Themistocles was beginning to fret when he saw a shift in patterns ahead. Xanthippus was no friend of his, not after the banishment. Yet both men trusted one another, at least against this enemy. While Athens burned, they could both put aside petty differences. Still, Xanthippus was not the first commander to answer the flag.

Themistocles saw a group of ships approach, swimming as one, for all the world like a shark drifting through bodies and debris. He recognised the young man on the foremost deck. Cimon stood by the high prow, moving well with the rise and fall of the ship, legs slightly apart, hands clasped lightly behind his back. The strategos had inherited his father’s ability to lead, or perhaps just his family wealth and name. No, that was unworthy, Themistocles thought. Cimon moved well, stood well, weighed his words before he spoke. It was not important which quality gave him authority. If men obeyed, the result was much the same.

In truth, it did not matter what Themistocles thought of any of his colleagues, not while they fought to survive – not while their people watched on a bare island. Themistocles bit his lip at the thought. Was there even water on Salamis? Food? He did not think he had ever landed there, though he’d rowed and fished for squid around it a hundred times. Just across the strait from Athens, it had been the only possible refuge for their people as the Persian fleet rushed down the coast after them. He and the other captains had saved their loved ones, but perhaps only for a day. Themistocles wished there was a chance for them to run, instead of an island that might as well have been a prison …

As Cimon drew alongside, they both saw the galley of Xanthippus approaching. Together, the three Athenians formed a raft of ships, close-packed in the centre of the strait, with trusted crews on all sides to see off any sudden surge of the enemy. Around them, the battle went on – and allied ships were suffering with three of their commanders out of the fight.

Themistocles felt strain grow in him as Xanthippus came to the edge of his deck. Ropes were thrown and those below dragged in oars so the ships could ease together. Themistocles wondered if the famous bridge of ships Xerxes had built for his army to cross the Hellespont had been formed in the same way. He could imagine a snake of hundreds of galleys, their entire decks boarded over. On that wide causeway, the army of Persia had marched into the west.

Cimon’s helmsmen brought him in on the other side, with Themistocles pinched in the middle. Without warning, Cimon jumped across to the open deck. He landed close by Themistocles, making the perilous manoeuvre look easy.