‘Why don’t you see to this fine horse – Soldier, was it?’

He was pleased when Pericles just rolled his eyes, without the saturnine darkness he had shown before. Xanthippus patted him on the back, realising how much he had missed embracing his children. He opened his arms and all three came naturally in without another word, crushed to him in the evening light. Conis pushed in amongst them then, making them smile.

When he came into the house, Xanthippus’ eyes were still red. Agariste was there and he saw the anger in every line of her, the stiffness and resentment. As he approached, she raised her arms to fend him off, but he smothered them and hugged her tightly. He felt her sob against his chest.

‘I have been a fool,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

34

The sun glittered on the water in a million flecks of light. The Acropolis of Athens could be seen from the port and Xanthippus bowed his head to Athena, murmuring her prayer. On impulse, he added prayers to Poseidon, whose realm he had entered, then Ares for the war to come. Apollo had been his childhood hero, so Xanthippus added lines to honour the sun and source of life, then called to mind Theseus and Heracles. There were many gods and guardians of Athens. He felt them all around him, thick as bees, while the little boat rocked. It was hardly more than an open shell, twice the length of a man. Two benches sat across the width, thick pine, sun-bleached and worn. Xanthippus eyed the pair of rowers, seeing strength and easy endurance. They were dark, with white hair on their forearms. Like the boat, they had known years of hard use. Xanthippus wondered if they would keep their favoured spot when the war came. He doubted it. The fleet would need every rower, especially men as competent as these.

He sat in the stern and they faced him, side by side, while the trireme grew to fill his vision. The massive port of Piraeus dwindled behind, built stronger and dredged deeper by Themistocles, so he had been told. Themistocles was a hero in that place, Xanthippus had discovered. So many men owed their livings to him, he was beyond any fear of exile, at least that year. Xanthippus did not know how he felt about that.

He put such thoughts aside. He was out over water deep enough to drown a man. It was not calming to imagine a darker, colder world beneath his feet, with grey sand and unseen fish flapping slowly through the gloom.

Ahead, the trireme wallowed; there was no other word to describe it. Xanthippus had known merchant vessels that almost seemed to fly, with sails taut and creaking. In comparison, the broad-beamed warships seemed horribly unstable on the deep water. Neither sails nor mast were visible. He understood they had been taken down for the sea trials, as was normal practice. With the oars drawn in, the great ship seemed almost helpless, like a piece of stick bobbing on the ocean. Even as he watched, the approach of his little craft brought the long oars out, with shouted orders carrying to his ears. Three levels of sweeps splashed down, fully ninety men to a side, all sitting so close their sweat dripped onto those below.