Xanthippus had no responsibility for the ships, not once the payment had been made. He had heard one would bear a likeness of Agariste on the prow, but that was a whim of his wife and a side arrangement with a master carver, not any recognition of the payment. Xanthippus sighed to himself. The simplest design would be an eye painted on either side of the ram – to see the way to the enemy. As with his old shield, simple was often best.

He walked slowly along the quayside, where unfinished skeletons lay in cradles of grey oak, held away from the sea by wooden doors and great baulks. When the time came, when they were ready, the waters would be allowed to pour in, raising the triremes in their new element. They would be towed out then, for sea trials.

He watched in fascination as a ram was fitted to one that was almost ready. The massive bronze ship-killers were fearsome things, sheets of metal nailed onto wooden beams for the perfect combination of lightness and strength. Long and wide, they looked blunt, though he knew the reason for that. Rams were meant to break a hull and then allow the living weapon of the attacking ship to withdraw and seek another target. Anything like a spike would remain stuck. These rams were hammers. At full speed, with the weight of a ship and two hundred men behind them, they could smash through anything afloat. It was a kind of warfare that appealed to Xanthippus.

He stood naked, letting the sea breeze dry his sweat. His knee was hurting, of course. He missed the days when he had been able to complete a little run like that a dozen times if he’d wanted, without a week of stiff muscles and an aching lower back. He sighed. The years were cruel. At least the day was clear, after three of solid rain.

From among the triremes further down the line, he saw two men walk out together. Xanthippus swore under his breath as he recognised Themistocles, the taller man’s head bent in conversation with Aristides. No doubt they were fulfilling their duties for the Assembly and checking each nail and tool and silver coin. There could be no waste, not with a fleet of this size. Seventy ships was a huge undertaking, a good share of the wealth of Athens sent out onto the waves to be fortune’s plaything. There were some who said Miltiades should never have been granted his request, but he had picked his moment well.

Xanthippus turned to go, but of course in that instant Themistocles felt his gaze and looked up. The big man raised his hand and called out his name. There was a single heartbeat when Xanthippus might have pretended he had not heard, but he hesitated and the moment was gone. The pair strolled over to him. Both wore simple robes and carried scrolls of papyrus under their arms, marked with images and tally lists. Xanthippus groaned to himself, but he would not retreat. Instead, he forced a smile and stood, feeling sweat drip down his back. Had he grown so unfit since Marathon? He had trained harder than ever, but age stole all in the end. He imagined getting so soft he grew a stomach, as some men did in their middle age. The idea filled him with horror and he resolved to run hard on the return, knee or no knee.