‘But …’ Agariste waved a hand. The estate her uncle had built lay encompassed in that gesture, with all the wealth and influence of her family.

‘Leave it, please,’ Epikleos said. ‘Leave everything. The whole city is going to the ships. I have a place for you and the household – with Xanthippus.’

She shook herself and he breathed out in relief at the return of the iron he knew she had in her. With a nod, Agariste looked into his eyes for a moment, then spun away from him, calling orders to Manias and the house slaves.

‘Pericles! Ariphron! Eleni!’ she called at the top of her voice.

Epikleos heard high voices replying and he began to jog towards them. Xanthippus had given him the task of saving his family. It was a sacred trust and he would not let him down.

Xanthippus stood on the shore of the port of Piraeus. He could see the limestone spire of the Acropolis in the distance and he longed to stand there, instead of shepherding thousands of his people onto the galleys rowing in and out in ceaseless order. The waters were calm enough in the shelter of the port, though he had reports of a galley turning over in the strait between the mainland and the island of Salamis. The sense of panic was on them all since the bulk of the Greek fleet had appeared, weary men at the oars who nonetheless fell into their new duty and began ferrying passengers over from the port. Salamis was visible from the coast, across the sea. It was no safe refuge, not for anything more than a few days. It had one great advantage over Athens and the mainland – no soldier could reach it on foot. The women and children and slaves of Athens would be spared the slaughter and rapine of a marauding army entering Athens. It was all he could offer then. Some cold, still part of him was afraid it was nothing more than a delay. The Persian king had brought so many men and ships, it was hard to see how anyone could do more than just retreat and retreat before them.

Two more galleys came in, backing oars at the last moment so that they bumped against the stone quays, throwing ropes to waiting men there and heaving in the oars to sit, staring in exhaustion. Xanthippus whistled up the water boys he had assembled, sending them on board as soon as the gangplank was tied on. His people had gathered in vast numbers, more and more of them streaming down from the city. They carried valuables in sacks, some of them, clutched as close as the children who peeped out from their legs and cloaks. Some wailed in fear and anger, others exhorted the aid of the gods in their hour of need. The ships took on as many as they could cram onto the decks without risking their lives. The danger was constant and Xanthippus could only pray they wouldn’t lose more. Half a dozen women and children had been picked up from the galley that went over. The rest had drowned.