The sail coming down was a signal to the ships behind. When Xanthippus went to the stern, he saw the action repeated from one end of the fleet to another, with oars rattling out and beginning to sweep together. The pace of the fleet increased as they approached the tip of land on their right side.

From the high stern between the steering oars, Xanthippus saw a streamer of blue and red unfurl, moving as a living snake in the wind. Form line; attack. He heard the slow drumbeat begin below, settling the rowers, warming their muscles for hours of toil ahead. The ship’s boys filled waterskins from casks in the hold, ready to take them to whoever cried out in thirst. The men in the holds would row until they yelled in pain, until muscles failed and quivered and spit was iron in their mouths. Some of them tied their hands onto the oars, ready to keep stroke, no matter what it cost. The spirit was stronger than the flesh. It did not matter how many ships the Persians had brought. They would be met; there was no turning back.

Themistocles knew there was no point trying to call the sixteen Spartan ships into formation. Eurybiades had made that clear enough, in his disdain for what he still called Athenian cunning. It had not taken a great mind to suspect the Spartan ships would go straight at the enemy the moment they were sighted.

Those ships surged ahead, even as he watched. Themistocles saluted them ironically, knowing there would be no one looking behind as they went at the Persians. In some respects, it was the right tactic for a limited sea lane. Neither he nor Xanthippus had expected to find the Persians driving so far into Greek territory. The conditions were cramped and all the more dangerous for it. When the fighting began, it would be bloody chaos. Themistocles smiled to himself, though there was no humour in it. He knew the men who sailed with him. If there was not enough clear sea to manoeuvre, they would just have to make some by sinking enemy ships. All they had to do was hold the strait and prevent the Persians coming any further south.

As the fleet dropped sail and set out banks of oars, Themistocles felt the speed increase as a sudden surge. The Spartans had eased ahead, coming abreast of the three with Xanthippus. It made sense to have an unbroken line to meet the enemy. Themistocles raised his eyes when he saw the Spartans ignore the three scout galleys, pushing past as if they were too slow.

‘Greeks and their games,’ Themistocles muttered. ‘Go swiftly then, my Spartan leopards. Tear them apart.’

He saw Xanthippus raise blue and red and felt his breath come faster. Themistocles lifted a hand to the signal boy waiting for his order. The child nodded fast as he spoke, giving the impression he was simple, or just nervous at speaking to the first man of Athens. The boy raced to the stern and, in moments, the same banner caught the wind, snapping and darting. The entire fleet eased into ranks, back and back, forcing order. It made Themistocles think of an advancing phalanx and he muttered prayers to Ares and Poseidon, asking for their aid that day.