The Persian ship had arranged shields all along its length, Xanthippus saw. A simple railing allowed their men to rest ovals and circles on it, then crouch behind them. He could see Persians in full armour there, itching to risk the leap as the ships ground past one another. Oars still splintered beneath his feet, though whether they were his own or Persian, Xanthippus did not know. He found himself breathing fast, ready to be attacked. Some of the old soldiers said they missed it, that wild alertness and emotion that was being alive in the very face of death. Xanthippus felt only a dark rage. This was the empire, come to burn and kill. They had to be met with anger so complete it would overwhelm them like a storm at sea.

He turned his shield as the two galleys overlapped, then made his decision.

‘Boarders with me!’ he called.

It looked to be just a step, but he found himself leaping hard, straining every muscle rather than risk falling into the dark line below, where oars were still snapping like bones as the ships slowed.

He landed on a foreign deck and raised his shield to take the blow of a sword. He struck back while he still held the other man’s sword high, a solid blow to the man’s shoulder that ruined it. A second cut sent blood spattering across sun-whitened wood. This was battle as he knew it, Xanthippus thought. The hoplites formed up around him and growled as they went forward, a sound to chill the hearts of the enemy.

The Persian rowers were all slaves. Xanthippus could see them, naked and filthy, looking up at him from the hold, revealed in the bar of light from a central trench, not too different from the Greek design. He could smell them, a scent so thick as to coat the back of his throat. He hoped they would have the sense to stay down.

Persian warriors came running to attack the hoplites massing on the deck, with more climbing up from the hold. They rushed the Greeks with wild cries and Xanthippus found himself battered back a step. Yet his boarders had the numbers and they knew the discipline of the shield line. On a solid deck underfoot, they cut Persians down and tossed bodies into the sea in quick jerks. In just moments, the deck was clear again, though two men still clutched the grips of steering oars at the stern and gaped at strangers facing them with bloody weapons.

Xanthippus opened his mouth to give an order and snapped it shut as the hold erupted. Filthy, long-haired men heaved themselves up all along the trench. He thought for a moment that they were crying out for freedom, until one of them cut the throat of a hoplite and was stabbed through the chest by another. They came on like madmen, with grey teeth and screeching cries. The hoplites were forced back by sheer weight of numbers, unable to do more than punch swords through the scabrous mass of human flesh pushing at them.