45

The month of Boedromion brought shortening days. The sun still felt like summer, especially when a man had to fight under its lash. Xanthippus blessed Apollo for his clear light and fortune in war, then blessed Athena when the Persian fleet pulled back before true darkness. Xanthippus had not known if they would continue to fight all night in their frenzy, though it would have been utter madness. Without light, both fleets would have been in danger of ramming their own ships. Just as important, the crews were all exhausted. Some of the rowers snored where they sat, leaning back with eyes closed in the creaking blackness below.

Without formal agreement, both fleets pulled apart in the twilight, seeking safe harbours for the hours of night. Xanthippus had watched for the half-moon to show, waiting for some scheme or trap to spring under its light. He hoped the Persian captains were just as nervous. It wasn’t until midnight was upon them that Xanthippus allowed Trierarch Ereius and his crew to seek shallow water and drop anchor. Even then, they risked running aground or tearing the bottom out on some unseen rock. Ships had settled on all sides and the little boats they towed had been drawn in. Xanthippus had been about ready for sleep when one of the small craft bumped alongside. The summons was for him, from the Spartan navarch.

Two sailors rowed him back across dark waters, saying nothing. When they found their own ship, Xanthippus heard the slap of rope against wood and reached blindly for it, lurching up the ladder to the deck above. A figure challenged him with a drawn blade and he gave his name, then waited for Eurybiades to be told he had come.

Clouds revealed the moon overhead while he stood there, making the sea glitter in a long line. The Spartan ship eased up and down at the prow, the motion almost restful. Xanthippus yawned suddenly and scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing the endurance of his youth hadn’t vanished like a dream. There had been a time when he’d thought nothing of staying up all night and fighting the next day if he had to! In his fifties, he preferred enemies to come at him only in the mornings.

He heard Themistocles come aboard when the man’s voice sounded a few feet away, making some dry comment that had the boatmen chuckling. Xanthippus turned to him in the darkness and murmured his name.

‘Is that you, Xan?’ Themistocles said, too loud.

‘Are you trying to signal the Persians or something?’ Xanthippus hissed at him. ‘Keep your voice down, would you?’

‘Oh, they’ll all be snoring by now, I’m sure, ready for tomorrow. As I should be, instead of here, summoned by … Ah, Eurybiades! What an honour!’

Though no lamps had been lit, moonlight had revealed the navarch rising from the hold. Without a word, the Spartan gestured for them to approach. Xanthippus and Themistocles might have exchanged a glance, but it was too dark.