Xanthippus held up his hands and was honoured with silence falling. They gave respect grudgingly in Athens, but all the Marathonomachoi were favoured men.

‘Athenians, I speak as Xanthippus of Acamantis tribe. My own experience prompts me to add my words today. You all know our laws: those who have been blessed with wealth support the city in public service. They pay for the construction of a ship, or they pay for a company and a playwright to produce a great work, as patron. Others provide food to those they employ, or sponsor feasts for all the city. I have done these things – and I have benefited from them. Two of the ships that went with Miltiades had my silver in their oars and sails. Yet I do not hold myself apart from you. On this day, we are all of the same class. It follows, then, that Athens can ask any one of us for our service. That is my first point.’

He paused, while a murmur of interest went around the Pnyx hill. Xanthippus clenched his jaw, ordering his thoughts. He had no idea how Themistocles livened them in quite the way he did. Xanthippus had the suspicion that any attempt at humour would be met with funereal silence. He felt himself flush at the thought. Better to press on with arguments.

‘My second point is this. A ship lasts – longer than food, or tiles or …’ He waved a hand, searching for another example.

‘New robes,’ Themistocles murmured.

Aristides raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if it had been aimed at him.

‘New robes …’ Xanthippus added. ‘My triremes will row the Aegean long after I am in my tomb. That is a legacy – and it can belong to all of us. On this day, every man of Athens has the same choice. We must build this fleet.’

The crescendo was a little weak, but Themistocles led the applause, so Xanthippus was able to stand down with good grace. On impulse, he decided not to leave the rock and remained instead as Themistocles approached the speaker’s stone once more.

‘I give thanks to my friend, Xanthippus of Cholargos deme. His words brought to mind a last point, for those of us who have debated the meanings of the oracle at Delphi.’

Silence returned, so that Xanthippus could hear the breeze ruffle robes once more. He knew Themistocles was far too clever a man to risk being disrespectful, yet there was always the sense that he could bend anything to his will, if he saw a great enough need.

‘The priestess of the oracle once told Cleisthenes that “Athens will rely on wooden walls”. Do you remember that?’

The crowd murmured agreement – with more than a few pointing to the massive rock that rose above the city. Themistocles looked up at it.

‘The Acropolis, yes. That is where the tyrant Hippias barricaded himself against the people – and the Spartan army that came to winkle him out. He thought wooden walls would save him. The oracle gave no details, but I do not think those were the walls the priestess of Apollo meant. They did not save Hippias!’ He went on quickly as some in the crowd were already turning to speak to their friends, seeing it before the rest. ‘I tell you, the wooden walls are the ships we will build. When Persia returns, we will “rely” on those wooden walls at sea! And the prophecy will be complete.’