Themistocles was a hard man, he knew it. He had seen death in many forms; he did not think it could ever make him weep. Even so, he felt his breath catch as he witnessed a ship of his own city rammed and sunk with horrible speed, barely an arrow-shot off his prow. Some galleys rolled right over when they were rammed, showing grey hulls. Others just went under, slipping away.

The small drama was over quickly enough. The Persian pulled back and rowed clear, while the cries and prayers of Greeks were silenced in a hissing sea. Only a few figures bobbed to the surface as Themistocles passed by. His people, face down and still.

He felt himself trembling in rage and grief on their behalf. It was not enough to be better than the Persians. The awful tragic truth was that no matter how well the Athenian crews fought, they were still only men. They grew weary and the pace slowed. As the day wore on, crews who had boarded three ships and rammed two more, who had avoided being sent down half a dozen times, would find themselves faced with a fresh Persian galley, rowed hard and recklessly. Heroes were brought down by their own exhaustion.

Themistocles blessed the name of Xanthippus then. The only response was to call back entire groups of ships, to replace them in the battle line with fresher crews of their own. In open sea, the Persians might have overwhelmed them. In the strait, the captains under Xerxes had the same problem. Too little space to manoeuvre, with so many pressing behind that it meant every galley fought until it was overwhelmed and sunk. It was made worse as sea lanes slowly choked up with broken or burning vessels, with bodies like flotsam, rising and falling with the waves.

In the late afternoon, Themistocles called back Xanthippus with a group colour flown from the prow. Each captain of that group raised his own until they were all ready to ease clear in good order rather than turn and risk being rammed amidships. They came back as veterans, with blood on the decks, panting and weary, but still proud. They cheered and raised spears to Themistocles as they came to rest.

The ships under Cimon moved through them and took the brunt of fresh Persian crews. The truth was, Athens was such a key part of the fleet, they had to be called on more than any of the others. They would bring more destruction, but their losses would be much greater.

Themistocles found his stomach was painful to the touch, the muscles aching from standing tense for so long. The Persians seemed to know their king watched them, that their army fought on the coast to reach the plain beyond. They were terrible in their fierceness. Some of them broke men and oars recklessly to engage, fighting even as their ships sank, with freezing waters rushing in below their feet. A few of those vessels rested almost on the surface of the sea, submerged and yet sitting there like ghosts. Persian warriors waded across wet decks then, until Greek archers picked them off or just rowed past, leaving them behind.