The Greeks had brought a pitiful little force to free the cities of Ionia from the empire. In burning Sardis, they had stung like an angry wasp and then gone home, believing they had mortally wounded their enemy. Instead, they had only awoken him. General Datis smiled at the image, wondering if it was safe enough to repeat at the officers’ banquet that evening. Probably not. Someone would decide the empire could not sleep and report him. He’d lose his pay or be docked a rank, or perhaps much worse if his enemies whispered poison in the right ear. The Great King Darius heard only a fraction of the news in the empire. His satraps were like little gods, acting in his name. No man who served was beyond criticism, not even the senior commander of the greatest sea invasion the world had ever known. Or rather, General Datis had reached his exalted position in part because he had a fine sense of when to say nothing.

A week before, the Persian general had landed the fleet at Eretria. It could not have gone more smoothly and Datis recalled the sack of the port with enormous pride. Darius himself had looked on, at first from the safety of his royal flagship, then later from an enormous pavilion raised on the shore.

They had killed male Greeks over the age of fourteen, as well as all the women who were past child-bearing, diseased or too ill to work. The rest had been herded onto transports and taken back to the coast of Ionia. From there, they would travel overland for months, to the heart of the empire. Those who survived would be sold as exotics, to rich men like Datis, who had never seen the sea.

There had been wealth, too, to be found in their temples. The offerings of centuries had been there for the taking. General Datis had not been able to interest his king in those spoils, but that did not mean they were left behind. Gold was gold and silver was silver, regardless of the image hammered onto it. Most would be melted down and recast, changed by the passage of fire – just as free men could be branded by hot irons and made slaves.

The general showed no satisfaction as the last of the horses were brought up alongside the ships that waited for them. The vessels had been rowed at speed straight onto the sandy beach, their keels cutting a trench as they came to rest, then leaning over. Dozens still lay like shells, though with walkways stretching down. The animals and their riders had been given a chance to ride and breathe on solid land again, after too long afloat. Datis was only too aware that the proud steeds could not vomit, no matter how they suffered. Instead, they grew sicker and sicker in the ocean roll, until their eyes blanked and they began to die. The same could not be said for their riders, he thought. It was wise to stand upwind of a cavalry ship after a week or two at sea.