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DONALD COTTON
Number 97
in the
Doctor Who Library
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
A Target Book
Published in 1985
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way
of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
To Humphrey Searle,
who wrote the music
CONTENTS
1 Homer Remembers
2 Zeus Ex Machina
3 Hector Forgets
4 Enter Odysseus
5 Exit the Doctor
6 A Rather High Tea
7 Agamemnon Arbitrates
8 An Execution is Arranged
9 Temple Fugit
10 The Doctor Draws a Graph
11 Paris Draws the Line
12 Small Prophet, Quick Return
13 War Games Compulsory
14 Single Combat
15 Speech! Speech!
16 The Trojans at Home
17 Cassandra Claims a Kill
18 The Ultimate Weapon
19 A Council of War
20 Paris Stands on Ceremony
21 Dungeon Party
22 Hull Low, Young Lovers
23 A Victory Celebration
24 Doctor in the Horse
25 A Little Touch of Hubris
26 Abandon Ship!
27 Armageddon and After
Epilogue
1
Homer Remembers
Look over here; here, under the olive-trees – that’s right, by the
pile of broken stones and the cracked statues of old gods. What
do you see?
Why, nothing but an old man, sitting in the Autumn
sunshine; and dreaming; and remembering. That is what old
men do, having nothing better to occupy their time... and since
that is what I have become, that is why I do it.
I heard your footsteps when you first entered the grove; so
sit down, whoever you are and have a slice of goat’s cheese with
me. There – it’s rather good, you’ll find; I eat very little else
these days. Teeth gone, of course...
You think it’s sad to be old? Nonsense – it’s a triumph! An
unexpected one, at that; because, I tell you, I never thought I’d
make it past thirty! Men do not frequently survive to senility in
these dangerous times. But then, being blind, I suppose I can
hardly be considered much of a threat to anyone; so somehow I
have been allowed to live... although probably more by
negligence than by charity, or a proper concern for the elderly.
And I am grateful; for I have a tale or two still to tell, and a
song or two to compose and throw to posterity... before I pass
Acheron, and meet my dead friends in the shadows of the nether
world.
I am, you see, a myth maker; and my name is Homer. I
don’t know if that will mean anything to you. But it is a name
once well considered in poetic circles. No matter... no reputation
lasts forever.
But that is why I sit here, in the stubble of the empty fields,
and lean against the rubble of the fallen city which once was
Troy; while the scavengers flap in the ruins, and the lizards run
across my bare feet – at least, I hope they’re lizards! If they are
scorpions, perhaps you would be so kind? Thank you! And I
remember the beginning of it all, long ago when I was young.
Listen...