Dawn over the Hellespont revealed a grim scene. Aboard the Aquila, Crispus stood among his assembled captains. The air was acrid with the smell of pitch and old smoke, and crewmen were still scrubbing at the dark stains that marked where men had fallen the day before. The captains themselves were hollow-eyed with fatigue, their faces grim. He needed to give them a reason to believe they could win.
"Amandus is overconfident," Crispus told them, his voice sharp and clear, cutting through their weariness. "He believes he has us pinned, that he can grind us down with his superior numbers. We will use that arrogance against him." He pointed to the charts. "The winds in this strait are fickle. The local pilots tell me that on hot afternoons like this, they often shift, suddenly and violently, to the south. We will stake our victory on that shift."
