The harbour was too small to have a name.
Paris stood at the rail of the Carian trader as it bumped against the stone pier, his travelling case at his feet, his cloak plain and unadorned. Three days at sea, the last of them through a grey drizzle that had soaked through everything he owned. The crew were already unloading the timber that had filled the hold—legitimate cargo, the cover Ampelos had arranged. A Carian factor, travelling with a shipment of cedar, seeking new buyers along the Peloponnesian coast. His papers said his name was Alkimas. His papers were excellent. Ampelos had seen to that.
He paid the captain, shouldered his case, and stepped onto the dock.
