Agariste shook her head in exasperation. The crowd were desperate for news of any kind. They would all be listening. It would not have surprised her to hear some of the resentment she sensed came from having family treasures taken from them on the docks. If she had known Pericles would speak so loudly, she would have dragged him closer and made him breathe it into her ear. In that too, he was an innocent, gloriously so.

Agariste and Eleni bent closer as Pericles settled himself on the matting, ready to say it all again. Ariphron too came to stand by them, loath to give up his dignity, but caught between duty and desire to hear what was going on. In the end, his discipline won the battle and he kept guard, turning the hollow dark of his helmet on those who clustered too close to his family.

Themistocles looked at the man – no, the archon – whose name would mark the year. He had never regretted bringing Xanthippus back from exile. Xanthippus was made for authority in war, the perfect strategos. Some men thought authority amounted to little more than a good shouting voice and a noble family. Themistocles could have thrown a rock and hit a dozen of those. Yet Xanthippus understood how to give orders to others – and the right ones to give. It was a rare skill, which was why Athens only ever appointed ten strategoi in times of war, with a polemarch to command them. The Assembly was a wondrous thing that should not have worked half as well as it did. Yet in battle, on the ground or at sea, men needed to follow orders and trust those who gave them. It was a time for tyranny.

Themistocles realised his particular genius lay in choosing the right men. It meant he was free to keep the whole city in the corner of his eye, to look ahead and plan and plan. Themistocles was beloved of the gods, there could be no doubt about that. Or perhaps he had been blessed by them, given a capacity for hard work and a lively mind. He did not mind which it was. He had saved Athens more than once. He told himself he could do it again, if he could just persuade the men before him to break their oaths and undermine their honour.

He looked once more to Xanthippus, remembering how he had commanded at Marathon, eleven years before. Aristides and Cimon stood on the same new docks, impatient. Dozens more gathered around, senior men, though weary; unshaven as the wooden quays they had thrown up in double-quick time. The epistates for the day was on hand, a man of Cecropis tribe. In time of war, wherever they stood, the Assembly had convened, that was the simple truth of it. Themistocles breathed and made himself think.