When the boat arrived and hailed the ship, Xanthippus prepared to step down onto the ladder. He had not expected a formal farewell, but Themistocles was there, suddenly, taking his right hand. They exchanged a nod.

‘Learn all you can,’ Themistocles said, ‘then join me back in the city tonight, with the other captains. You’ll need to get to know them.’

Xanthippus nodded sharply, determined not to fall in as he clambered into a boat at the apparent mercy of the slightest wave.

With the sun of Apollo sitting on the sea like a golden fruit, he was rowed to another trireme. It was far older than the one he had left, with timbers grey or bleached white by decades. To Xanthippus’ eye, his new ship sat lower in the water and looked weary, somehow. The mast stood tall and a sail had been gathered at its foot, ready to be raised to catch the wind. That would be a new experience.

The boatmen put him close and he knew to grip the ladder let down for him, holding on for dear life as he struggled up. He had no doubt he made it look hard, but he was just pleased not to fall in, especially when a roll submerged his ankles. He climbed fast as the ship swung the other way and sprang onto the deck. His legs were strong and he felt like a boarder in that moment.

A captain of Athens was there to greet him, wearing a plumed helmet and the armour of a hoplite. Xanthippus smiled as they shook hands, then waited for his bag to be attached to a rope and drawn up to land on the open deck next to him. Trierarch Ereius had to have been sixty years of age, his beard and chest hair completely white, though the former at least was neatly trimmed.

‘You are welcome on my ship, strategos,’ Ereius said. ‘Your friend has told me all about you.’

‘My friend?’ Xanthippus said, immediately wary.

‘Epikleos? He said he fought beside you at Marathon.’

Xanthippus looked up in delight at that. The preparations for war had kept him busy, almost frantic. He’d known Epikleos was on one of the ships but had seen neither hide nor hair of him, lost among forty thousand sailors.

It was with real joy that he saw his oldest friend climb out from the hold.

‘Xanthippus! Don’t believe a word of what old Ereius tells you. He is a tyrant with thirty years at sea, though the men adore him.’

To his credit, Ereius chuckled, standing back while Xanthippus and Epikleos embraced.

‘How are Agariste and the children?’ Epikleos asked.

‘Well. Better. Pericles and Ariphron have grown up straight and strong. I’ve heard you visited many times while I was away. Thank you.’

‘It was nothing, Xan. I just …’

‘No. My sons needed someone to be there, when I could not be. I will not forget.’

Epikleos flushed and looked embarrassed, his usual calm humour lost. He nodded.