The fleet waiting for him in the strait of Salamis was proof of their intent. Only fishing boats and a few merchant vessels would remain to feed those left behind. Every fighting warship of Greece afloat had come to anchor by Athens. They were not as many as they had been at Salamis, but they were all he had. He had kept no reserve, because in that year there was only one enemy. They would resist. That was what had been agreed between Athens and Sparta and all the rest. Though Thebes and Macedon and dozens of small states had thrown their lot in with Persia, those who had not would march and stand. It was a single throw of the dice for all they were, all they might ever be.

Xanthippus frowned, looking over the busy port. There were crowds shoving and swirling there, women and children braving the roads to watch their men go out. He could see fear in their faces as they strained and peered. He did not feel it himself. No, he felt exultation. This was right. As Themistocles said, no one keeps a reserve in a fight with a bear. It was all or nothing, for a future as free men or slaves.

The galley rocked gently, though she was tied up on the dock. Xanthippus greeted his two sons formally, taking them by the hand and shoulder, turning them to introduce his crew. His trierarch was Ereius, a veteran of Salamis and one he trusted. The keleustes too came up from his post, standing to attention to greet Pericles and Ariphron. The lads took his big hand awkwardly, though Pericles flashed a grin out of sheer pleasure.

They already knew their father’s friend, Epikleos, who would command the force of hoplites on board. Epikleos had been present at both Marathon and Salamis, as well as being the one who had galloped to warn the estate in the invasion. They knew their father trusted him. In his own way, he was a friend to the entire family. Xanthippus watched as Epikleos laughed with the two young men. There were lines on his face that had not been there before the Persians.

Xanthippus found himself rubbing his own cheeks. He was thin and tanned, his skin like leather from so long aboard ship. To be a strategos at sea was a constant grind of labour and orders, but he had discovered he loved it. He enjoyed the routines and rituals, even the privations of poor food and limited water. Such things suited him. Life at sea was hard, but he understood it – and every passing day honed the fleet like a spear blade.

To have his sons on board felt like an indulgence of his authority. As a result, he kept his expression stern for the men, almost thunderous. No other rower or hoplite had his sons alongside him. It would not do to show the private joy he felt.