War has raged outside the walls of Troy for the past seven years. Safe inside the royal palace, Briseis, a spirited young Trojan princess, sits back as her famous cousins, Hector and Paris, fight against the Greeks, who encroach upon Troy's borders...
The Greek camp was enclosed by a series of shallow ditches. Someone had the idea to fill those ditches with blackthorn clippings as a means of keeping intruders out. Over the years, the blackthorn clippings had grown into a hedge as tall as a man. In addition, shoulder-high thistles had sprouted along the barrier, weaving themselves among the blackthorn branches, as a further deterrent. At this time of year, both the blackthorns and thistles were in bloom. They made a deceptively pretty wall for Briseis' prison.
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Briseis spent most of her time in Achilles' tent. She was only allowed to go out if there was someone to guard her, to ensure that she didn't escape. Achilles dined most evenings at either the tent of Nestor or the tent of Ulysses. When he did, Patroclus escorted Briseis to join them. These dinners were pleasant enough. Nestor and Ulysses were both excellent hosts, and the food was both delicious and plentiful. The Greeks were hardly starving. They requisitioned the crops and livestock from all the farms and fields they didn't destroy, and the best always ended up on the tables of the Greek kings. Nestor could ramble on, as old men tend to do. Still, Briseis enjoyed his stories about people, places, and events she'd only heard about: sailing on the Argo with Jason, hunting the Caledonian Boar with Meleager and Atalanta, and fighting the centaurs with Theseus and Hercules. These tales always met with eye-rolls, groans, and snide comments from the other men, to whom they were less new and exciting. Frequently, Nestor interrupted himself with questions for Briseis about herself and her interests. "Do you play any instruments?" he said. "I play the harp," Briseis replied. "But I never had the patience to practice enough to be really good at it." Nestor smiled. "I'm sure you play beautifully, my dear. I'd love to hear you sometime." "But I don't have a harp." Briseis shrugged. The next day, a servant dressed in Nestor's livery brought Briseis a harp, a package of sheet music, and a note which read "practice makes perfect."
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