Themistocles lost his train of thought as his spear was dragged from his hand, wrenching his fingers. He swore and drew his sword.

‘Hold the line now!’ he called to them. Aristides was somewhere on his left, with Antiochis tribe. They were edging back and, to his horror and fury, Themistocles saw his own men were wavering as well. They could not raise shields against arrows and stones and keep the formation intact. Fear swelled in them and they took hesitant half-steps back, shuffling. Themistocles cursed, so loudly it made someone laugh.

‘On my mark and not before!’ he bellowed. ‘We’ll take a breath – and we won’t leave one drop of our honour on the field, not to men such as these. Six paces back and re-form. On my mark and not before! I see you, Xias! Take one more step before I give the order and I will make your wife say please and thank you.’

The threat was outrageous and yet it settled the retreating line. They held position and the rest of the centre anchored on them, with Themistocles at the heart. It was a moment he thought he would remember, the air like wine.

‘Six paces – now!’

He counted aloud as they went. It kept them steady, though the Persians howled victory and drove them on, convinced they were winning.

‘And hold the line! Hold!’ Themistocles bawled. ‘Lock shields. Make them pay for those six, lads. Think of them marching into Athens and grabbing your daughters by the throat. Hold your nerve. Pick up spears if you find one. When you have settled, we will replace the front line. Epistatai ready? Well, are you? Second line! Those-who-stand-behind. Answer me, you lazy whoresons, would you?’

The second rank of epistatai roared an angry response to him, right across the centre, as the fighting went on in a frenzy of noise and rage and terror. He grinned at them.

Themistocles paused in the constant rattle of orders. The lines had steadied. Aristides had taken the opportunity to come back with him, he saw. It would have been that or be overwhelmed. The Immortals were every bit as determined as he’d heard. They should have been crushed by the phalanx line, but they’d somehow hung on. Athena alone knew how many of them had been killed, however. The ground was littered with dead Persians and stained in their blood, so dry it drank them in. Themistocles shuddered at the image. He did not want the ground to drink him in. He loved the sun too much.

‘Ready, epistatai second line! Ready, protostatai first line!’

Themistocles was getting hoarse, but he heard Aristides copying the order. No doubt his tribe were as exhausted as the front rank of Leontis. Themistocles took a deep breath. The move was dangerous in the middle of a battle, though the rewards were high. Of course, if the Persians spoke Greek, there was a chance they were all about to be slaughtered.

‘First rank protostatai, fall back! Second rank epistatai, advance. Aaand … lock shields!’