Cassandra, A Madwoman

Elle's Essay #4

*Note: This Essay includes reference to sexual assault and violence.

When someone refers to their ex-girlfriend as crazy nobody raises an eyebrow. There’s rarely an inquisition into how or why, the word itself is explanation enough. The accuser becomes the victim, so much so that they often get sympathetic pats on the back for being so brave in the face of insanity. The conversation readily moves on and the break-up is explained away as a lucky escape.

Women who are witness to these conversations take note of what not to do, how to avoid being viewed as crazy, fearful of featuring in a similar conversation. Of course, the madwoman in question rarely gets a chance to defend herself. What would be the point?

For who would believe a crazy person?

And so we begin in the bronze age some few thousand years ago.  

She stands at the top of Pergamus, the highest point in the citadel of Troy. A soft sea breeze kisses her golden skin and moves gently through her long, tangled curls. Her hands are clasped in tight fists by her side, feet bare and dirty on the edge of the precipice. Her eyes flutter closed as she inhales a deep, serene breath.

And then she starts to scream.

She is Cassandra, of Troy.

Or how I imagine her to be, for her exact features have been inconsistently documented. Homer’s Iliad, the 15,693-line poem that documents the siege of Troy, mentions her twice. The first is in Book 13 and she is afforded seven words… ‘Cassandra, the most beautiful of his daughters’ (‘his’ being Priam, King of Troy).

And while her beauty has been spoken of, when and if she is mentioned at all, the tragedy of Cassandra is largely unrecognised. I found Cassandra in March of this year and there aren’t many days that pass where I don’t think of her.

She was a priestess dedicated to Apollo, the Greek God of Sun and Light, who admired her in return. Apollo’s admiration caused him to bless Cassandra with the gift of foresight in exchange for a sexual relationship. This was not a cordial discussion; my understanding is that Apollo tried to rape her because he believed he was owed something in return for his generous gift. When Cassandra refused Apollo spat in her mouth and cursed her; a prophetess who would never be believed.

I once witnessed a young man saunter up to a young woman in a bar and begin to chat with her. He laughed and flirted, all the while maintaining a dazzling dimply smile. When the young woman went to walk away his demeanour changed. His smile dropped and he called after her some rather unflattering words. You can imagine, can’t you? Fat, bitch, ugly, slut, whore… the regulars. If that young man had been a God, I would be prepared to bet all of Troy’s riches that he would’ve wielded a curse too. Something must be said for that consistency.

And this is only the unjust beginning of Cassandra’s story.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the Trojan war. It’s a ten year long story with lots of complex characters and confusing alliances. But for the sake of this short essay here is what you need to know. There are two camps. Troy (the Trojans) of which Cassandra was a Princess, and Sparta (the Greeks). You may know, although I’ll forgive you if you do not, that the Trojan war began when a Prince of Troy ‘kidnapped’ (hmm) Helen of Sparta (wife to the King of Sparta).

Upon Helen’s arrival in Troy, Cassandra wailed and cried about the death and destruction that would befall them all if Helen remained inside the Trojan Citadel.

No one listened nor believed her. Not even when 1000 Greek ships banked themselves on the shores of Troy: A Greek army declaring war over the kidnapping of Helen. Thus beginning a long and arduous ten years of battle, blood and death.

But it is Cassandra for whom I feel the most sympathy.

When she hugged her sister, Polyxena, she foresaw Polyxena kidnapped and sacrificed by the Greeks.

When she looked at her brother Hector, she foresaw his death. His bruised and bloodied body being dragged behind the Greek Hero Achilles’ chariot through the Greek camp.

When she held her baby nephew Astyanax, she foresaw him being ripped from the arms of his mother, Andromache, and thrown from the walls of the city.

Cassandra screamed and sobbed and screamed some more. Warning her family and the people of Troy of the death that was to come.

And still, no one believed her.

The more she was ignored, the louder she became until she was screeching from the ramparts. Her curls tangled and matted down her back. Her face dirty and tear-streaked, her voice hoarse and throat red raw.

A beautiful young princess turned madwoman. Every word she spoke, invalidated. Her behaviour explained away as an unfortunate bout of insanity.

I believe that the story of Cassandra is its own prophecy. Even in 2024 we so rarely believe the words of women. Female sexual assault victims are accused of lying or seeking attention. Agonising period pain is dismissed as ‘normal’. Ex-girlfriends are accused of craziness without ever getting the chance to tell their story. While women no longer scream from the ramparts of a citadel, the longing to be believed is just as fierce.

I think it’s about time we listen.  

She stood at the ships edge, her dress covered in ash and blood, looking back towards her burning home. Her brow furrowed. It was difficult sometimes to know what was real and what was prophecy. She had seen Troy burn many times before. But this would be the last, of that she was sure. She turned her back on her city and looked out towards the sparkling Aegean Sea, so beautiful it was hard to believe the death and destruction that lay behind her. She set her eyes on the horizon and breathed in the sea air for a final time.

After the fall of Troy and the death of most of her family, Cassandra was kidnapped and taken by the Greeks back to their home in Sparta. She was murdered not long after arriving. A fate she had so cruelly, already foreseen.