For men who lived with a chance of drowning each day, it was always a relief to send their ship easing up onto good, clean sand and then clamber out, bows and knives ready to catch anything they could add to the ship’s stores. At that time of the year, it was not hard to find turtle and bird eggs of a dozen different colours and sizes, all ready to be gathered up and cooked.

Those around the fire were blind to the night beyond. They did not see the Persian ship that came out of the north. No lights showed as it glided unseen on the still waters, using the shelter of the land that had led them to that place. If the lookout on the ship at anchor had been alert, he might have seen white patches of oars kissing the waters. Instead, Androcles was whittling something for his love in the local town, all his attention on the piece he was carving under starlight. She would appreciate it. They always did. He’d left dozens of the things in ports on all the coasts of Greece and as far as Rome. Reminders of his touch, for his little doves to sigh and pat as they went past to piss in the mornings.

Androcles looked up in confusion as something bumped against the hull. He rose from his seat on the open deck, walking carefully to the edge. There was no railing there and men who had been drinking all had stories of going over the side in the darkness. It was one reason they learned to swim and wore no armour while they were on board. Men who wore armour never came back up.

The young man had his whittling knife in one hand and a crude statue of a turtle in the other. Originally from the island of Aegina, the turtle was his home symbol and graced silver coins all over the Aegean. This would be a particularly fine one when it was finished. He padded across the deck, feeling with his bare feet and wary of the edge.

‘Polias? Tyros? Who’s there?’ he hissed.

Some of the crew could have made the swim from shore. They had lost two men the month before in some sort of race that had started on a beach and with a full skin of strong wine. The trierarch had forbidden any more contests of that sort, but then he was asleep at the stern, snoring under his awning. Androcles had the suspicion that the captain was a fool, but he didn’t want to be the one responsible for waking him for nothing.

He leaned over and made a confused sound as two shadows leaped up, rushing at him. Androcles drew in a breath to shout and wake the captain, but they grappled him, pinning his arms and pressing a hand against his mouth.

The crews on shore were half-asleep when one of their number gave a shrill whistle, then shouted to rouse them. Despite the drink and rich food, they tumbled out of their cloaks and grabbed shields and swords. The closest ship’s hull gleamed like a great fish in the moonlight, but there was no sign of any attack. Cries of pain and anger sounded somewhere out on the waters, thin at a distance. They turned in confusion to the watchman. He pointed furiously further out, jabbing the air.