Read Online Doctor Who: The Myth Makers by Donald Cotton - Free Book Online
Authors: Donald Cotton
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circumstances. Once more she struck that long-suffering attitude of hers. ‘O, hear me, you Horses of the Heavens, who gallop with our destiny! If you would have us take this gift, then let us see a sign. Show us your will, I pray you, for we are merely mortal, and we need your guidance.’
Well, Vicki, as I had hoped, must have been glued attentively to the scanners watching the preparations for her incineration with some concern, because she very sensibly took Cassandra’s harangue as a cue to come amongst us. She stepped out through the doors like a sylph from a sauna, and inquired politely, ‘You need my guidance? I shall be prepared to help in any way I can.’
The effect was electric. Paris beamed and would certainly have twirled a moustache, if he’d had one about him. ‘This is no Horse of Heaven,’ he noticed approvingly.
‘This is no Spartan soldier either,’ Priam observed.
‘Then who is she?’ demanded Cassandra, obviously prepared to object, whoever she was.
‘Ah, I’m no one of any importance,’ said Vicki, decisively,
‘but I do know a bit about the future, if that’s what interests you?’
Well, of course it did – like anything! Except that Cassandra naturally felt that she should have a monopoly on that sort of thing, and bristled accordingly. ‘How do you so? You are no Trojan goddess. You are some puny, pagan goddess of the Greeks.’
‘Don’t be silly – of course I’m not! I’m every bit as human as you are.’
‘How comes it then, that you claim to know the future?’
‘Oh, really, Cassandra,’ said Paris, before Vicki could answer, ‘you know you’re always going on about it yourself.’
Having already bristled, Cassandra now bridled. ‘I am a priestess, skilled in augury!’
‘Yes, yes, yes – all those dreary entrails, flights of birds and so on. We know. Well, perhaps this young lady’s read the same ones?’
‘Are you a priestess?’ demanded Cassandra, prepared to make an issue of it.
‘Not as far as I know. I mean, I never took any examinations, or anything.’
‘Then how dare you practice prophecy?’
‘Well, I haven’t done yet, have I?’ said Vicki, reasonably.
‘You are some drab of Agamemnon’s sent to spread dissension.’
It was Vicki’s turn to bristle or bridle. She did both. ‘What an idea! I’m nothing of the sort. Don’t be coarse.’
‘Of course she isn’t,’ said Paris ‘I can tell.’
‘Why, I’ve never even seen Agamemnon,’ persisted Vicki, ‘I wish I had, but I haven’t.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t like him at all,’ said Paris, ‘not at all your type.’
Priam coughed. ‘Your judgement of young women, Paris, is notoriously unsound!’
Paris joined the bridling bristlers. ‘Well, I don’t care what anyone says – she’s as innocent as she’s pretty!’
‘Then you’d better give her a golden apple, and get it over,’
said Priam making an obscure classical reference. He turned to Vicki. ‘Come here, child – I wish to question you.’
Cautiously, like a trout observing a label on a may-fly, Vicki left the shelter of the TARDIS, and approached the king.
‘That’s right. Now then, tell me – and you a Greek?’
‘No,’ said Vicki, ‘I’m from the future. So you see, I don’t have to prophesy – because, as far as I’m concerned the future has already happened.’
This was a facer, even for the wise old autocrat. ‘Eh?’ he inquired, ‘I don’t think I quite follow.’
‘Of course, you don’t,’ snapped Cassandra, going in to bat again. ‘She’s trying to confuse you. Kill the girl,’ she suggested spitefully, ‘before she addles all our wits! If she isn’t a priestess, then she’s a sorceress, and deserves to die! There are standing orders to that effect.’
‘Oh, don’t be absurd, Cassandra – you’re not to harm her,’
said Paris, for the defence.
She turned on him like a viper – if that’s the snake I mean.
One of those frightfully quick ones,
Well, Vicki, as I had hoped, must have been glued attentively to the scanners watching the preparations for her incineration with some concern, because she very sensibly took Cassandra’s harangue as a cue to come amongst us. She stepped out through the doors like a sylph from a sauna, and inquired politely, ‘You need my guidance? I shall be prepared to help in any way I can.’
The effect was electric. Paris beamed and would certainly have twirled a moustache, if he’d had one about him. ‘This is no Horse of Heaven,’ he noticed approvingly.
‘This is no Spartan soldier either,’ Priam observed.
‘Then who is she?’ demanded Cassandra, obviously prepared to object, whoever she was.
‘Ah, I’m no one of any importance,’ said Vicki, decisively,
‘but I do know a bit about the future, if that’s what interests you?’
Well, of course it did – like anything! Except that Cassandra naturally felt that she should have a monopoly on that sort of thing, and bristled accordingly. ‘How do you so? You are no Trojan goddess. You are some puny, pagan goddess of the Greeks.’
‘Don’t be silly – of course I’m not! I’m every bit as human as you are.’
‘How comes it then, that you claim to know the future?’
‘Oh, really, Cassandra,’ said Paris, before Vicki could answer, ‘you know you’re always going on about it yourself.’
Having already bristled, Cassandra now bridled. ‘I am a priestess, skilled in augury!’
‘Yes, yes, yes – all those dreary entrails, flights of birds and so on. We know. Well, perhaps this young lady’s read the same ones?’
‘Are you a priestess?’ demanded Cassandra, prepared to make an issue of it.
‘Not as far as I know. I mean, I never took any examinations, or anything.’
‘Then how dare you practice prophecy?’
‘Well, I haven’t done yet, have I?’ said Vicki, reasonably.
‘You are some drab of Agamemnon’s sent to spread dissension.’
It was Vicki’s turn to bristle or bridle. She did both. ‘What an idea! I’m nothing of the sort. Don’t be coarse.’
‘Of course she isn’t,’ said Paris ‘I can tell.’
‘Why, I’ve never even seen Agamemnon,’ persisted Vicki, ‘I wish I had, but I haven’t.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t like him at all,’ said Paris, ‘not at all your type.’
Priam coughed. ‘Your judgement of young women, Paris, is notoriously unsound!’
Paris joined the bridling bristlers. ‘Well, I don’t care what anyone says – she’s as innocent as she’s pretty!’
‘Then you’d better give her a golden apple, and get it over,’
said Priam making an obscure classical reference. He turned to Vicki. ‘Come here, child – I wish to question you.’
Cautiously, like a trout observing a label on a may-fly, Vicki left the shelter of the TARDIS, and approached the king.
‘That’s right. Now then, tell me – and you a Greek?’
‘No,’ said Vicki, ‘I’m from the future. So you see, I don’t have to prophesy – because, as far as I’m concerned the future has already happened.’
This was a facer, even for the wise old autocrat. ‘Eh?’ he inquired, ‘I don’t think I quite follow.’
‘Of course, you don’t,’ snapped Cassandra, going in to bat again. ‘She’s trying to confuse you. Kill the girl,’ she suggested spitefully, ‘before she addles all our wits! If she isn’t a priestess, then she’s a sorceress, and deserves to die! There are standing orders to that effect.’
‘Oh, don’t be absurd, Cassandra – you’re not to harm her,’
said Paris, for the defence.
She turned on him like a viper – if that’s the snake I mean.
One of those frightfully quick ones,
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