Khryse: I think the morning hymns are the most beautiful part of the day. Have you looked outside yet?

Cassandra: What's there to see?

Khryse: The Achaians have built a huge wooden sculpture to Poseidon, shaped like a horse. They said it would bring good fortune on their soldiers, but that if it fell into Trojan hands, nothing would be able to stop the Achaians from being annihilated.

Cassandra: Oh, no... Please tell me they didn't bring it in.

Khryse: They dragged it in, and when they did, the people were dancing in the streets for joy. You should see the flowers, hear the singing, watch our people rejoice at last. We're going to win the war, if the prophets speak true.

Cassandra: They don't. O Khryse, that horse is going to be the destruction of Troy!

Khryse: I would laugh at any other... but Cassandra, how do you know this? Is it the God?

Cassandra: Apollo tells me. No, he doesn't tell me. He puts the knowledge inside me as if I'd known it all along.

Khryse: I wish I were so blessed.

Cassandra: No, you don't. It's an affliction, not a privilege.

Khryse: It's always easy for the Haves to tell the Have-Nots that their gifts are really burdens. I'm sure Priam tells the same thing to the muddy-faced peasant he meets travelling through his City, and maybe the peasant believes him. But then both of them go home: one to his rich, warm house, and the other to his frigid fields to toil the night away. And now you, who hear the honeyed voice of the God whispering secrets to you, dare to tell me—a faithful priest who has prayed for a sign my whole life—that I'm lucky? You're out of touch with the real world. How can you be so ungrateful? You're just a spoiled palace brat.

Cassandra: You don't know what you're talking about.

Khryse: I'm sorry. I forgot that I'm not Apollo's chosen servant. I guess what I know can't be compared to the shining erudition of Cassandra, Daughter of the King!

Cassandra: Oh----why are we here arguing? We've forgotten all about the horse!

Khryse: You're right. Hurry, this way.

They cross to the other side of the stage; enter Hector, Aeneas and Polydamas. In the background, a projection-slide of a wooden horse.

Hector: You heard the good news? Look, there it stands. We're bringing it in.

Aeneas: It's been prophesied that once it's taken within the walls of Troy, the Achaians will perish at our hands.

Khryse: Prophesied by whom?

Polydamas: Actually, we're not too sure.

Cassandra: It's a trap! Don't take it in!

Hector: Why not? Even if they're lying, it can't hurt us. It's made of wood.

Aeneas: Yes, why not, Cassandra? What could possibly harm us?

Cassandra: I... I don't know.

Hector: That's what I thought. (He makes a signal.) Bring it in!