The attack came from the sea an hour before dawn.
The lookout on the northern headland saw them first—dark shapes moving against the dark water, oars cutting the surface in perfect silence. He had time to light the signal fire and scream one warning before the first arrow took him in the throat.
The fire blazed up against the night sky, and the Greek camp erupted.
Men tumbled from their tents, grabbing for weapons that weren't there, shouting orders that no one followed. The signal bells began to ring, a ragged, panicked sound that echoed across the bay. Horses screamed in their pickets. Somewhere in the chaos, a tent caught fire, and the flames spread with terrifying speed, illuminating the nightmare that was coming out of the sea.
There were hundreds of them.
