He looked back to where a great coil of smoke rose above the city. His knuckles whitened on the shield grip in helpless fury. The Acropolis was visible in the distance and Themistocles murmured prayers to Ares, god of war. Though there was no temple there to that bloody god, it was the right time. With a pang of guilt, Themistocles prayed to Athena too. She was a goddess in armour, after all. They were her people. He was hers – and never helpless while she smiled on him.

As he looked towards the city, he saw a marching column appear on the port shore. His soldier’s eye knew instantly that they were not hoplites, not Greek. The panelled coats were wrong, the shields a different shape … He shaded his eyes again, his sight better at a distance than up close, for which he was grateful that day. At least he could see the enemy, sharp as insects. He bit his lip at the idea of Persian soldiers strolling and laughing in Athens, standing in holy temples unchallenged. It was an abomination, but if a man could not hold what he had won, it would always be taken from him. The gods demanded strength, or gave subjugation and slavery. That was the simple truth that lay beneath all the gardens and gymnasia of Athens. Resist, or be slaves.

‘That one!’ his captain called. ‘Or those two. They look damaged.’

It was a question as much as anything and Themistocles brought his focus back to the ships around him. Xanthippus had passed by and a second wing of ships under Cimon was some way back. Themistocles eyed the possible targets and saw the broken oars and slight list of the closest Persian pair. They had taken a beating from someone. He nodded.

‘Ram either of those two. They have hardly anyone on deck. That other doesn’t look as if he could outrun a child. We’ll take them after. Then, with the blessing of Poseidon and Athena, come back for the third.’

The trierarch captain clapped him on the shoulder, which Themistocles ignored. He heard the order relayed to the keleustes, who stood with only his head showing above the level of the deck. That man ducked to bellow to the rowers, keeping them informed and then raising the pace. The helmsmen gripped the steering rudders and the trierarch went to the prow to gesture left and right, guiding them in. The period at half speed had been a blessing and the galley fairly leaped at the enemy.