A few cats still watched from some doorways, curling round the legs of his soldiers and mewing. They would all burn. Perhaps the men would fix brands to their tails and send them off to shriek and spread the flames. Such things had been done in other cities, though Mardonius thought it extravagant. Simple was always better than complicated, in his experience.

He thought of the walls that surrounded Athens. Great gates and towers were as much a symbol as any true protection. Yet whatever they were, they could be broken with hammers and hooked poles. He had an army of more than quarter of a million men, fit as any horse or pack of hounds. They would take down the walls.

High on the Acropolis, Mardonius heard thin shouts and the clash of arms, even as the rising plume of smoke obscured it. He bit his lip. It would not do to trap his own men in streets of flame. No, he had to think like an engineer and set about the task with calm thought. Let the king enjoy his victories! Xerxes had earned them.

Another hazarabam of a thousand men came in quick time down the street, appearing out of smoke that still thickened and spread. Mardonius sent a couple of the lowest ranks back to carry his commands, the rest after Xerxes. The king thought nothing of his own safety. He merely trusted his general to secure it.

Mardonius knew he served his king well. His heart burned at the thought, as fiercely as the roofs around him.

2

Spray lashed at Themistocles as the galley surged to greater speed. The sea should have been calm in the strait between the island of Salamis and Piraeus, the great port of Athens. Yet their ram crashed through waves broken and boiled by hundreds of ships, thousands of oars.

Themistocles felt a moment of confusion, the product of leaden weariness. He shaded his gaze with a free hand, relying on balance and powerful legs to hold him steady on deck. For just an instant, he had lost the sense of structure, the patterns of ships suddenly chaos all around him. It was still there, if he could just see it! He wiped seawater from his eyes, feeling the stiffness of salt on his skin. He wore no armour. Only his hoplites and helmsmen did, those men the target of every enemy arrow.

Themistocles gripped a hoplon shield on his left arm and watched the enemy ships. Below his feet, three ranks of thirty rowers gripped oars on either side, one hundred and eighty free men of Athens. They were all free. Even household slaves had been offered freedom if they agreed to row, so he’d heard. He shook his head. That would surely come back to bite them, if they survived the war.