It did not hurt to remind the men of a victory, hard won, nor that their officers had all been part of it. It mattered, too, that they were safe from storms. The danger was always there. Any crew of their number could tell tales of some close brush with drowning, as their ship dipped and took on water. The threat was constant, with only skill, balance and officers who could read the sea keeping them alive.

The counterpoint was their extraordinary speed, enough to smash another ship, with three rows of oars heaving them on, sending them like a racehorse across the waves. No mere sails could match their pace, not even for a moment. They were a fine breed, but too fragile for rough sea.

The Spartan ships responded with the quick neatness Xanthippus had come to expect from them. From the deck of the flagship with Themistocles, he knew Eurybiades would be watching, holding his people to a higher standard than the rest. The navarch had spent a day observing the new flag signals as Xanthippus and his trierarchs practised. Xanthippus was still not certain Eurybiades would respect them in the heat of battle. He hoped so – the Spartans were his vanguard, his breakers of walls. Behind them in formation came the Athenian triremes, with those of Corinth bringing up the rear and all the others of their alliance. In all, they had three hundred ships of Greece – Xanthippus could still shake his head in awe when he considered the sheer number of rowers and hoplites in them, never mind the labour and fortunes that had gone into their construction. They were the wealth of Greece, her wooden walls.

With the plain of Marathon in sight, the fleet anchored as soon as they were close to shore, safe from the waves pulling them further onto the beaches. It was strange to think that they chose that place for the same reasons the Persians had years before. Perhaps they could have gone further in a day, Xanthippus thought, but it would be good for the men.

‘Are we going ashore?’ Epikleos said.

He had climbed up from his tiny berth in the hold, in response to the sound of anchor ropes whirring out. Xanthippus shook his head. It was not something he wanted to discuss, with so many in earshot. The truth was that Themistocles had given the order in private the night before. Men lost their nerve, sometimes, no matter how well they had prepared or how firmly they swore loyalty. The crews had said their farewells to those they loved. The enterprise had begun. If they were allowed to spend a long first night in reach of the city, Xanthippus agreed with Themistocles that some of them would surely vanish by the morning.

‘Not tonight,’ Xanthippus said. ‘Themistocles … wants us to get used to being on board. No shore leave from now on.’

He looked sharply at his friend, and if Epikleos suspected there was more, he did not press it.