His helmsmen heaved their charges over and the oars bit as the orders were passed on. The hoplites on deck hunkered down, ready with their shields and spears to go again.

44

Xerxes felt his heart beat slow and strong, as mountains grew before him. He was a warrior king, setting his face and his strength against his father’s final enemy. When the wind whipped around him and stirred the dust, he breathed in, hoping the spirit of Darius could see his progress, or join him.

Xerxes had chosen to ride that day, wearing a cloak of imperial purple over a white tunic that left his legs bare. After so long at sea, he found his muscles had grown weak and he frowned as he rode along, unaware of how it put fear into the regiments marching south. The soldiers of his hazarabam thousands, even the officers of his Immortals, exchanged worried glances. The arrival of the Great King had changed the mood of the entire army under Mardonius, from the very instant Xerxes had set foot on land and stood amongst them.

His presence meant that a living god walked with them – and served as a reminder that they marched to war and faced a terrible enemy. To do so in the presence of the Great King stiffened spines and raised heads. If there was fear in them, at the thought of being reprimanded or punished, there was also pride, and love. They were far from home, but Xerxes was with them.

When his horse shied at something, Xerxes leaned over and cuffed the animal across its ears, then rubbed the same spot. The mount was skittish, but tall and very strong, a prince among horses. Xerxes looked around him, aware that he had been riding in a reverie, letting the land pass as if he drifted. He shook his head. He had eaten better in the previous two days than the month before. His stomach had awoken on land, so that even the simple bean slop his regiments endured made his mouth fill with saliva. He burped into a hand at the thought, but still felt hungry.

It took an effort of will to look up, knowing that his gaze would be met by men desperate to be able to say the king had seen them, that he had noticed them or spoken a single word they would treasure and repeat to their children. He had not appreciated before how many eyes would follow him in the camps, without walls and private rooms. Wherever he went, his men watched every step and exchange, as if they drank his image. He found it surprisingly wearisome, so that when he retired at last to the pavilion raised for him each evening, it was with a great sense of relief simply to be private. The evenings were drawing in, at least. The days were shorter than the height of summer, though the sun was still hot overhead and the skies as blue as a Persian lake.