His fleet and his trierarch captains had worked wonders the day before. They had fought like lions for him – and for those they loved, who watched. He could not have found a single man who had not given his all – and the result had been the destruction of Persian hopes. He felt a warmth begin in his chest and his bladder tightened, reminding him he had not emptied it yet. He’d been too concerned with what dawn might reveal, hoping against hope that his letter to the king had brought about some effect.

He had not dared dream so much. His idea had been to persuade the king of Persia to pull back a dozen ships, two dozen – men sent away who might have sent Greek ships to the bottom. Instead, the sea was empty. Themistocles looked around in wonder as his officers came on deck. The news was spreading already. Cheering began below, swelling in a great wave as fleet crews heard and understood.

The king’s pavilion had been taken down on the beach. Xerxes and his guards had gone, his hundred ships vanished, rowed away in the small hours. Themistocles raised both arms suddenly, like a victorious boxer. He had done this! He had played his man and judged it to perfection.

Another cry went up to drown the first, a great howl that was different from the exultation of sailors. In response, their cheering died away as if it had been choked. Themistocles followed pointing hands on a dozen ships, looking west, away from the rising sun, to where his own shadow fell. His people called in warning, standing on the dunes of Salamis. They shouted and whistled to husbands and brothers and sons.

The second half of the Persian fleet was in the strait. Those men had rowed through unknown waters, risking rocks and hidden banks. Themistocles felt his lips ease away from his teeth as he snarled at them. Three hundred ships – more than sixty thousand men rowing up the strait to attack them. Yet inexperienced, untested.

His expression became a fierce grin, a smile of savage confidence. Those ships had left a fleet beleaguered and ground down. They had returned to one battered, yes, and weary, yes, but a fleet that had learned how to fight.

‘Put up the signal for my group to assemble on me. Every ship, every captain to engage and attack – in formation. On Xanthippus, on Cimon, on Eurybiades. On me. They came for war. Give them what they want.’