‘It is an old wound. I fought at Marathon, in the line. Took a spear in my gut …’ He shook his head as if the memory was too unpleasant to recall. ‘It troubles me still at times, so that I cannot eat. It will pass. Have no fear for me. I’ll survive to reach the Ionian coast, just as I paid you for.’

The captain had the grace to look a little embarrassed at that barb.

‘I’ll have to ask you for more if we are held in port for long. If the storm passes by or not, you still have to be fed and your bucket cleaned. A silver a day was the rate we agreed.’

Themistocles wanted to strangle the man. The only ship out of the bay of Argos that had not been stopping at Athens was at that very moment tying up in the port of Piraeus – and he was still being squeezed for more coins. No Athenian would have tried it, he was sure. However, his position was weaker than even the captain imagined. They could have asked for every coin and both spare sandals – and he’d still have been forced to pay.

He groaned for a while, then put a finger between cheek and teeth to pull out a silver drachm. Half a day’s wage for a working man. It had the owl of Athena stamped into the metal, he noticed. No doubt the goddess was laughing at him in that moment.

‘Here, kurios,’ Themistocles said with a wince, handing it over. ‘I pray it is enough.’

He seemed to collapse then, his eyes closing. The captain leaned over and pressed a hand to his forehead, but then shrugged.

‘For today it is. We’ll refill our water and take on fresh food for tonight. Perhaps that will ease your pain. I still have a cargo to collect in Ionia, so we’ll be on our way as soon as the storm passes, don’t worry about that. I’ll get you there.’

The captain patted Themistocles on the shoulder and left him, groaning softly to himself in the gloom below decks.

36

Themistocles frowned as they sailed into the bay by the city of Smyrna, on the Ionian coast. It had been founded by Hellenes, a seed blown on the wind across the Aegean. Yet it had not been spared the predations of Xanthippus. Themistocles had sat through the testimony of the man’s captains and senior officers, though the reality was always different. Smyrna lay just north of the island of Samos and the battlefield of Mycale. Xanthippus had still been filled with grief when he’d anchored his fleet along that part of the coast. The loss of his son had not been dulled by time or action. The results could still be seen in broken temples and burned properties, not yet rebuilt.