Dawn brought Immortals rushing in from behind, determined after a night crossing the cliffs, without sleep, to make an end to the dishonour. They felt the sting of shame at the Great King being forced to wait, mocked and derided by delay, scorned by red-cloaked Spartans.

Attacked on both sides, the Spartans formed square and locked shields, still blocking the way. Xerxes himself came deep into the pass to watch their destruction, standing with Mardonius on his right shoulder. His Immortals fought like madmen under his gaze, but no matter how many of them came against the exhausted Spartan formation, it did not break.

‘Stand back,’ Xerxes ordered at last. He was appalled at the sheer number of corpses in that place of sea salt and slate. The air itself smelled of blood. ‘Bring them down with spears. Let us not waste any more lives.’

His Immortals had been destroyed, he realised, the elite of all his regiments. Barely half the ten thousand remained and he could not replace them.

From both sides, spears were thrown high. The exhausted Spartans raised shields on arms of lead and some of them fell. Leonidas was one of those, so that his guard took post over his body and would not move another step. They did not have the numbers or the strength to attack those who stung them. Arrows and spears brought them down, one by one, until the last two or three were spitted through with shafts and fell amidst the rest. The red cloaks were bright in that place.

The Persians cheered the victory, a sound that went on and on, spreading to the host behind. It was heard across the sea and it sent a chill through Greek crews as they came on deck to peer at the land and consider what that cheering had to mean.

49

Themistocles gathered the commanders of the fleet on his flagship. He had no cabin of his own below decks. He and his men slept wrapped in their cloaks under the stars. Nor had they much room for stores. They were all leaner than they had been on leaving Athens, after rations snatched in the evenings and nothing but water during daylight hours. The rowers were already looking hollow in the chest, ribs showing just when they needed strength. He wondered if the Persians were suffering as much. They had been at sea far longer. Perhaps the need to feed oarsmen was why they had gone so slowly and kept the land army in sight.

The Spartan Eurybiades ignored an outstretched arm and climbed up on his own. He seemed diminished by the fall of Leonidas, wounded by loss. Themistocles sensed a seething rage in the man, like a pot about to boil over. His instinct was to tread carefully. The commander of Corinth was there, leaning against the prow with his eyes closed, exhausted. He’d spent the previous day in constant battle and had lost fingers and part of his right hand. It was a serious wound and Themistocles thought privately that the Corinthian might not survive.