Themistocles began to inspect his men, stepping in close to rub away a smear of oil or blood, tapping them on the stomach or shoulders so that they stood straighter. It made the hoplites smile, through all their pain and weariness. In just a moment, Themistocles was chuckling along with them, sound without words. Not one of that small group could have said exactly why they laughed, but it was right.

When the sound died away, Themistocles had reached the end of the line. He turned back to them.

‘Gentlemen, it has been my privilege to serve with you. We have all lost friends who stood with us. They know we did not give way. We continued to fight – and we won. Their lives were not wasted. Tell that to the women and children on Salamis! When they ask how fathers and brothers and sons died, tell them they went with honour, to save us all. That if they had the chance, they would do it again. Tell them there was never a cause so clean, so noble as this. We offered all we have – and we are here still. Give thanks for that, to Poseidon who kept us safe, to Ares who guided our hand, to Athena, who brought us through. In her name, in the name of all the gods … in the name of all those who no longer stand with us, thank you.’

He looked at them and felt tears come to his own eyes. There was no shame in it, not for an Athenian. Not that day.

‘I stood at Marathon, lads. I thought I would never see its like again, nor know men as brave. I can’t say that now. I have known you. I am proud of you all.’

Some of the Persian fleet had escaped the net of galleys thrown across the strait. Xanthippus had left them a breach, preferring to let them run rather than fight to the last ship and last man. Themistocles had witnessed over a hundred Persian captains decline battle at the last, just going flat out to reach open sea and leave their tormentors behind. One or two had been marked by splashes as they threw protesting officers overboard.

Lost in the desire to punish them, Themistocles had almost manoeuvred his smaller group into their path, but held back. There was an hour in every conflict when both sides came close to breaking. Exhaustion can ruin an army, no matter how well trained, no matter how committed. Themistocles had sensed in time how near his people were to being overwhelmed. He wondered if the choice to hold back counted as another moment of genius from him. He decided it probably didn’t, not in comparison to the rest.