The siege had a rhythm now.
Lysander noticed it on the ninth day. The same pattern. The same hours. The same sounds.
Dawn: horns. The Greeks formed up. Arrows. A probing attack on one section of wall. Repelled by noon.
Afternoon: silence. The wounded tended. The dead collected. Both sides breathing.
Evening: watch. The fires lit. The smoke rising. The sound of a thousand men settling into routine.
Then sleep. Then dawn again.
Nine days of this. The same shape. The same beat. Like a song no one had chosen but everyone was singing.
The first real assault came on the tenth day.
Not at dawn. At midday, when the sun was highest and the defenders were rotating shifts, expecting rest instead of violence.
Hector saw it before the horns sounded.
"Northern wall," he said. He was standing at the command tower, looking out over the Greek camp. His voice was flat. Certain. "Third section. They're shifting weight to the left flank. Watch the spacing."
