Cimon was directing his crews well, Themistocles saw. Even as his own trireme moved to ram a lone Persian, he watched Cimon’s ship halt and reverse at good speed, the rowers working blind and praying the lookout was sharp. The triremes were fantastically fast in calm waters, darting like dagger blows. Themistocles showed his teeth as Cimon let the enemy slide on through and then called for ram speed, taking that ship in the middle. It was a death strike, the ram holing it deep and then pulling back.

Themistocles braced as his own ship thumped into an enemy galley. The blow was not hard or fast enough to shatter the timbers, though he thought he saw cracks in the hull. Instead, enemy soldiers readied themselves to leap. Before his trierarch could order the rowers to back oars, half a dozen men landed on the deck. They were all young soldiers and they rushed at Themistocles, ignoring the threat of hoplites reacting at their backs. He shoved his helmet on and picked up a long spear at his feet. His shield was too far and so he drew his sword and waited for them.

The man who reached him first was grinning in delight. He did not expect a spear to flicker out between his legs, making him stumble. The Persian’s first blow turned into a flail for balance. His eyes widened as Themistocles chopped the short blade into his neck, then eased back a step to let him fall. The spear was wrenched from his hand by the action, making Themistocles curse. Three more rushed him, but they were cut down from behind with quick, savage blows. Themistocles nodded thanks to his panting hoplites.

Some of the Persians were still dying as they were heaved over the side. One tried to hold the man who kicked at him and had his throat cut in reply. The rest of their crew watching on the enemy ship howled and jabbed the air in frustration, but the gap was too great – further every instant as the galleys slipped apart. A few of them raised bows and Themistocles ducked for his shield, holding it up. He heard the clatter of shafts on metal as his men did the same, but there was still a cry cut short. He set his mouth in anger. Forty paces separated them by then. He could see where the sea hissed and frothed around a broken point in the enemy hull. The plunge and rise of the sea had lifted the ram, he could see. The broken timbers lay right on the waterline rather than below. Left alone, the Persians could patch it with a piece of sail and a bucket of tar.

‘Ram speed!’ he called at the top of his lungs. ‘Ready shields and spears. Hit them again.’

47

Leonidas looked out on a landscape where arrows grew thick as hog bristles or stems of lavender. He tossed his shield to one of his helots, waiting to wrestle the shafts out that had pierced the metal skin, leaving it puckered.