His son Ariphron turned to him in question, expecting his father to know exactly what to do, as he always did. Xanthippus smiled tightly for him. They had passed into the shadow of Samos, with the cliff of the mainland making the air cold. Yet he had been given a task. He would finish it, however hard it became.

‘Signal King Leotychides,’ he called. ‘Have my boat readied. All senior officers are to attend the navarch on his flagship.’

Xanthippus forced a pleasant expression as his friend Epikleos approached. The role of a captain was never a private one, but the decisions were his alone. Still, he nodded at the worry he saw in a man who had known him for years, who had stood with him at Marathon.

‘We could burn those ships easily enough,’ Epikleos said. ‘Just a few arrows soaked in pitch and we’d have the entire fleet alight. That would make the point.’

‘Experienced crews can build new ships,’ Xanthippus said grimly. ‘No, we’ll be landing. We came here to punish them, to make sure they never return to Greece. There is only one way to be sure of that.’

Epikleos understood and bowed his head.

‘We’ll land hoplites, then. I believe I am the senior officer.’

Xanthippus looked at one who had stayed with him over a lifetime, loyal and true.

‘Not today. I will be with you, Epikleos. I’ll be in command.’

His friend nodded. Together they looked over the shore.

Cavalry terrified standing men. A unit of horsemen could build up to a gallop on one side of a battlefield, then whip past stationary ranks like a thunderbolt, with no time for them to react or pull back. Aristides hated them with the fervour of any hoplite. He still stood in line with the rest, three ranks deep, levelling spears in a forest of thorns. The horses could not break through, for which he was grateful. The sheer weight of armoured man and beast made that a terrifying thought. He did not think the animals could be made to charge a wall of shields, but if they could, the spear-points stood out to kill.

He drew in a huge breath and made his voice a thing of brass, carrying across the field.

‘And hold ! There. Very good. The Spartans are judging us this evening, never mind the Persians. Hold this line. Keep your shields high and locked. Spears ready if they charge. Ground the butts and put a foot on them. Let our lads fetch the water we all need.’

He stopped. He did not have the easy way with them that Themistocles had, he knew that. Yet he thought they understood one another well enough. Soldiers liked simple tasks, without ornament.

The Persian horsemen dug in their heels and came on, accelerating with sickening speed. Aristides looked over his shoulder to where his little group of archers rested on one knee, hidden by the shield line.