Dawn came grey and cold.
The Greek fleet moved at the first light. The signal went up on Agamemnon's flagship — a red banner, raised twice. The columns formed. Twenty ships abreast. The first wave entered the strait.
From the northern wall, Lysander watched them come.
The strait was narrow. Less than half a mile across at its tightest point. The Greek ships had to enter in columns, squeezed between the headland and the southern shore. The first ships were the most exposed. If the net held, they would be trapped. If the fire ships reached them, they would burn.
"The net," Hector said beside him.
Lysander looked at the water. The surface was calm. The current ran south through the strait — steady, predictable, the same current that Daidalos had designed the net to exploit. If a ship's oars were fouled, the current would hold it in place. The fire ships would close in. The trapped ship would burn.
"Watch," Lysander said.
