‘I see your father in you,’ Themistocles said. ‘And Cimon is right, of course. I have saved Greece more than once. I might yet do it again. Oh, don’t snort, Aristides! You argued for the new silver from Laurium to go into the pockets of the people, didn’t you, instead of a fleet? Well, that fleet gave us the only chance we had. Who argued for it and saved the lives of every woman and child of Athens? Ah, yes, I remember! And the letters to Xerxes in his tent on the shore? Which genius made him split the fleet? Who sent him running home? Was it … I forget, Aristides, can you recall the name of that great hero?’

Aristides stared coldly at a man he detested. Themistocles had never lacked for self-belief, but since the beginning of the war, his confidence had become a thing of bronze, a statue to himself in his own mind.

Themistocles grinned at him, very aware of the opposing forces in his allies. They listened because no one else was offering solutions to the disaster.

‘What do we want most?’ he asked them. ‘Truly?’

‘The Persians to leave, or to defeat them,’ Cimon replied, when no one else did.

‘Exactly …’ Themistocles replied. ‘Though they will not leave, I think, not without some intervention from the gods which we cannot force. We might pray for the death of their king, perhaps. That would surely call these Persians home. Failing that … we need Sparta on the field. It is our only hope. The events of this morning serve as a reminder, gentlemen. We cannot live in fear. We cannot see our city burned, over and over. Nor can we run to Salamis each time, to starve in this poor place. Sooner or later they will bring another fleet back.’

He held up one arm, powerful and tanned. With a sharp movement, he shoved his palm across, as if the whole world might move at his gesture.

‘On that side: fear and destruction at their whim, or being vassals to a foreign king. We cannot accept it. So … if all that is impossible, ignore it! What is left to us? Only war, to the end, without respite or truce. I stood at Marathon. I walked a deck at Salamis. I will not bend my knee to Persia or any other king. I was born in a free city; I will die a free man. However it comes.’

All lightness and humour had seeped from him. The difference was startling, though he looked older and more weary than he had before. Themistocles shook himself, as if the sea breeze had made him shiver.

‘It all becomes simple in the end. If we must go to war, we must have Sparta. The question is only what would bring Sparta out from behind their wall – what would break through their arrogance and self-satisfaction.’