He shook his head. This was the reality of a campaign: salt spray drying on the skin; the scented oils that failed to hide the smell of sweat and bowels; the beard he had grown, then shaved off when it drove him mad with itching. There was little luxury on board ship, which forced him to focus on more serious matters. Half a dozen small boats were winging out to him. They spent their days empty, on ropes behind the main triremes, hissing along until they were needed to carry men or messages.

He watched ropes flung and the passengers clamber up the side of his flagship, choosing the best moment of the roll to climb. In normal times, he knew he would not have greeted them himself. A king had servants whose role it was to protect him, to act as his shield. It gave Xerxes a little satisfaction to see the aghast expression on the face of his seneschal as the king waved him back. He had left ceremony behind. This was a war fleet and he would not stand on his dignity.

The first to reach the deck was Mardonius, with others close on his heels. The flagship rail was lined with shields in the Phoenician war style, giving a safe place to duck behind in a battle. Only two breaches allowed them on board. They converged on the young king, prostrating themselves.

The only one who hesitated was the one who most intrigued him. Artemisia of Halicarnassus was Greek, though her little region had been a satrapy of Persia since at least his father’s time. Still, her mother was from Crete and she had known Greece in her childhood travels. She was one of the guides Mardonius most relied upon, but the only woman. She had brought five ships to his fleet, with crews of free men. Yet even a queen would bend.

Xerxes made a downward gesture with his right hand. She knelt rather than lay flat. He frowned at that, but let it pass rather than look petty in front of all the rest. Would his father have done the same? He did not know. He thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she rose with all the others. Xerxes stared at her until she looked aside. He was less at ease with women, especially those who claimed royal blood and the loyalty of trireme crews. There was no one else quite like Artemisia in his fleet and he wondered what would happen if he took her to his bed that evening. It would surely cost him five ships, but he had lost many more than that in squalls and on unseen rocks.

He watched her in silence and, of course, none of the others dared speak. She looked up at him again after a time, raising one eyebrow. A handsome woman, he thought. But too much trouble. He preferred a more pliant sort, who would be less likely to stab him in the eye, as she had reportedly done to an unfaithful lover. He blinked hard at the thought, as if a piece of dust had become trapped. Amusement appeared once more in her expression and Xerxes looked away. It was a trivial irritation. Perhaps because of her titles, she misjudged the relationship between them, of master and slave. If she continued to concern him, he knew he could give her to his guards to be chastised.