Xanthippus watched the great eye of the prow turn to the open sea. The oarsmen beneath his feet dipped and eased back, one slow stroke, then held the blades straight out. The helmsmen kept the ship in a gentle turn as they came side-on to the port.

On deck, twenty hoplites lined up in full armour. They brought a brazier with them and waited in silence as flame was touched to shavings of cedar. Pale smoke rose. Xanthippus stood with his sons and Epikleos, serious and devout.

On the quayside, priests came through the crowds, bringing a sacrifice for good fortune and success. Xanthippus watched as a black bull was brought forth, tugged on ropes by a dozen sweating labourers. The animal dragged two or three of them at a time as they struggled against its appalling strength. The crowd swayed back from it, fearing it would run mad and trample them.

The priests were experienced men and approached it without obvious fear, though the bull tossed its great head and snorted. Some of them poured water from a heavy jug over its head, while others scattered trails of barley seeds. The bull jerked back from the rattling sound, its eyes wide.

The chief priest cut its throat in that moment, making a single gash with a knife so sharp the bull seemed not even to feel it. Blood poured onto the docks and the animal stood still, lowing mournfully, visibly confused as they chanted and sang. The voices of the crowd rose in a great swell. They sang for Athena, whose city they loved. The verses of that went on longer than the chief priest wished, so that he held his hands high for quiet. He devoted the sacrifice to Athena, then Poseidon for gentle seas, Ares, the god of war, as well as Apollo for the blessed light. A long list of heroes were asked for their blessing, including Heracles, Odysseus and Theseus as seafarers. All three had travelled far across that very ocean, seeking adventures or vengeance, or just looking for a way home.

The bull staggered suddenly and dropped to its knees, still very much alive. Some of the blood was collected and thrown onto a charcoal brazier to spit and sizzle, carried to the gods on clouds of steam. On board the Athenian flagship, twenty paces offshore, Xanthippus made his own personal vows and prayers. He prayed aloud for Aristides to be victorious, for Themistocles to show wisdom and restraint in running the city. He prayed for one more hour of strength than his enemies. His sons lowered their heads and did the same.

When the priests on the quays raised their hands to signal the sacrifice was at an end, Xanthippus went right to the deck’s edge, dropping to one knee. They bowed their heads in return, and in that moment, he was free. Free to hunt.

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