‘I can manage the crowds here. Go with your family. They need you more than we do, at least for the moment.’

Xanthippus nodded, overcome. He pushed through the hoplites guarding the ship and reached the deck. He felt tears in his eyes as his children caught sight of him and hung from his arms and chest, crushing the air out of him. Agariste was weeping, he saw.

‘Where is my dog?’ he asked them.

They all looked around, but there was no sight of the great beast. Already the ship was being pushed off, the oarsmen settling to their task one more time. In moments, the sail was raised to catch the gentlest breeze, anything at all that might lessen the burden for the rowers. Xanthippus saw the crowds pressing in their desperation. One or two fell into the sea when the crush was too great, shrieking in fear.

He looked up and felt a rushing in his ears and blood drain from his face. The Acropolis seemed to shift in shape as he watched, as if some great hand twisted it. He understood then, feeling the hair on his neck prickle. It was smoke, a great column of blackness that engulfed and smothered the city. The Persians had reached the city of Athena – and when they found it empty, they had set it on fire.

He heard the gasps from those on the crowded deck as they too saw the column and understood what it meant. A low moan of fear and pointing hands made him turn his head to the east. Greek ships were all around him, ferrying women and children. Beyond, a new line of ships had appeared, rowing, rowing, making the sea white. The Persian fleet had come.

Xanthippus clutched his family to him. Looking back at the port, he saw the tiny figure of his dog suddenly fall or leap into the water, vanishing beneath the surface, then appear once again, paddling after him. He swore under his breath at the stupid animal. He could not halt the galley, even if they’d had a boat in tow to set down. The dog would never survive the swim to Salamis.

In the face of the destruction of Athens, it was a small thing, but he felt tears streaming down his face even so. He watched the struggling dog for a long time until he was just a speck on the waters and then gone, lost in the vastness of the sea.

Historical Note

When does a story really begin? When Greek cities in Ionia (western Turkey) came under the control of Persia? When they rebelled, called for help and Greek columns rampaged through the region? Or when Greek diplomats were asked for ‘earth and water’ – complete submission – by a satrap of the Great King. Far from home and unable to consult, they gave the obeisance required and so became vassals of Persia, at least as far as Darius was concerned.

Or is it before those events, when Athenians were fighting against tyrants like Hippias? When the head of the Alcmaeonidae family bribed a priestess in Delphi to give the same message to any Spartan who came to ask a question, regardless of the subject: ‘Free Athens from Tyranny.’