Xanthippus had no idea how to call the man’s personal boat, but Themistocles signalled to one of his officers and a banner was raised on a dory spear. They stood in respectful silence until it arrived and Eurybiades climbed down. He moved well enough, disdaining any help.

Xanthippus wondered who else would be listening on board. It was an odd sensation. He was used to speaking his mind and caring not at all who heard. Yet the fleet surging through the waters around him was not just Athenian, for all they had provided over half the ships and crews. It was Greek, a grand confederation. He felt his heart fill with excitement and he went to the side to watch.

Dozens of ships skimmed the sea together, like a flock of birds flying down the coast. The rows of oars swept a little like wings and white wakes sizzled and hissed behind them. Some of the ships were grey, but many more gleamed gold in new pine and oak, with rams shining wet as they rose out of the waves and then crashed down. It was simply beautiful.

‘You will not enjoy the food tonight,’ Themistocles said.

‘What food?’

‘Whatever slop they serve on the Spartan ship. I thought they were playing a joke on me when I went over, but they weren’t. They live like Aristides, all of them. You would think with all that training that they’d enjoy a little wine and spiced lamb. But it is always some dark brown muck, and bread you could use as a weapon. That’s what you get in a society without money! No one can buy anything better than the rest. What’s the point of that? Still, I would not like to be the Persian who tries to board one of his ships. That much I am sure of.’

Themistocles saw something strange come into Xanthippus’ expression and followed his gaze out across the sea. The land was not far off and the ships moved like pond-skaters past the route both men had marched to Marathon, an age before. Themistocles looked over his shoulder.

‘Give me our best speed!’ he bellowed.

The trierarch at the stern rose from his seat and grinned at the challenge. He gave the command for ‘ram speed sixty’ to the keleustes, the order-giver who stood with only his head and shoulders sticking out of the hold. That man vanished to roar at the oarsmen and the pace picked up immediately, faster and faster. Unseen in the hold, a drum began to sound to keep both wings working together and the ship heading straight.

‘Doesn’t she fly!’ Themistocles said. ‘As fast as a man can run, for sixty beats. Ramming speed, with all our weight behind the spear.’ His pride was evident, joy rising like sap to flush his face in the wind.

‘What is my post in all this?’ Xanthippus said, raising his voice to be heard over the shouts and drumbeats from below. Their ship had surged forward, running down those ahead and leaving the fleet behind for a brief period. He could feel flecks of spray touch his skin. It was hard to resist the pounding of his heart.