‘I am sorry. I …’ Cimon began.

Themistocles spoke over him.

‘It is because the twenties are the most perilous years of a man’s life. He is no longer a boy. He feels he is fully grown, that he can be a father and a husband, that he can argue with wit and wisdom and clarity. And he is both right and wrong. If he works hard and well, he will have all the qualities he wins for himself, all coming into glorious season. Yet he lacks the wisdom and experience to temper them. He drinks too much, perhaps. He acts … rashly, perhaps even to the point of arguing with a Spartan navarch on his own ship.’

‘You argued with him,’ Cimon said, a note of anger in his tone.

Themistocles nodded.

‘I did, yes.’ He waited until the young man understood that was not his point and deflated.

‘I’m sorry,’ Cimon said.

‘Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming, Cimon. I look forward to seeing you speak in the Assembly, in a free Athens. I pray that you will have the chance.’

Themistocles heard the bump of boats against the side and leaned over, nodding to men he knew.

‘Look for my signals tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It will be a long day – and your father will watch every beat and stroke of it. We cannot let them go through. Leonidas holds the army in the pass. Every day we block them at sea is one more they cannot join up and crush our people. Aristides is already out in the field, gentlemen, with all our hoplites, all our hopes. The Spartans and the men of Corinth will march to join him, when they are ready. We just need to give them time.’

46

At dawn, Xerxes watched his scouts come back through the lines. They ran well enough, but their faces showed confusion and fear as they reached the king and prostrated themselves on the sandy ground. The day was cold and the king shivered as he stood with the sea breeze rushing through his standing ranks.

‘Report to me,’ Xerxes said.

Mardonius too had reined in and dismounted, desperate for news. For an entire day, they had sent a number of messages to the Greeks waiting in the pass, offering them a chance to surrender. There was no need to throw away their lives for nothing. The Spartans were renowned for their skill and Xerxes had hoped for a peaceful settlement, perhaps even to meet the king who stood in their centre, with spear and shield, his helmet topped by a high crest of horsehair.

One of the messengers rose faster than the other two. Xerxes gestured for him to speak.

‘Majesty, they have not withdrawn as you commanded. They remain still, across the narrowest part of the coastal path.’

Xerxes pursed his mouth, biting the soft skin on the inside of his lip. He’d thought it would seem a grand gesture worthy of his father, to agree to spare the small force arrayed against him. By all accounts there were barely enough of them to block the pass. They stood with sheer cliffs on their left shoulders and the sea on the other.