To Thrace


"It's going to land right there," Cassandra whispered as she pointed at a stone bench in the courtyard.

The blue-and-yellow kingfisher landed at the exact spot Cassandra said it would. Andromache laughed in delight. The seers from her native Thebe had always been ambiguous in their prophecies. None had Cassandra's clarity.

The two Trojan princesses—one by birth, one by marriage—had become fast friends since Andromache's arrival in the city. They held a mutual admiration for one another: Cassandra admired Andromache's quiet stoicism, and Andromache admired Cassandra's boldness.

The kingfisher fluttered its wings and sped off, and the two girls made their way to the stone bench. Andromache brushed away the tiny white flowers that had fallen from the ash tree that hung over the bench.

"They should move the bench a little further away from the tree," Andromache said.

Cassandra looked up at the tree, which had been planted only a few years before. "My father wanted it like this, so that the flowers could fall on him while he sat. They remind him of his sister—the flowering ash was her favorite tree."

Andromache did not know King Priam had a sister. "Did she die?"

"She was captured as a war prize when Heracles killed my grandfather Laomedon," Cassandra answered.

Cassandra scooped up several of the flowers and blew on them, letting them scatter around her feet. Everything about the sight was beautiful—Cassandra was beautiful, the flowers were beautiful, and so was the palace courtyard itself.

"Your visions told you all of this?" Andromache asked in wonder.

Cassandra smiled. "All this and more."


The fifty ships of Neoptolemus left Tenedos in separate directions. Forty-nine of the ships sailed for Phthia, home to the Myrmidons. The final ship, which allowed for only twenty oars, carried Neoptolemus, Helenus, Andromache, the three palace servants, an old man whom Neoptolemus sought advice from, and twenty men who had sailed with Neoptolemus from his native Scyros.

Andromache and Helenus were once again tied to the mast of the ship. Neoptolemus and the old man were talking at the front of the ship.

Andromache turned to Helenus. Quietly, she said, "Cassandra's prophecies came true. Troy did burn."

Helenus looked grim. "Her visions were always clearer than mine."

"And yet we didn't believe her. We thought she went mad."

"She did go mad," Helenus said. "Perhaps from visions of the horrors."

They silenced when Neoptolemus walked towards them.

Neoptolemus told ordered two men at the oars to untie Helenus from the mast. Once Helenus was untied, Neoptolemus spoke.

"Your prophecies have been of immense help to us, Seer," he said, "and for that I will grant you your freedom once we arrive in Epirus."

Andromache could see it was a bribe—by offering to free Helenus after a safe voyage, Neoptolemus was ensuring his own safety with the seer's help.

Helenus kept his head down, "Thank you Master."

As Helenus advised Neoptolemus on which routes to take, the palace maid Strophe knelt at Andromache's side and offered her some water from a wineskin.

"Is there anything else you need, Mistress?" the young woman whispered gently. She had to whisper, because even addressing Andromache as Mistress was a defiance of their new master.

There was.

"I need to be untied," Andromache answered in the most regal voice she could manager, "so that I may relieve myself."

It had been hours since they had left Tenedos.

"I've been asked not to unbind you from the mast," Strophe said meekly.

Andromache felt her face burn. "Do they expect me to lie in my own waste?"

Strophe disappeared for a moment and returned with an empty amphora, looking apologetic. "The old man says this will have to do. I wish I could do more."

Andromache looked around at the rows of men at the oars. They paid her no attention.

Strophe arranged her skirt around the amphora, and Andromache squatted over it and relieved herself in the middle of the ship where everyone could see her. She felt as if all the human qualities had been taken from her, and she was little more than an animal ready for slaughter.


"All this and more," Cassandra had said.

Andromache had a request for her husband's sister. "Will you tell me my future?"

Cassandra closed her eyes. Her brows knitted together in concentration. Andromache waited nervously, picking up a few of the tiny white flowers scattered around her feet absentmindedly.

After a while, Cassandra abandoned the effort. "I can't see anything."

"Surely you must see something," Andromache pressed.

Cassandra shook her head. "I can't. It's as if a cloud is shrouding my vision."

"At least tell me if I will have sons," Andromache pleaded. Bearing sons was perceived to be a wife's main duty, and Andromache was afraid she would shame her new husband's family by being barren.

Cassandra closed her eyes again. After a moment, she said, "That's easy. You hold the answer in the palm of your hand."

It took Andromache a moment to realize the answer was literal. She opened her hand.

Three white flowers.