A great fleet sheltered off Samos, there was no doubt about that. Xanthippus had glimpsed a host of masts, slender as hairs at that distance, too far off to count. It could only be the Persian ships, anchored in safe waters on the island coast, close by the mainland. They thought they were too far from Athens for anyone to seek them out. He wondered if they were afraid to return home after losing at Salamis, or whether they had just sought shelter for the winter, as soon as they’d found a safe harbour. If that last was true, they might be heading out any day. He felt his excitement build.

Pericles put down a net, trawling it through the water. The waters lapped softly, making a gentle sound. It was a perfect moment, with his sons on a boat. Xanthippus felt his patience unravel.

‘Oh, pull it up, Peri. There’s no one close enough to see us. I want to get back. Turn us about and head west. Whistle me up a breeze, Ariphron! We’ll bring the fleet back with us. By Athena, we’ve found them!’

Pericles heaved folds of wet netting into the little boat. To his pleasure, there was a big fish tangled in it, fighting the strings. Pericles was looking at it in wonder when Ariphron took a wooden bar and smashed at it, scattering blood and scales until the fish was dead.

‘Did you have to do that?’ Pericles asked his brother.

Ariphron looked at him.

‘Yes,’ he said.

The setting sun was warm as they headed back to the allied fleet, the news confirmed. Xanthippus clapped both sons on the shoulder, pounding their backs in delight as wind found them, filling the little sail. Their speed increased, the boat skimming across a dark blue sea.

Part Three

Part Three

‘On me the tempest falls.’

– Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound

22

Aristides watched the Persian horsemen. The sun was rising, the day about to begin. In panelled coats, they shone in the pale rose light, milling, laughing, talking to friends. They reminded him of wasps. The evening before, they had raced in at extraordinary speed, launched spears or shot arrows, then vanished in a plume of their own dust. It might have seemed great sport, if they hadn’t left Greek bodies in their wake.

His hoplites had to have water, that was just the truth of it. The mountains were dry for a day’s march in any direction. Seventy thousand hoplites and half as many helots needed a vast and constant supply – and water was appallingly heavy. It was simply impossible to send men to carry enough for those who waited and guarded the mountain flanks. By the time they made their way back, they too were parched and gasping. For Aristides, it was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom. Despite all their efforts, there was never enough.