One by one, the beached ships had ropes tied on and taken out to the rest of the fleet. They were not staying alongside the Persian hulls, where they were vulnerable. The ropes were tied to bronze rings on the sterns of those still floating in the strait. The rowers there dipped oars and dragged them back a little at a time. It was a perilous business, though the sea was calm and each one righted itself as it found deeper water and swam. Xanthippus gave private thanks for that.

His son Pericles stood on the sand, holding shield and spear, but lost in that place. Xanthippus swallowed a lump of fear in his throat at the sight of him. He was too young to be on that coast.

‘Peri, come over here,’ Xanthippus ordered.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the muscles move beneath the skin. There were men of Athens all around, close enough to listen as they checked their weapons and equipment. They knew he would ask them to march towards death and injury, something he would do himself. His authority was absolute in the presence of the enemy, but they were hard men. They would despise him if he sent his son back. He felt his teeth creak and grind. He wished Pericles had stayed on board, as he had been told to.

‘I would like to carry a spear for Ariphron,’ Pericles said clearly.

His younger son had his jaw jutting and his lips folded in, a mulish expression Xanthippus knew very well. At least the boy had chosen to challenge him in the open. He was wide enough across the shoulders to pass for a hoplite. It would not have been impossible for him to sneak in amongst the men. There would have been no helmet and shield for him of course, even if the hoplites had allowed it. They all knew one another; it was part of their bond in battle, that friends and tribes marched alongside in the phalanx. No stranger could stand amongst them without them knowing. No, Xanthippus realised, Pericles had no choice. The boy waited, defiant, terrified he would be sent back.

Xanthippus looked to Ariphron, waiting in full armour on the beach, white sand spattered to the thigh. His older son was watching him, trusting his decision. Presumably, Pericles had asked him first, or Ariphron would have sent his brother back himself. Both sons waited for their father’s word.