Themistocles was close enough to hear screaming. He found he had dipped his chin as if he was about to enter a boxing ring. It felt the same and yet different. His life and terrible injury were still the stakes, but for once, he was not alone. His people stood with him. They would stand or fall together.

43

Xanthippus glared forward, watching a Persian ship close to within a few lengths and grow, faster and faster. Arrows began to fly from the enemy, one of them thudding into the deck at Xanthippus’ feet. He called for his shield then, painfully aware of how vulnerable he was. One of the boarding crew brought it to him and the sight of the snarling lion on the golden surface was a comfort. He saw another arrow arcing in and raised the shield to send it skidding away.

The ships seemed to leap at one another. The chance to turn aside had been and gone – neither captain could present his flank and escape, not then. A failure of nerve would mean death for everyone aboard. As close as they were, they could only hold the line and commit to striking the enemy head-on. Xanthippus watched, his mouth like leather, so that he champed and tried to wet his lips. The Spartans surged on both sides of him, though he doubted Eurybiades had meant to allow him the centre of the line, as if Xanthippus led the Spartans into battle. He could actually see the man himself in full bronze armour, waiting for the killing to begin like the vicious old hound he was. Xanthippus nodded to himself at the thought. He needed that savagery, that cruelty. His fleet crews needed to delight in killing if they were to survive. All the things that gentled a man had been left behind. Humour, decency, a sense of fairness – all those made him weak when another tried to cut his head from his shoulders.

Xanthippus watched the enemy officer borne close and closer still, until he stood as if on a racing horse, just the width of a room away. The final moment vanished and rams cracked hard against the bow timbers beneath the surface, the strongest part of the war galleys. Both ships shuddered and slid aside in the same instant, with a terrible grinding and cries of fear from those in the hold. The sound was a long groan, almost thunder as the sliding prows began to crush oars.

Both crews had been sweeping fast and hard to keep the pace and smash the enemy. Until the ships met, they could not have known which side would need to pull oars in or be broken.

Xanthippus had no eyes for the desperate work going on below. He and the Persian officer were passing one another. He saw the man dip his head in greeting, as if they were not in bitter conflict at that moment. Xanthippus was out of range for a sword-thrust, but he snatched a spear from one of the hoplites standing close and threw it across the gap, taking the fellow in the stomach, so that he fell to his knees. A hornets’ nest of arrows came in answer and the Greeks raised their shields and dipped down as shafts rattled off the bronze or stuck in the wooden deck.