, ‘Perhaps I’ll give Hesperides a miss this year, after all. This is where the action’s going to be, however eventually! And when it happens, it’s sure to make good copy: The Fall of Troy – an eye-witness account from your man in Scamander!’
    Eye -witness? Well, Zeus be thanked, we don’t know what to expect until it hits us!
    Next time – if there is one – the Hesperides!
     
    14

Single Combat
    You will hardly believe this, but for the second time in twenty-four hours I was woken up by the sounds of battle – or by what I at first took to be the sounds of same – or by its vocal preliminaries, shall we say? Which, as we have seen, tend to be long and orotund, when compared to the usually brief and bloody sequel.
    But, of course, I had forgotten that the war-like Paris was patrolling the plain, seeking whom he might devour – as per definite paternal instructions. So he was almost bound to make at least some sort of vengeful gesture, if he wanted his supper to be kept warm for him.
    ‘Achilles!’ he was calling quietly, ‘Come out and fight, you jackal! Paris, the lion of Troy – and brother of Hector, if you remember? – seeks revenge!’
    There was, of course, no reply; not even an echo from the ramparts, which weren’t entirely sure they’d heard correctly.
    He mopped his brow, and after a moment’s thought enquired gently, ‘Do you not dare to face me?’
    And suddenly to the vast surprise of those present, there was an answer. ‘ I dare to face you, Paris. Turn, and draw thy sword!’
    And, so help me, out of the bushes stepped Steven, looking every inch the long-awaited folk-hero, returned to save his people!
    Well, he could have his people, and welcome, as far as Paris was concerned – he wasn’t going to stand in anyone’s way, that was quite obvious. But rallying swiftly, he put his finger on the flaw in Steven’s suggestion. ‘Ah,’ he said, wagging a fore-finger,
    ‘but then you are not Achilles, are you?’
     
    ‘I am Diomede,’ said Steven, ‘friend of Odysseus,’ he added, to establish his credentials.
    Paris smiled with relief, and took the way out so kindly offered. ‘Diomede, I do not seek your blood – I seek Achilles!’
    He turned to continue the search; but Steven tapped him on the shoulder. ‘And must Achilles, then, be roused, to undertake the death of such as you, adulterer?’
    I must say he’d hit off the style to the very last alpha and delta – most impressive! You’d have thought he’d been talking like that ever since drama school. But Paris took the question as being rhetorical – and never mind the insult: ‘I... er... I’m prepared to let that pass, for the moment. I assure you, I have no quarrel with you, Diomede!’
    Not what Steven wanted at all. He resorted to out-dated patriotism. ‘I am a Greek, and you a Trojan! Is that not quarrel enough?’
    ‘Well, perhaps, in a general way,’ conceded Paris, gracefully,
    ‘but personally I think this whole thing has been carried a great deal too far. I mean, they should have let Menelaus and me settle it by the toss of a coin, like gentlemen...’
    This was becoming far more difficult than Steven had anticipated. He tried again. ‘You are no gentleman, Paris! I’ve never thought so, and now I’m sure of it. Neither is Menelaus, come to that...’ he added, letting the style slip a little. Never mind – it worked: Paris stiffened indignantly.
    ‘Now be very careful! You’re taking everything far too seriously. Besides, are you aware you’re speaking of one of your commanding officers? And one of my oldest friends, come to that? The Helen business was just a misunderstanding.’
    ‘Which I now propose to resolve,’ parried Steven, neatly.
    ‘Draw thy sword, I say!’
    To my astonishment, Paris began to do just that – although, as if he’d read somewhere that slow motion indicated menace.
     
    ‘Very well,’ he contrived to growl, ‘but you’ll be sorry for this, I