‘I am Xanthippus of Cholargos deme, Athens. Acamantis tribe, if you wish, though that is a new thing in our city, barely a generation past. I am Eupatridae – a landowner, you might say.’

‘A farmer,’ Eurybiades said, still prodding him.

Xanthippus smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder, watching to see how he reacted. To one who considered himself superior, it would be an insult. The Spartan seemed unmoved by the blow. Xanthippus wondered if Eurybiades was so used to physical violence that it had been beneath his notice. He had met wrestlers who hardly noticed any knock, at least until it drew blood. That was a troubling thought.

‘Other men oversee my land,’ Xanthippus said. ‘But, yes, I feed families in Athens. I am myself a strategos and soldier. I stood at Marathon. What are your memories of that battle?’

There was a long silence. Xanthippus could sense Themistocles readying himself to say something conciliatory, but the Spartan smiled and nodded, satisfied.

‘I was in the column that reached you a day late,’ he said. ‘I have regretted it for many years. We were … forbidden from leaving earlier. The ephors of Sparta …’

He stopped and shook his head. Such things were not for outsiders, though Xanthippus could have groaned in frustration. Neither he nor Themistocles moved to interrupt, and after a time, Eurybiades went on, awake to their interest.

‘Your runner came rather late, as I recall,’ he said sourly. ‘I remember I intended to take a whip to him later on, until I heard he had burst his heart.’ He folded in his lips so that they protruded in two ridges. ‘Still, it was my one chance to face the Persian Immortals! I would like to hear all you remember of that day, perhaps this evening? I would be honoured to entertain you on my flagship.’

It was a surprising offer, but Xanthippus agreed immediately. A Spartan warship was a rare thing in those waters. It might be his only chance to see one.

‘It would be my honour, trierarch.’

He used the title innocently enough, to a man who was captain of a Spartan ship. Yet it brought about a sudden stop to the growing goodwill between them.

‘Address me as “navarch” while I command the fleet,’ Eurybiades said.

Xanthippus dipped his head.

‘Yes, navarch. I apologise.’

The Spartan waved it away.

‘The first time is forgotten. Make no mistake twice and there will be nothing but honour and respect between us. Is that clear?’

Xanthippus did not need Themistocles to be staring at him with wide eyes. They would face a Persian fleet. He had put aside his vengeance for lost years because of that. Merely accepting the authority of a pompous Spartan was nothing in comparison.

‘It is, navarch,’ he said calmly.

Eurybiades nodded.

‘I should think so. Now, call my boat, if you would. I will expect you at sunset. The invitation includes you, of course, Themistocles.’

‘Duty keeps me here, navarch, though I wish it were not so.’