Xanthippus gave testimony after him, over two days and four sessions. He described the sea battles around Salamis with extraordinary detail and recall, though his style was like a recitation and some people yawned as the sun moved. Xanthippus was questioned over the preparations for the second evacuation on the island Salamis, until he grew flushed and annoyed. At the end of the first day allocated for his testimony, he had to defend himself from families demanding compensation for slaves he had freed. It seemed more than three thousand had accepted his offer, rowing for the fleet in exchange for freedom. Those cases were dismissed as without merit, though it was as much because there were no funds as from any sense of justice. More than once, Xanthippus refused to answer, saying he had no recall of whichever detail they were after. It was more contempt for the questioners than truth, that was clear enough. The epistates of the day had grown flustered at his stubbornness.

‘Kurios, have you no words for the families of all those lost?’ he’d cried at last. ‘Must it be just ships and oars and silver coins spent?’

Xanthippus had lowered his head then, struggling to control his temper, for all the world like a bull facing the knife. He breathed slowly and full while the epistates paled, frowned on by half the crowd. Xanthippus had come back from exile to command a fleet – and he had done so with great skill.

Xanthippus had cleared his throat.

‘I count them all in those I love,’ he said. His words were repeated in whispers like a breeze across the hill. ‘Everyone who stood against the enemy of our people …’

He’d fallen silent for a time and the epistates had shifted uncomfortably. They did not know how to move on, not while Xanthippus stared at nothing. As the man had opened his mouth, Xanthippus began to speak again.

‘Some gave their lives gladly. They flung them away, with more bravery and sweetness than you could know. Some had what they loved most taken against their will. I have seen sacrifices so great they can never be repaid! Men just like us, who wanted to feel the sun again, who went instead into the dark …’ His eyes had been terrible, his face very still, as if he had been carved. ‘They should have monuments, but they should be remembered as well. Their stories should be told, as I have heard here. Not one of them thought we could ever win! Yet in the face of that certainty, with death looking at them, they picked up spears and shields. Because to do so made them men. It made them fathers and brothers … and sons.’ His voice had choked off then. When he went on, it was thick with grief. ‘The gods bless them, my son Ariphron among them. I was a better man while he lived.’