‘The first went with my carpenter’s boy. I asked Xerxes to send half his fleet around Salamis. I told him we would surrender if he did, that we could not defend both ends of the strait. As a result, he split his fleet. Acting on my instruction, he made them into two halves we could destroy, instead of one great formation we could not. That single decision saved us all, but even then, while Athens burned, the future of Greece hung in the balance. Last night, I sent a second letter, saying some of my most warlike captains were intent on sailing back to his famous bridge of ships, to destroy it. To prevent that, Xerxes stole away in the night – taking another hundred ships with him! So when you drink to our victory, be sure to raise a cup or two to luck – and to Athenian cunning. Or, why not? To Themistocles!’

He said the last while raising a hand, as if he made the toast himself. The Spartan leader blinked. He did not echo the words. Cimon laughed though, leaning back slightly as if blown by a wind.

‘To Themistocles!’ he said.

Themistocles bowed his head in thanks.

Xanthippus scowled at them both.

‘Gentlemen, I did not come here to praise, or be praised. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but we have the people of Salamis already going on board our ships. We must have a destination! My crews have no water left, no food on board. They are in desperate need. I came here to see if anyone has stores we can share out, fresh water in particular. I came to find out if anyone knows a safe place we can take our women and children, before the rowers collapse. Even if Themistocles is right …’ He paused to glare at his countryman, still standing with an eyebrow raised, as if surprised to be interrupted. ‘If he is right about the Persian king, there is still an army in Attica. I assume they left when they torched the city, but can it be safe to land at the Piraeus? I don’t want to have won the war at sea, only to deliver our people into their hands!’

Xanthippus was low-voiced and serious. In just a few words, he had turned the mood from giddiness and exultation to grim purpose. Though his words made perfect sense, Themistocles had never liked him less.

‘I came to say farewell,’ the Spartan Eurybiades said suddenly. ‘As you say, half of my sixteen ships were sunk, their crews lost. It is my duty now to return to the Peloponnese, to take this news and patrol the coasts there.’

‘And to summon out the army of Sparta,’ Xanthippus added.

Eurybiades seemed to hear criticism in the tone. It may have been there.