Dawn lifted over the Hellespont like a sword drawn from its sheath, revealing the wreckage of yesterday's struggle. Charred spars drifted between the patrol pickets, and gulls quarrelled over floating corpses. Aboard the Aquila, Caesar Crispus stood on the quarter-deck with twenty weary captains ranged before him. Resinous smoke still clung to the rigging; blood had soaked so deeply into the pine planks that no amount of scrubbing would ever quite purge it. The officers' shoulders sagged, eyes sunken after a night spent caulking holes and binding wounds. Crispus understood that the next words out of his mouth must weigh more than steel.