‘I understand this is all new to you, strategos,’ Ereius said. ‘Don’t worry about the ship. My little bird will go wherever we want her to – and these lads are the best afloat. Some of the new Athenian crews have slaves rowing them now. Mine are first pick, well trained. They know their orders. You’ll see.’

Xanthippus wished he felt the same confidence. For that matter, he wished he knew the first thing about war at sea.

He glanced at Epikleos. At least there was one he could trust completely.

‘On the orders of Themistocles, I am to select ninety ships, trierarch. My intention is to gather them in groups of no more than six, to work together.’

The captain’s sudden frown cleared at that part.

‘Six, even twelve would be hard enough, strategos. Ninety is … I do not want to say “impossible” to a man I have been told to teach as fast as anything I’ve ever done. Do you understand? I’ve fought sea actions against Aegina in the past, with dozens of ships on the water at the same time. As soon as battle begins, it’s every crew for themselves. The best ones win, or the luckiest, or the most blessed by the favour of the gods. The rest are rammed and sunk – or boarded, which some say is a worse fate.’

Xanthippus nodded to show he understood, hiding his frustration. Without the chance to speak to Epikleos in private – if there was even such a place on a trireme – he had no idea if Ereius was one of those who took pleasure in being an obstruction, or whether maintaining command in a fleet action of hundreds of ships was truly impossible. Without knowing the man a little better, it was hard to tell.

Themistocles had brought him back from exile, as a strategos he could trust. Xanthippus could understand that. At Marathon, Miltiades had needed Aristides, Themistocles, Xanthippus himself and half a dozen others. Some had died in the years since. Others had been ostracised by the Assembly and never come home. Xanthippus clenched his jaw at the thought. They were sorely missed. Good strategoi were rare. Their presence meant an archon could shore up a weakening line, or resist a sudden flanking attack. He could move ranks in his imagination and see the grand scheme carried out.

Xanthippus did not know if the same rules applied at sea. He understood he would have to learn as fast as a bright boy, just to be of use. He prayed to Athena he would never have to choose between orders from this captain, the Spartan who thought he led the fleet – and Themistocles, who clearly did.

‘Trierarch Ereius,’ Xanthippus said formally. ‘Back in Athens, I’ve seen codes and messages sent by torch pattern, right across the city, using shields where holes have been punched in the skin.’

‘That might be all right from the Acropolis or the Pnyx, strategos. Wouldn’t work in the daylight, though, not at sea. And we don’t sail at night, not ever.’