He rubbed his jaw, feeling the stubble that had grown there. He could not remember the last time he’d eaten. Before that dawn, with the rowers? He needed to order another break, for bowls of food to be passed out … He smiled then, at his own audacity, understanding what he had to do.

Themistocles looked to the stern, where signal flags were rolled and ready for use. No, there was no time to summon Xanthippus and Cimon, even if they would have come at such a critical point, just when the enemy were ready to break. After so long in battle, the Greeks finally had the numbers. Every moment increased their advantage, pinning Persian ships from both sides, released only to drown. Yet the pace had fallen off. As he looked with fresh eyes, he saw the way oars fouled one another and dug weakly at the sea. It was as if he stood once more at Marathon, watching an enemy line shudder and flicker, the day hanging in the balance.

Themistocles firmed his jaw. This was something he had to do himself, to save them whether they appreciated it or not. He looked for the boy he’d used before, then grimaced as he realised the Persians had not returned him. Themistocles sent a brief prayer for the lad, hoping he had at least been set free.

‘Fetch me one of the rowers, someone who can swim. And get the brazier lit once more – and some wax and papyrus. I have a second message to send.’

Some of his crew had heard every word of the conversations with Xanthippus and Cimon. They knew exactly what he had done and the risks he had taken to achieve the victory to that point. To his surprise, Themistocles heard them chuckling and muttering that he had another one of his plans. They were like children on a feast day as they clapped one another on the back and called for an oarsman. Themistocles took a slow breath, calming himself. The first letter had sent half a fleet away. The second needed to be a masterpiece of persuasion, if it was to work at all.

6

Darkness brought fear, as it often had in childhood. Xerxes paced up and down in front of his pavilion, sand crunching beneath his feet. There was a distant glow at his back from districts of Athens that still burned. The moon too cast a gleam across the strait. Even so, his previous mood of peace and calm had vanished. In the night, he fretted, twisting a fold of cloak in one hand.

There was no sign yet of the ships he had sent round Salamis. Before the last light had gone, he’d ordered men to run down the coast to look for them. They had reported no sails, no sighting of oars sweeping back. Xerxes blessed the name of Themistocles for trying to end the battle quickly, but the cost was too high.