The Trojan Women

Euripides, Caroline Bird

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781849437127
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Violence in Society
• Index: Social Sciences

A modern-day version of Euripides' anti-war play, The Trojan Women has been rewritten and is set ina mother-and-baby unit of a prison. The war is over. Beyond the prison walls, Troy and its people burn. Inside the prison, the city's captive women await their fate. Stalking the antiseptic confines of its mother and baby unit is Hecuba, the fallen Trojan queen, whilst the pregnant Chorus is shackled to her bed. But their grief at what has been before will soon be drowned out by the horror of what is to come, as the Greek lust for vengeance consumes everything –man, woman and baby – in its path. This caustic and radical new version of Euripides' classic tragedy comes from one of the UK's most exciting young poets, Caroline Bird. It is an intense, gripping look at what happens when the world collapses.

SETTING

The Mother and Baby unit of a prison.

It is a clinical environment, a timeless place that is also recognizable.

On stage there are three single beds and one empty cot.

There is a water dispenser: Hecuba frequently pads over, pulls out a plastic cup, presses the button for cold water, drinks the water then crumples the cup in her hand and throws it in the bin. She never uses the same cup twice.

There is a hand-soap dispenser on the wall: every time a character enters, the first thing they do is sanitize their hands.

There is basic medical equipment, but no nurses or doctors.

Outside the prison, the city is in flames. But the prison walls are soundproof so the audience can only imagine the loud warfare occurring all around the building. When the characters are not speaking, the mother and baby unit is unnerving silent but for the shuffle of hospital slippers on the floor, the hum of the air-conditioning, and the occasional tannoy crackle that momentarily suggests news, but then brings none.

The ‘Chorus’ is one pregnant woman handcuffed by her wrist to the metal bed. She never moves from this position throughout the entire play.

On a shelf above the Chorus’s bed is a pile of board-games – Scrabble, Monopoly, Cluedo, Chess – two packs of cards and a ‘Bumper Book of Crossword Puzzles’.

Hecuba and the Chorus are dressed in shapeless hospital gowns.

High above the stage is a large television screen.

Lights up.

On the television screen, POSEIDON is standing with a microphone in front of a backdrop of smoke.

POSEIDON: I am Poseidon. God of the sea. From the deepest realm, where fish make smooth traffic in drinkable air, I dragged myself up to this place: rock bottom. You can’t see the state of the city but I can. Let me give you an artistic impression. A young father kneels in a doorway, blood pouring from his mouth like opera music. For a laugh, a soldier fires three shots into the severed head of a young mother, sticks his fingers into the bullet-holes, grips it like a bowling ball and rolls it through the kitchen where her child sits under the knife-rack, screaming. Family life. These are the pictures on the postcards we send from the world. Most things are on fire, and the things that are not are clothed in thick shadow. The civilians are dead. Wish you were here. Everyone who doesn’t matter is dead and the ones left alive will lose everything worth living for. Round up the royal whores.

The stage is in darkness – but three shadowed figures stand around an anonymous woman on the middle bed.

There are two other people on stage: the CHORUS, handcuffed to the bed stage-left, and HECUBA, lying on the floor up-stage.

Oh and the King is dead. Priam was at home, praying to Zeus’s shrine when the soldiers came and cut ribbons through his stomach, filleting the flesh from a prize salmon. These are the times when the gods retire to their drawing rooms, suck on their cigars and say, ‘hey, hey, hey…it’s heating up down there in toy-town.’ I didn’t mean for this to happen. Some of these people were quite nice. A doting wife. A kind grocer. A relatively honest insurance salesmen. All ripped from their beds and buggered and bled dry, hanging upside down like chickens. And for what? Headlines: Priam’s son…

The television screen splits into two sections, ATHENA on one side, POSEIDON on the other.

ATHENA: (Interrupting.) The fucking Greeks…

POSEIDON: (Interrupting.) Hang on. (Continues to audience.)
Paris elopes with Helen from the Spartan palace of her husband, Menelaus. Greeks ask for Helen back. Trojans say no. Menelaus calls in a few favours. Greeks hide inside massive rocking horse. Wham bam. Hemoglobin for breakfast. All for the love of an adulteress. A hot sumptuous…

ATHENA: (Interrupting.) Wrap it up, Jackanory. The Greeks desecrated my temple.

POSEIDON: Good morning to you Athena. How’s the weather where you are?

ATHENA: Same as yours. Smoky. Do you know what really…
Oh (For the viewer’s benefit, with boredom.) hi I’m Athena, Goddess of War, Wisdom, Courage, Civilization, Law, Maths, Justice etc – (Back to POSEIDON.) I want the Greeks drowned on their way home.

POSEIDON: It’s not that simple.

ATHENA: Yes it is. When the prisoner transport vans get loaded on the ferries, leave the bow doors open.

POSEIDON: Oh.

Slight pause.

I suppose I could do that. Does that mean no one’s going to win?

ATHENA: What do you mean ‘win’? Fuck off Poseidon, it’s not chess.

POSEIDON: But you helped the Greeks invade. The Trojan Horse was your idea.

ATHENA: I have a temple here as well you know. I look out for all my worshippers: Trojan, Greek, Japanese, who gives a shit. Cassandra was praying to a little statue of me, quiet inside my sanctuary, when a soldier came – smashed my effigy from her hand. Happened just this morning. I’m supporting the Trojans now. Fucking rude.

POSEIDON: Was she raped?

ATHENA: Who?

POSEIDON: Cassandra.

ATHENA: Let’s call it practice. After all, she’s been assigned.
The Greek army presented Agamemnon with a catalogue of headshots. He has no idea what he’s chosen. Her misery is…wild.

POSEIDON: Well of course: every syllable she speaks is true prophecy a...