The intelligence arrived on a Phoenician trader, the same vessel that had been carrying Ampelos's messages for years. The captain was a man named Baal-Saphon, grey-bearded and cautious, who had been running information across the Aegean since before the war was a word anyone spoke aloud. He delivered the tablet to Ampelos personally, his weathered face grim.
"It's happening faster than we thought," Baal-Saphon said. "Every port I stopped at, every harbour, every island—they're all talking about it. The queen of Sparta, stolen by a Trojan prince. The sacred laws violated. The honour of Greece trampled. Agamemnon's message reached every corner of the Peloponnese within days. The minor kings who were wavering have fallen in line. The ones who wanted to stay neutral have been pressured into compliance. Even the cities that don't care about Menelaus or his wife are sending ships. Not because they believe the story—because they're afraid of what Agamemnon will do if they don't."
