The soldiers advanced slowly. First came the beasts of burden, pulling the severely wounded on makeshift carts, those who had been paralyzed by blows to the head or who had lost their legs or were unable to stand upright. Immediately after them, grabbing each other's shoulders like mismatched couples, came those of their comrades who had lost their eyes in the battle and were now being led over the ill-surfaced road by those who still had them. Lastly, behind those, came those with slight wounds who could still control their bodies.

Immediately after that began the units of the allies. The Arcadians, the Locrians, the Myceneans. Those who were still alive. Soldiers who brought tears to the eyes of everyone who saw them. Exhausted, broken, dirty. Covered with thick, dried blood from head to foot. On their heads and their bodies, even in the folds of their torsos, their elbows and their lips, there was dust and dirt, black saliva from their mouths, a black veil over their chests and hearts. A few hours previously they had gotten the order to retreat. Only the allies, though. Not the Spartans.

That was Leonidas' order.

The king stood to the side and saluted them as they left the field where they had fought and found glory, the ground where they had left hundreds of dead fellow fighters and friends. Behind him the Spartans wrote, scratching their names on pieces of tile, tree bark and tablets of wax.

Beloved Aristeas…"

My honored son Myronas…

My respected mother Kleoniki…

They were their last letters to their loved ones, to mothers, wives and children back in their country. Although all the Spartans knew how to read and write—it was a required part of their education—some of them did not write a single word. They simply opened their chitons and took out the mementos and souvenirs that had been hanging at their muscular and wounded chests, or cut off a lock of their long hair and wrapped it tightly in pieces torn from their cloaks.

When the messengers had received the letters to be delivered to the soldiers' families back in Sparta, Aristonas, the leader of the Arcadians, stood before Leonidas.

"I have a request" he said.

"Forget it. You must leave at once."

"I have a request" he insisted.

"If you do not hurry, you will not be able to cross the road. The Persians will close it off and you will be caught like a rabbit in a trap. Then, everything we have done and will do will be lost. You must leave and inform the rest of our army, deliver our last wishes to our families back in our city, and revenge us."

"We want to first make libations on the tombs of the fallen" Aristonas told him.

"The last priest was killed yesterday…"

"At least let us pour a little wine on the ground that covers them."

Leonidas took the flask with the little wine that remained, and without another word, went with Aristonas to the graves of the fallen, a little beyond the camp.

"And now leave. Do not delay any more."

Aristonas looked at the road that led to the south and was lost at the horizon. A cloud of dust was rising far away in the direction of the mountains. It was the Persians approaching. "You still have time to come with us. You can save yourselves…"

Leonidas did not answer. He turned towards the wall and started to walk silently. Just before he disappeared among his men, he turned back to Aristonas.

"From what? Save ourselves from what?" he asked softly, without waiting for an answer. And then he added in a louder voice. "Be well. We will stay on the field of battle to cover your retreat. Make sure that you stop them at Isthmos, since I did not manage to. That is all I ask… All the rest is unimportant…"

Aristonas dried his streaming eyes, raised his hand high, giving the promise the king asked for, and then ran to join his last departing men.

Leonidas watched them for a while, a long line of crippled, exhausted warriors who had given their last drop of strength before being forced to retreat. Not defeated. Not ashamed. Simply betrayed.

Then his gaze turned inwards. His eyes looked into his naked soul. He saw three images clearly. The images he had learned to confront from a young age. The images of coming death. First his ancestors, the honored founders of the line of the Cleomenes, the kings of Sparta. Then Gorgo, his adored wife, and their children. And finally the gods, those who were on their side in the difficult hours of battle. Among them was Hades, god of the Underworld, whom he would meet before the light of this day went out.

In his mind he said a last goodbye to his wife and children. Then he took his gaze from his soul and considered his body. A body covered in mud and dust, a vigorous but wounded body. He could still feel the eyes of his beloved Gorgo looking at him in adoration. He felt his knees loosen and his heart melt with love. His eyelids fluttered and he shook his head slightly. To his mind came the prophecy of the Pythia from the oracle at Delphi:

Either Sparta will be lost or one of its kings will die...

He raised his eyes and observed his men for a while, scattered about their camp, which was now empty and looked enormous. A hundred Spartan soldiers who could bear arms and fight. One hundred out of three hundred, who would soon go to meet the rest.

Most were looking down at their hands, which were rubbing and shining the coin every warrior carried on him when he left for battle, the coin to pay the boatman of souls that would carry him to the other world.

Some were carefully combing and oiling their hair, some were washing their faces with water and wiping their beards, and some were pouring their last wine on the ground, chanting prayers to the gods.

They were preparing to die.


Leonidas was standing upright to the right of the phalanx, in the most dangerous position, the one that was not protected by the shield of any comrade. Next to him and to the left was Dienekes, then the two brothers, Alpheos and Maronas, and then followed, in the first line, all the Spartans that were left of the Three Hundred, those that could stand on their feet and bear arms. A hundred fighters in all. All the others were dead or dying.

This time their phalanx was not drawn up in the narrow pass in front of their half-ruined wall. This time it was spread out a few yards to the south, at the widest point of the pass, so that everyone could be in the front line, the place of honor, face to face with the enemy.

Behind them, in the second line, were the fighters from Thespies who were still alive and who had refused to abandon the field of battle of their own free will. They stayed to fight to the end with the Spartans. First, at the right end of their lines, was their leader, Dimophilos.

In the third line was the light infantry, the attendants of the Spartan soldiers and the freed slaves. Leonidas himself had freed them and their families a few hours before and the messengers bringing the last letters and wishes of the fighters back to Sparta, also carried a royal decree of freedom for their wives and children.

"So they can fight and die as free men" the king had said. "It is hubris to fight and die when you, your wife and your children are still slaves…"

That was all.

Four hundred and thirty warriors in all.

The sun had already climbed high when the hordes of the Persian infantry appeared behind the wall. Tens of thousands of soldiers of every kind, shape and appearance filled the pass and the valley. To the south, the column of dust raised by the phalanxes of Immortals marching to surround them got closer and closer. The great hour had come.

Seeing the nearly imperceptible murmur and nervousness of his soldiers at the sight of the huge mass of enemies, Leonidas left his line and came out in front of the phalanx. He turned his face to his soldiers, raised his sword high and, as well as he could with his wounded jaw, gave a war cry: the call that accompanied the pipe in an attack: "e, le, le!"

It was repeated feverishly.

Cheers of enthusiasm came from his men.

Swords and spears were raised high in the air.

It was a rare phenomenon in an austere Spartan phalanx, but a moment like this was also rare. The rarest in Spartan military history. The rarest in the military history of the world.

Leonidas lowered his sword.

The cheers stopped as if a knife had cut off the voices in air.

The swords and spears were lowered.

"Eyes on me!" ordered the king as he saw the eyes of the warriors, mainly those of the soldiers from Thespies and the attendants, fixed behind him, at the enemy in the distance who was approaching fast. "Only on me!"

First his voice was heard.

Strong and stentorian, in spite of his wound.

Then dozens of voices were raised with it, stentorian in spite of their wounds.

 Forward, brave Spartan

 children of citizen fathers…

They sang the Hymn of Bravery, the war hymn of Sparta, all together.

For the last time.

A little while before the bright summer sun was hidden by the thousands of arrows shot off at the same time by the famous Saka archers, the Kisian and Bactrian infantry marched forward at a fast pace. When they saw that they could finally cross the ground that had been drenched with their blood for the last two days, their lines dissolved and they started to run for the first time, cheering, without being whipped from behind by the Persian officers. They threw themselves on the few stones of the wall that were still in place and started to push and pull them in fury, until they had taken them all down.

Now that the pass was open from one side to the other, they removed to the right and left, forming a wide passage. Then they stood and waited, looking at the few wounded and jaded men of the Greek phalanx who stood to the right at a distance, holding whatever weapons had not broken and some more they had managed to salvage from their reserves.

Trumpets sounded piercingly, breaking the silence that followed the barbarians' shouts. A loud, shrill, long note from a horn was heard. From the left, six white imperial horses, covered with purple cloth and gold-embroidered linen, walked slowly down the passage formed by the Persian soldiers. Behind them they pulled a high golden chariot that flashed in the noonday sun. In the chariot, standing upright, was a tall, swarthy man covered with jewelry. His head was painted, his eyes outlined in black, his lips porphyry. The rest of his body was naked, anointed with palm oil and scented with balsam and myrrh.

Xerxes stopped a few yards before the end of the passage. He raised his eyes and looked, motionless and silent, at the few Greek soldiers drawn up to face his army. His expression was sullen, but his eyes were triumphant.

Without saying a word, he lowered his hand to the belt he wore around his waist and pulled a long, curved sword, adorned on its hilt with precious stones, from its sheath.

He raised it high in the sunlight, and the polished metal flashed like lightning.

The god of the sun, winged Ahura Mazda, had spoken.

When the sword came down, the Persian cavalry waiting behind him charged forward.


A battle like the angry sea. Like the waves breaking on the shore, taking the boats with them or like a violent tide sweeping everything from its path.

Even before the Persian cavalry reached the Greek's position, they had taken out their bows and shot dozens of arrows. They surrounded the phalanx and urged their horses in a circle around it, trying to disorganize it and raising a cloud of dust that completely obscured the field of vision.

Then, in the dust, the formations of the Persian infantry appeared. Blue caftans, many-colored shields, swarthy faces. Spears held out, clubs with metal nails, curved knives of dark metal. And then time froze as the gods put the finishing touches on the image of human slaughter that would follow.

"Close the lines!" ordered Leonidas as he took up position on the right side. "Forward march, shields held out!"

Before the words were out of his mouth, the Sakas fell on the meager Spartan phalanx and battered it with their huge mass and the depth of their lines. It was wood on wood and metal on metal. There were broken javelins, torn shields, and slashed breastplates that left the chest uncovered.

The Spartans took a hard blow, but they lasted. Many fell in that first clash, and others from the second line immediately came forward and took their place, reducing the depth and toughness of the Greek formation even more.

The only piper left saw Leonidas' raised spear and played the rhythm for the free-for-all. The Spartans each chose an opponent and attacked in merciless hand-to-hand combat, this time without formations and lines.

In this way, as the branches of the willow tree bend and absorb the force of the wind, they lightened the terrible pressure of the thousands of Persians pushing them slowly but surely towards the steep cliffs of the coast and the sea.

Leonidas still had not used his spear, but his shield had been smashed in the conflict. He plunged forward, lowering his long javelin with its iron point again and again, and swept away the light, scaled armor of his opponents. Dienekes had thrown away his broken spear and drawn his short sword. Alpheos and Maronas, the two brothers, were standing back to back and fighting like a two-headed monster. All around them flesh was torn, guts were spilled from bodies and the earth was soaked with steaming blood.

The shrill sound of the pipe was heard again. The Spartans pulled back together, giving the impression of flight. A hundred and fifty feet farther they stood and reformed, making a rudimentary phalanx and closing up their lines as best they could.

Dienekes felt something hot running at his foot. He looked at his body, his abdomen, his thighs. They were not wet, they had not been painted red. Puzzled, he lifted his head and looked to his right. Leonidas, beside him, was the one who was bleeding. A deep cut on the left side of his uncovered chest near the ribs had exposed the bone and was spewing blood. One of the king's arms hung nerveless, and his jaw had left its place completely, showing his broken teeth.

Before he had time to ask, before he could say anything, he felt the heavy Persian arrow in his thigh. It had been shot by the horsemen who were charging again, and it went all the way through his leg. For one moment he kneeled, bent to the ground, then he leaned on his sword and managed to raise his body again. With his free hand he pulled out the arrow and threw it away.

The Greek phalanx kept its formation for only a few minutes. Its weak lines broke quickly. The tough and disciplined Greeks held, but the lines of the attendants broke. Irregular combat began again, far behind the wall and the pass. Suddenly, a trumpet call sounded from the Persian side and the Sakas retreated. The Immortals had arrived from the south and had closed the trap. Now, they would take over. The victory belonged to them, the emperor's chosen soldiers, the nobles and the pure-blooded Persians.

Immediately after the Persian call, the piercing sound of the pipe was heard from the Spartan lines for the last time. The order was clear in the complete silence that had spread out for a little while. Battle in pairs. Rudimentary protection of the back and side.

Dienekes turned to Leonidas. Not for protection from him, but to protect him. The king was deeply wounded, his head covered in blood, his chest bleeding, one of his arms useless.

Leonidas pushed him away with his good arm. "Protect the man next to you. Not me."

Dienekes stood for a moment undecided. He did not speak but looked into his leader's eyes, the bulbs that had completely lost their white color. One glance only. Of farewell.

"We'll talk about it at dinner. Hades will host us in the Underworld" Leonidas said to him, as clearly as he could, and made a pitiful attempt to smile.

"We didn't manage to stop them…"

"But, Dienekes" he answered and for a moment he turned his gaze to the east, to the sea, where the Greek fleet was. "We will manage it… If Themistocles keeps his promise, we will manage it…"

Dienekes looked around him in frustration. Hacked bodies, broken weapons, dissolved lines. The place reeked of blood and urine. Pieces of flesh and body parts were scattered everywhere. The faces of his fellow warriors were bloody, dispirited, exhausted. No eyes, noses or mouths. They looked like statues of the gods, made of earth and dust.

"We have lost the battle, my king…" Dienekes told him in a heavy voice, his breath coming with difficulty.

"The important thing is not who wins a battle, but who wins the war" Leonidas answered him slowly. "and the Persian will understand that soon…"


A short time later, it was all over.

Lifeless bodies of Spartans lay everywhere on the battlefield, pierced by spears, cut by swords, stuck full of dozens of arrows. The area was full of fallen red plumes, red cloaks and red bodies. At a distance of five hundred feet, the earth had turned to mud from the blood. It was muddy higher up too, on the nearby hill where the last thirty Spartans had reformed, creating a circular defensive phalanx and dragging with them, like a precious offering, the dead body of Leonidas. Where they had stood without weapons, without shields, without armor, and where they were surrounded and raked with hundreds of arrows. Where they fell to a man, battling with bare hands, with nails and teeth.

Just before the sun set behind Mount Kallidromo, the golden chariot made its appearance again. Standing on it was the emperor. The wheels bounced over the rough ground on the hastily cleared paths between the hacked bodies.

He made the rounds of the battlefield and stopped before the hill where the last page of the terrible conflict had been written. Again he raised his sword to the sun, this time in triumph. Then he called the commander of the Immortals, Hydarnes.

"Find me the body of their king…"

After a few minutes the lifeless body of Leonidas was dragged out by the feet. Two ferocious imperial guards threw it in front of the golden chariot.

Xerxes looked at the man lying before him. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it at once. He stood silently for a little while. Then, with a double axe in his hand, he descended to the bloody ground.

He approached Leonidas, bent, grasped his long, muddy hair, raised the head from the ground and, with a sudden blow from the axe, cut it from the neck.

Then he raised his trophy high and climbed back on his chariot. The emperor's charioteer lashed the ornamented horses and the chariot started back towards the Persian hordes.

The breeze that suddenly started to blow from the sea stirred the bloody hair on the severed head of Leonidas.

The guards, the soldiers and the subjects of the Persian emperor enthusiastically cheered his triumphant passage.

When they reached the point where the Spartan wall had once stood, the emperor stopped suddenly.

He looked around him, first east to the sea and then west, to the high vertical cliffs of the mountain.

With a sudden movement, he threw Leonidas' severed head into the hands of Mardonius.

"Put it on a spear and stick it high on the cliff" Xerxes ordered, his voice harsh with boastfulness. "So it can see the battlefield where it was defeated. So it can see our army marching towards Sparta. So it can see our fleet embarking for Athens. So it can see Greece swept away by the power of the King of Kings."


In the heavy summer heat without a breath of air, humidity covered the coast like a damp veil as she sat on the mountainside and looked at Artemisio. Motionless. Absorbed. Ten miles of sea to the opposite coast was not much, even on a suffocating evening like this one. Neither were the dozens of lights twinkling in the depths, some moving feverishly and others that shone steadily as if reflecting the celestial dome. Nor were her own emotions.

Two days after she arrived at the Persian dockyard at Afetes and two sea battles after boarding her flagship, the Cassiope, the Greeks had abandoned their dockyard at Artemisio and retreated. With them went Themistocles. Unharmed. Certainly unharmed. She knew that already and it filled her with relief. And with fear for the future. Because how could she face him again? In bed or at sea? Alone or with his ship, the Artemis?

She shuddered when she thought about it. The first time they clashed she had seen her name written on the Athenian ship, above the two open eyes that were painted on its prow, as on the prow of every ship, to make it look like a live sea monster. It wasn't hard for her to read. She had spoken and written Greek since she was a small child, it was her language. But it was hard for her to understand. Why? Why her name?

"Because Artemis has been my protecting goddess since I was a youth, since the days of my military education in the mountains" Themistocles had told her simply when they met in secret the evening before. "Why should I not have the same protection on the sea?"

His cool answer froze her heart. She had hoped for something when she saw the name. She had hoped that he wanted her with him, not just as an ally in the fleet, but as a companion and regent at her side. But when she heard his conventional explanation she said had no words to say.

"Of course, it's not just that…" Themistocles had continued, looking at her with his large, slightly protruding eyes and making her heart pound again.

"What else?" she asked expectantly.

He did not answer but only smiled. She understood immediately. Neither the darkness nor his thick beard could hide his smile. His eyes betrayed him, that warm, cunning gleam in his eyes.

"My queen…"

The rough, breathless voice brought her out of her daydream. She looked away from the sea's horizon to the beginning of the path climbing high up the pine-covered hill, where she had sat gazing at the opposite shore since dusk.

As soon as her eyes got used to the darkness she could make out the Cassiope's helmsman, the mature man who had taught her the secrets of the art of navigation. "Tell me, Diomedes… What do you want?"

"I don't want anything. The admiral has summoned an emergency council."

"Now?" she asked, and looked at the moon, which was already high.

"Yes, now. You must go at once. The messengers just arrived with the emperor's commands and the news from Thermopylae."

"What news? We have known of the death of Leonidas and the Spartans since this afternoon. The fires and smoke signals on the mountain tops told us clearly. What does Achaimenes want now?"

Diomedes shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But the Persian is asking for you and if you want the opinion of a man who has served many masters, you would do well to go at once. He doesn't look happy, my queen."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He reminds me of a god who just drank vinegar and bile instead of nectar and ambrosia."


In the tent of Achaimenes' and of the Persian naval council the commanders of the fleets of the more important nations were gathered, those that were participating in the campaign with warships and transports. First came Mervalos, commander of the Phoenician fleet, the most powerful and experienced in seamanship. Next to him stood Kyvernes, commander of the ships from Lycia, and Amires, the Egyptian admiral. Farther back were the commanders from Caria, Cyprus and Cilicia. They all looked disgruntled. Most of all Achaimenes, brother of Xerxes.

In his hands he held a parchment with a golden border. Flung on the table before him were the leather cord and the broken piece of lead stamped with the imperial seal. They were the orders Diomedes had spoken of.

"Greetings, brother of the Great King and highest of the…"

"What do you have to say about this?" Achaimenes cut her off rudely and showed her the papyrus he was holding.

"I might have something to say after I have read it."

"It is an imperial decree. It just got here with the rest of the decrees."

"What does he decree?"

"Something that concerns you."

She did not like his tone. She did not like his manner. He scared her. "What has the Great King decreed concerning me?" she repeated slowly.

No answer. Only silent disapproval. Her apprehension grew. It must be bad news. Probably bad news for her.

The Persian admiral stretched out his arm, decorated with jewelry and painted with carmine, fluttering his fingers as if he was chasing away a cloud of flies that annoyed him. "Get out of here..."

Artemisia turned to leave with the others.

"Not you…" muttered Achaimenes grimly. "You stay… You and my guards…"

When the place was empty the admiral commanded his soldiers to close the tent flap, sat on his raised armchair, called her to him and pointed to the empty space in front of the table with the open Phoenician sea charts.

His widened nostrils audibly forced out the wind from the storm raging in his breast. His eyelids, outlined in black, opened and shut nervously. Lines of rage were carved on his face, which shone with oil. His fingers unconsciously squeezed and released the papyrus.

"What did you do?" he asked her coldly. "What did you do to the emperor?"

The color drained from Artemisia's face. What Xerxes did to mistresses who overestimated their power or became dangerous or simply bored him, was known to everyone. In that moment many images passed through her mind: beautiful severed heads with ebony hair adorning the signposts of the imperial road, shapely bodies buried whole in the desert of Lut, scattered female body parts torn by the imperial hunting falcons on the mountains of Alborz, and scattered bones whitening in the hot sun of the plains of Kabir. Perhaps now a similar fate awaited her. She had probably overstepped her limits in the war councils, making Mardonius or Hydarnes angry, and one of them had slandered her to the emperor. Or she had become too bold in the personal moments she spent in the Great King's tent, and brought his legal spouse's wrath down on her head. Or maybe Xerxes was just tired of her and would send her far away to get rid of her without creating any problems for the war effort. She could not know what exactly caused his rage. But the more she thought about it, the more possibilities there were. It explained Achaimenes' haste. It explained his grim face and abrupt manner. The decree concerned her and it would be carried out immediately.

Unconsciously she brought her hand to the grip of the sword hanging at her waist and looked behind her. The Persian guards were still standing on either side of the entrance to the tent, making no move to come near her. Across from her, Achaimenes watched her coldly.

"On the day you came, my officers were looking for you all over the dockyard after the Greek raid. They couldn't find you anywhere" he said drily. "Where were you?"

"What?" Her surprise was complete. "I was battling on the sea with the rest of our fleet."

"I mean later. That evening. You were missing, Artemisia. And your ship was missing with you."

Now it was confirmed. Achaimenes knew her secret. And if he knew it, the emperor knew it too. That explained his confident decision. She swallowed. It was certain now. Her end would come soon. The imperial decree had arrived. Execution for treason.

"Will you tell me?" asked Achaimenes and raised his hand to signal the officer of his personal guard, who approached together with the admiral's scribe and the huge black eunuch from Nubia who acted as executioner. "We don't have time…"

In the moments before she heard the men's steps approaching her, her thoughts traversed the hours that had passed, hours of battle and hours of peace, hours with clenched teeth and hours with open lips, hours full of blood and hours full of love.

She had gotten to Afetes in the afternoon, two days before.

She arrived at the worst time. An alarm was sounding throughout the Persian camp. There was feverish, almost paroxysmal activity on the sandy shore where the strongest squadrons in the Persian navy, the triremes from Phoenicia, Lycia, Egypt and Halicarnassus, were drawn up. Neighboring bays held the ships from Cyprus, Cilicia, Thrace and Ionia. Some of them were already completely in the water, others were being pushed in by slaves and still others had thrown out rope ladders and were waiting for their spearmen and archers to climb on board and man the combat section of the deck, reserved for raids and assaults. The petty officers bawled out orders like rabid dogs in their attempt to board the crews quickly, the captains ran left and right around the wooden hulls checking the dryness and tightness of the vessels and the trumpets sounded piercingly for the last stragglers to hurry. The whole sandy beach was full of clashing, blending, competing odors. The cool scent of pine from the hill behind the beach, resin and pitch used to caulk the wooden joints of the ships, and secretions of unwashed male bodies full of adrenaline.

"What is happening?"

"The madmen…" a helmsman from Caria, dragging the double oars of his rudder with him, told her. "They're coming like sheep into a wolf's mouth…" he explained, and pointed to the sea. "The admiral of the fleet promised twenty golden darics to the first crew that sinks or captures a Greek vessel."

Artemisia did not ask for more explanations. She just looked at the horizon to confirm the man's words. A formation of about two hundred vessels was coming directly towards them with furled sails. Then she looked around her at the ships of her own fleet. Her side must have more than six hundred battle-ready ships that could sail at once, perhaps more than seven or eight hundred if they could wait a little while longer. One Greek ship to three or four Persian ships. They would battle on an open sea ten miles wide, on which they could deploy a thousand or two thousand boats in full formation so as to take full advantage of their crushing numerical superiority.

"They are mad, they come to the wolf's mouth of their own will…" she murmured in agreement, confirming the helmsman's words, and strode quickly towards the center of the dockyard where her own ships were berthed.

She changed on board her flagship so as not to waste time. She took off her jewelry and her garments and, over a simple linen chiton, she put on the bronze armor that she kept in the little wooden storeroom at the bow of her ship. Then she took her place on the high platform at the stern. A wave of determination and excitement swept through her face and spirit.

She inspected her rowers on both sides of boat. All three rows of men, one above the other, were in their places with their callused hands grasping the handles of the oars. Then her eyes went to the front end of the boat, to the bow. The signalman and the lookout who would oversee communication and navigation were standing upright in their places. Above them, in the two wide passageways of the deck, the five archers and ten solders who would protect the ship were standing. The petty officer ran back and forth among them in a fury, yelling orders at the rowers. The piper next to her waited with the mouthpiece of his pipe between his lips and his chest expanded. Diomedes was ready behind her, with the double oars of the rudder in his hands. A thrill of pleasure ran down her spine as she watched her ship get ready and breathed in the smell of two hundred male bodies packed together in a hundred and thirty foot wooden ship.

Her other four vessels were already in formation next to her and were ready to start with her. She raised her eyes high and looked at the furled sail, tied carefully to the middle mast. The distance was short and the battle would start soon, and that meant moving only with the oars to build up power and speed, and also to avoid any disasters from the unpredictable wind. In sea battles with ramming, precision and coordination played the first and most important role. Satisfied by what she saw, she strove to remember any last detail she might have forgotten, but she could not remember anything.

They were ready.

The signal from the Persian admiral was given from the top of the hill when the great horn roared three times. Thousands of wooden oars were raised simultaneously into the air. The pipes of the ships sounded piercingly. The oars were buried in the water and pulled backwards with a loud bellow from the rowers. Then out again, in again, pull again, in a steadily increasing rhythm.

The Persian armada sailed.

Only one hour later they were quickly approaching the Greek fleet. Artemisia, at the center of the Persian formation with the Phoenician ships to port and the Egyptians to starboard, looked at the horizon and calculated their position and speed. The longer she watched the two hundred Greek triremes drawn up in a straight line across from them, the more she wondered. Their own formation stretched farther than the Greeks for about two hundred ships to starboard and another two hundred to port. They would outflank them and encircle them at once. The Greeks would be caught like a rabbit in a trap. They would be trapped and sunk before they could find a way to escape.

"What is he doing? Is he that stupid? Or that brave?" she wondered, this time shivering with fear for Themistocles. "Or is he simply insane? Has he really put a little fleet like this on such an open sea? It is suicide…" she murmured, and the last word raised the black flag of grief inside her.

The cries of her quartermaster, who stood with his polished shield on the bow receiving and sending light signals to the other admirals, interrupted her gloomy thoughts. The man on the other side shouted loudly, but his voice was drowned out by the sharp sound of the pipe and the clamor of the voices of the crew. Now he had put down his shield and raised his arms high, opening and shutting one hand hastily and pointing ahead. That meant that the signal had been given to sail at attack speed, the highest speed the rowers could manage, the speed for ramming.

As the Cassiope's prow cut through the water, the wind blew the hair streaming from under her helmet and drops of sea water moistened her face. She loved this feeling of speed on the sea and the sense of coming battle, but it made it hard to hear and see. Artemisia stood up, holding on by the rail, and brought her other hand up to shade her eyes against the sun as she observed the Greek fleet.

No, she was not analyzing the enemy's formation and their rigging to divine their battle tactics. She was not thinking about battle on the sea at all at this moment. She was thinking of him. He had not left her thoughts for a single day. After all that had taken place in her bedroom that summer's night, he would never leave them. Because the ties that bound them would hold for a lifetime.

Her eyes darted feverishly from the prow of one Greek ship to the next, looking at the martial emblems of the Greek cities painted above the rams. Mermaids, dolphins, eagles, winged horses, entwined snakes, lighted torches. She searched attentively through them all. Her life with Themistocles might depend on her powers of observation. If she could make sure she ended up opposite him, the chances were better that he might survive the calamity coming to him and the other Greeks. She would make sure of that. She would do what she could.

But no matter how hard she looked she could not make out images of snakes, owls or olive trees, the symbols of Athens and its protector, the goddess Athena. She was too far away and the hundreds of ships rowing in a frenzied rhythm raised a mist and a haze as if the winter rains had come.

"Let whatever the gods wish to happen, happen. I did what I could. I offered him the hand of friendship and he refused. I asked him to marry me and he rejected me. I tried to save him before it was too late and he said no. And now he wants to destroy himself…" she murmured, and turned her attention from the prows of the Greek ships.

But not from the ships themselves.

That she now looked at in surprise, almost appalled.

Just before the two fleets clashed mercilessly, each trying to disembowel the other side's ships with their bronze rams in the famous tactic of diekplou, the Greek formation started to change. Their oars dug into the water and pulled only on one side. The line of their bows opened and the ships spread out, leaving space between them. There is no worse mistake in a naval battle than to leave space between ships, because that way the enemy can sail into the space and ram the ships from the side.

The Persians could not believe their eyes. The Greeks were turning their backs. Their formation was breaking up. They would not stay and fight. They had come out on the open sea in the hope that the Persians would not answer their challenge, and now they were running in fear from the unbelievable sight of six hundred fully armed ships rowing towards them at full speed. The commanders were dumbfounded. They felt a strange blend of enthusiasm and disappointment. Easy victory, little glory, few gifts from the emperor.

Artemisia looked around her at the Persian armada. And then to the back of their formation, to the high ship that followed it, the ship with the porphyry sail with its golden border and the great kriari, the male sheep with the curled horns, as its figurehead. To the flagship of the whole Persian fleet, the ship of Achaimenes that was now giving orders with light signals: encircle the Greeks and attack them.

Moment by moment, distress grew within her. This might be their great chance. To trap them, not to allow them to escape. To hunt down the Greek fleet and sink it, to dominate the sea routes and free up the movements of the Persian army.

"But he can't be such a fool… Themistocles can't have made that big of a mistake… It can't be…" she repeated, feeling her ship gain even more speed. She could not believe it. "He can't be such a fool…"

Not the Themistocles she knew, anyway. Not the one she had met and slept with. Not the notorious and resourceful leader of the Athenians.

Before she had time to shake off her distracted thoughts, the two ends of the Persian fleet had already started to row forward in an attempt to close the sides of the pincers before the Greeks could escape. She watched the ships from Caria, Cyprus and Thrace hastily outflank the enemy fleet as a storm brewed inside her, an ugly foreboding that she could not tame.

He raised her eyes and looked at the Greek fleet again.

And then she understood. And a shudder ran through her.

They had been wrong. The Greeks were not leaving.

At that moment the Greek ships, the oars on their port sides working furiously and the oars on their starboard sides motionless in the air, their bows opening to the front and their sterns remaining still, completed their new formation.

Like a giant sea daisy, the Greek ships formed in a tight circle with rams sticking out across the whole front. The image resembled a huge sea urchin spreading out its sharp spines. There were no exposed or vulnerable points anywhere, there were no sides uncovered. The center of the circle was completely covered by the sterns of the ships. With an unexpected and ingenious move, they had managed to transform the open sea into a narrow battlefield, and their disadvantage into an advantage.

Before the Persian ships could hurriedly close their pincers and form their own, larger circle, the Greek fleet struck like lightning. At a signal given from some central ship, the Greeks started to sing their martial hymn in stentorian voices, and their ships rushed forward with all the speed their oars could give them.

Artemisia rubbed her eyes, unable to believe what she was watching. The Greek ships shot out in all directions at once, with perfect synchronization and coordination, like the rays of the sun pulled by the mighty Apollo.

The Persian navy was struck before it had time to complete its maneuver and draw up in battle position. But even if it had managed to do that, the circle it formed had such a large perimeter that its three-to-one numerical superiority did not help. They would have needed twice as many ships to close that circle. And now it was too late. Their ships were in loose array, their unprotected sides exposed to the Greek rams.

"Our only hope is to sacrifice some of our ships to trap the Greek ships when they ram us. We have many ships, we can offer some for bait to slow them down, and then we'll strike with the rest" murmured Artemisia.

Her ideas were correct, based on the tactic of ramming usually followed in sea battles.

But this time they did not apply. Because the attack planned by the Greeks was not based on ramming enemy vessels. It was based on surprise, on instantaneous direct strikes while moving and swift withdrawals.

By now the Greeks had achieved their first goal.

It was time for the second: the instantaneous direct strikes.

The Greek ships came forward with all the speed their oars could give them. According to the battle tactics that were usual at that time, they should now attempt the diekplou. That is, they would approach the enemy ship from the side at a short distance, as if they were simply going to pass it. When the two ships lay parallel to each other, with a sudden maneuver, they would turn vertical to the enemy and ram its unprotected side. They would strike with terrible force, delivering a deadly blow and opening a great hole in the wooden keel. Then the rowers would row backwards. The attacking ship would detach itself from the rammed one and quickly withdraw, before the enemy waiting on the deck could take advantage of the contact to storm its deck.

"Archers at the stern! Soldiers left and right of the rowers! Weapons at the ready!" shouted Artemisia as she waited for the blow of the ram, planning to board the Greek ship before it could withdraw. Capturing an unscathed enemy ship was the only solution. The new ship would replace the one sunk by the blow. "Rowers on the port side row slowly, approach the starboard side of the ship and cover the empty space to…"

Her words stopped abruptly. Her eyes were fixed on the fast-approaching Greek ship. It was only a hundred yards away. She could clearly make out the white sail tied to the mast, but also the wooden statue above its ram, a mermaid holding two entwined snakes, the symbol of the goddess Athena.

"It's Athenian…"

That was all she managed to say, as her eyes focused a little above the ram and the two painted eyes. On the ship's name, written clearly in red: Artemis.

"It's him… It can't be anyone else… she murmured, the instant she felt the crash of impact.

The few seconds of delay were crucial. The Artemis struck the Cassiope from the side and the flagship of Halicarnassus shook and shuddered as if in a raging gale. The impact was so strong that the seats of the rowers were almost pushed into the sea. The soldiers standing ready for battle fell overboard and, in their eighty pounds of bronze armor, sank like stones. The archers lost their quivers and arrows, the petty officer had fallen into the hold, and dozens of the rowers had broken fingers and dislocated shoulders from the violent smashing of the oars they held.

But her ship held.

And stayed afloat.

Because the Athenian vessel did not strike vertically with its ram to open a great hole in the Cassiope and sink it. It passed right next to it with the oars withdrawn, and its hard wooden rail snapped off the Cassiope's oars like twigs, literally shaving them off. It was a calculated blow with controlled results. No ship was sunk, but the Cassiope lost all the oars on its starboard side and half of its rowers, who were unprepared for the blow and killed by their own oars.

For one instant, as if time had frozen, the two ships stopped and embraced each other like long-lost lovers.

But the same did not happen with the ships around them. Uproar and crashes came from dozens of points at the same time. The Greek ships charged into the empty spaces between the Persian ships, but they did not stop to carry out the maneuver of diekplou and ram them. They simply passed quickly by their sides, shearing off the Persian oars with their rails. The enemy ships became useless and many rowers were killed or lost their hands, legs or spines. The Greek ships did not even stop to board. They were satisfied with crippling the Persian ships and inflicting losses on their crews, while they themselves got away safe and sound.

None of that happened to the Cassiope. The ship from Halicarnassus tried to recover from the clash, while the Athenian went ahead at a very slow pace, as if it was not eager to leave.

"Go…"

The voice from the stern of the Athenian ship caught Artemisia's attention. Her eyes opened, as did her mouth, but no sound came from them. She looked across to the overwrought face with the high cheekbones, snub nose and decisive glance. She looked at it and her heart longed for him more than it had before, when she was going into battle. She looked at him and her knees loosened worse than at the moment of impact.

"Themistocles?"

"Go. Turn back or take down your emblems. Our council of war has put a price of ten thousand drachmas on your head. All the captains of the Greek fleet will be hunting for you."

"They don't need to hunt for me, I'm here. Let them come!" she told him, partly indignant, partly flattered.

"Go!"

Slowly, their ships drew apart. Artemisia looked at him without speaking as he withdrew in his ship, hanging from its raised stern. He shouted something to her, but she couldn't hear him anymore. Maybe he was repeating his warning.

"That he put himself in danger to come close to me, to warn me and protect me…" she muttered, surprised herself by how moved she was.

She made a trumpet with her hands before her mouth, ready to speak, ready to ask, ready to shout to him.

She did not have time. The Athenian ship was too far away. Themistocles, standing at the stern, had stopped speaking. He was simply looking at her anxiously.

She put down her arms in frustration. Shouts and groans were heard from inside her ship. Her ears were filled with the clamor from the sea battle raging around her. She wasn't interested. She wasn't interested in anything. The only thing that interested her at that moment was the man with the white chiton and the helmet, retreating from her and becoming lost in the mist and fog of battle. Whom she might not ever see again, whom she might never tell the secret she carried deep inside her.

Before turning back to her ship and answering the agonized cries of her men, she saw the white chiton one more time. Themistocles had climbed all the way up the curved stern of the boat and was standing looking at her, gesturing with his hands. His hands were spread towards the northeast, moving emphatically. Then he pointed to the west, to the sun that was setting behind the mountains of Greece. Then back to the northeast.

Artemisia turned in the direction his hand was pointing.

She saw the island in the distance.

And understood.

It was dark.

A moonless night and the heavens were embroidered with thousands of stars. But their light could not dispel the darkness. It could not make shadows.

It was ideal.

He got there first. He had come there early and was waiting. His ship was drawn up on the shore, its crew in their place, ready, alert. He himself had climbed down by the rope ladder and was waiting on the shore in the pitch-black darkness, looking towards the west where he was expecting her to come from. In his hand he held a lighted clay lamp, covered for the time being by his palm.

A short while later he heard oars splashing softly. He did not hear a petty officer, or the shrill sound of a pipe. He uncovered the lamp in his hand and held it high, like a little lighthouse. The quiet splashing continued to come to his ears until his eyes, which had grown used to the darkness, made out the dark shape over through the water. Her ship appeared out of the darkness calmly, evocatively.

The Cassiope moored next to the Athenian ship on the great sandy shore. Her sailors disembarked, dragged her bow onto the sand, and then climbed back in and lay low under the deck. With airy movements, Artemisia's lithe form climbed over the rail and jumped easily to the sand.

Themistocles came quickly towards her and stood before her. "Did anyone follow you?"

"Even if they had wished to they could not have done so in this darkness. I even had a hard time finding the island. Only the Phoenicians could do it, but they don't like to travel on the sea at night. You?"

"No. If they had followed me, I would not see the light of day tomorrow."

"Why did you tell me to come here?" she asked him, hoping for an answer that would save both her life and his. Metaphorically the first, literally the second. Not to mention a third who was waiting back in her country.

"I want to talk to you, Artemisia."

His imperative tone, stripped of emotion, made her feel disappointed.

"Tell me…" She looked behind her, to her ship waiting with its sailors at the oars. "I do not have much time. They don't know I'm gone at the dockyard. Tell me…"

"Not here."

"But you told me to come…" she raised her voice, but stopped suddenly feeling one of his hands, rough with salt, cover her mouth and the other take her by the arm.

She followed, not saying a word. Themistocles walked, pulling her behind him, and together they entered the little pine forest next to the sandy bay. They walked a good way, in the dark, until they felt the ground become hard and steep under their feet. They had reached the beginning of the pine-covered slope of the hill that towered over the beach.

"Good. Now we're far enough away. Here they can't see or hear us."

Artemisia felt his hand release her arm and at the same time she heard his mantle rustle. Her hand immediately went to the belt around her waist, to the sheathed sword hanging next to her body.

"Don't be afraid. I have the reputation of being a cunning man, but not even I would go to the trouble to bring you here to kill you. If I had wanted to, I could have done that this afternoon, in the battle."

"What then?" she asked, taking her hand off the hilt.

"Contrary to what you believe, I came to save your life. I don't want you to die on this campaign."

"Why?"

"I don't want…"

"Why?" she repeated stubbornly.

"The Greeks have put a price on your head. They find it humiliating to fight and be defeated by a woman. They want to get rid of you, make an example of you, and send a message to everyone with your death."

Artemisia laughed. "I'm here. Let them try."

"Today five of the best ships in the fleet asked my permission to ram you. I refused. I said you belong to me. I won't be able to refuse forever."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I don't want you to be killed."

"Why not?"

"You are very stubborn."

"And you don't talk much for an Athenian. Why don't you answer? Why do you want to save my life so much, that you put your own in danger?"

Silence. An empty space. And then, suddenly, Themistocles took a step forward and touched her neck, moving her ebony hair to the side. He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. His silent tongue sang between her lips like a nightingale in spring.

They fell together on the bed of soft leaves and pine needles and their bodies entwined like sailor's knots. The caresses and kisses quickly gave place to feverish excitement. Their limbs tangled, their skin shuddered, their hands clasped tightly and caressed wildly.

"Now… Don't delay… I want you now…" she whispered full of desire.

He responded to her request immediately. He spread her legs and put his naked body between her naked thighs, his penis as erect as a bronze ram.

"No…"

"No?" he asked, dazed and confused.

Artemisia pushed him away with her legs. Then she got up from the ground, supporting herself on one elbow, turned, got up and turned her back to him.

"I thought you wanted to…"

"Don't talk, fool" she rebuked him in a voice rough from passion. "This is not the orator's podium in your assembly."

Then she put her palms on the ground and supported her body on her knees. She bent her waist and lowered her head until the side of her face touched the fallen leaves. She brought back her palms and opened her round buttocks, revealing the most hidden spot of her body.

"This may be the last time I see you. I want to give you a gift…" she said slowly, with desire evident in every sound coming from her half open mouth. "Take me in the way you Greeks like so much…"

Some time later, both half lying, they were looking at the stars in the sky. Their breath had slowed, but their skins still burned, their bodies were still damp. She was bending over his chest, one of her hands in his short hair, the other lower, stroking his soft and moist penis which, a short time before, had come out of her.

"I don't want you to die either" she said tiredly.

"Why not? You are now queen of Halicarnassus. You don't need to marry me."

"Men are good for politics and war. But for all the rest, they need a woman" she murmured, trying to sound annoyed. But she didn't succeed. "I want us to live together. I feel desire for you, you've never left my mind in all this time."

"We are enemies."

"Now. In a few weeks the war will be over."

"Don't be so sure. But even if it is over, I cannot abandon my country."

"It will end. Xerxes cannot maintain such a large army and fleet forever. He will strike a crushing blow to bring the campaign to an end, so that winter will not find him on enemy territory. Then, when everything is over, come to Halicarnassus with me. That is your country too, on your mother's side."

"I cannot leave Athens and my people."

"Leonidas is dead. Thermopylae has fallen. In a little while, Athens will fall too. It will not exist anymore. It will be just a province of the empire."

"If my city didn't exist…"

"Your city will not exist, Themistocles. The question is whether you will exist… That's what I care about… And not just for my own sake…"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Tell me that you will leave the Greeks and come with me."

He shook her off quickly. Her body was light, but the words that came out of her mouth were as heavy as lead.

"Are you asking me to betray my country?"

"To leave it. It's not the same thing. Just in time, maybe. Before your lifeless corpse is floating around in Poseidon's kingdom."

"Why should I do that? Just to save my life? He asked sarcastically."

"To be king at my side."

"I grew up in a democracy. That's what I'm fighting for."

"Nonsense. The world is ruled by the smart and the powerful. All the others just serve. That is how the gods made it."

Themistocles got up and put on his linen chiton. Then he looked at the sky. "It's late. We must go back. Soon Apollo will be driving his shining chariot through the heavens."

Before the words were out of his mouth he felt her nails raking his shoulder, then his waist and finally his buttocks. He shuddered with pleasure. But he did not turn towards her.

"Xerxes has gathered the greatest army and fleet the world has ever seen. How long will you stand against him? With what forces and what reserves? Sooner or later, even the hardest rock is worn away by the waves. That is the truth. There is no way to defeat the emperor."

He was silent, weighing her words. He stood looking at the stars, fighting to control his sorrow at the truth of her words and the desire growing inside him at her touch. Then he noticed the constellation of Leo and next to it, the constellation of Scorpio. People believe that lions win in war. But scorpions, though often overlooked, are more effective. Scorpions attack stealthily, without boasting or glory. They prepare for a long time and finally strike once, but they strike suddenly, effectively, fatally. He smiled and turned towards her, the smile widening.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked.

They say that smiles are catching. In that case, it happened to be true. Artemisia took her fingertips from his back, rose, stood before him and tenderly stroked his cheek.

"Come with us. The Great King will reward you richly. In spite of the name of barbarian that has been given him, he knows how to value an intelligent man and an able warrior. If you swear loyalty to him and help him, he may make you satrap of the provinces of Ionia. Then, together, as legal spouses, we will govern almost all of Ionia, because the territories of Halicarnassus will double."

"Two birds with one stone… Enslavement to the Persian and me as king next to you, on new territory…" he commented ironically.

Artemisia's expression hardened. "The land is not the only reason I want you as my husband" she said, fighting to hide her nervousness.

Themistocles, for his part, was trying to hide his smile. His irony had a purpose. If he accepted her proposal immediately, he would make her suspicious. He had to make her believe he was struggling, that he was trying to get around his objections, so that she would try to persuade him. That was the smartest way. He had used it many times on his opponents in the assembly of Athens. Even if you are a wolf, you have to learn to bleat every now and then to bring the sheep near you. That was what he always told his friends.

"If I sacrifice Athens… What will I gain in return?" he asked drily, trying to look like a sharp merchant who only thought about profit.

It took her several minutes to explain the emperor's generosity, giving examples. It took her even longer to analyze her plans for their kingdom It took her very little time to stand on her toes and kiss him tenderly on the lips.

"I love you…" she whispered, her lips still moist from his.

It was the right moment. Like a blacksmith who knows when the metal is hot and flexible, ready to be taken out of the furnace and hammered on his anvil, Themistocles said the words she so longed to hear from his lips.

"So do I… I love you too…" he told her tenderly. "That's why I will do what you ask… I will do it for both of us…"

"Not just for us."

"And for your emperor."

"Not just for him."

"For who, then?" wondered Themistocles.

"The time has not yet come for you to find out" she told him, laughing.

"When will it come?"

"After our victory."

In spite of her fearless and dauntless character, she took his warning seriously. The next morning, after a few hours of sleep, she pretended to be sick and avoided approaching the fleet and its flagship.

She explained her reasons for her absence to the Persian admiral and retired, first to her tent and then to the place where she had sat the first evening after she got there, on top of the hill above the anchorage.

Achaimenes had ordered his fleet to leave late in the afternoon. The whole morning would be devoted to repairing the damaged ships and replacing the oars that had been broken by the Greeks' strange tactic. Then, in the afternoon, after the rowers who had been killed or crippled were replaced, the Persian fleet would sail to strike the Greeks before their own anchorage, on the opposite shore, at Artemisio. Mervalos, the Phoenician commander, who still could not stomach the thought of their defeat the day before, had proposed a commando raid to the Greek heart, at their base itself, and Achaimenes had accepted his proposal with enthusiasm. They would strike simultaneously from two sides.

According to Mervalos' plan, some ships would disembark Persian troops a little to the east of the Greek anchorage, while the main force of the fleet would surround them on the side of the sea. The ships with the troops had already sailed so that the Persian soldiers would be able to disembark in time to march the distance to the Greek dockyard. The other ships would wait for the smoke signal from the mountain opposite them to sail. Thus they would coordinate and strike a crushing blow simultaneously from land and sea.

Artemisia had to admit that it was a plan worthy of a Phoenician warlord. A plan that, if it worked, would deprive her of the great benefit of last night's success, the agreement she had made with Themistocles. On the one hand the glory of the victory would go only to the Phoenicians, and on the other hand Themistocles himself might be killed in the battle.

"If things go well for Achaimenes, today everything will be over… Unfortunately…" she murmured thoughtfully. "Our victory will come without my contribution."

Her heart tightened with fear, her chest swelled with anxiety. She sat in the shade of the pine and sighed deeply. The enthusiasm of the previous evening had been replaced by anxiety about the outcome of the battle that was about to take place. She sat and prayed devoutly to her protecting goddess, Artemis, to turn events towards the best solution for her, and it was a long time before she raised her eyes.

Her reverent prayer was interrupted suddenly by the piercing sound of the trumpet. Then followed the harsh voices of officers and the clamor of sailors weighing anchor, although it was still too early for the fleet to sail.

Puzzled, she raised her head and looked at their dockyard.

And then at the sea before her.

And then she saw them.

"They are mad!" she muttered in surprise and admiration. "They really are mad, by Artemis…"

The opposite shore was hidden.

The Greek fleet had arrived at full speed and it had been drawn up opposite them before they even had time to sound the alarm. The rowers were still on shore and most of the officers were at the military council being informed.

The few Persian ships that were manned and battle-ready at that moment, immediately began to row towards the exit of the anchorage, so as to create a security cordon and intercept the Greek attack.

Artemisia looked over at the Greek fleet, trying to make out the white sail and the mermaid with the two entwined snakes, Themistocles' ship.

But it was too far away. All she could do was to calculate the number of enemy vessels. Clearly fewer than on the previous day. She counted about a hundred and twenty Greek ships. There were about four hundred of their own, even after the departure of the two hundred that had left earlier to carry out the encircling maneuver by transferring soldiers. When they were manned and ready, they would have a four to one superiority. This time, no Greek formation could cover the difference. No heroism could turn it around.

"They are mad…" she murmured again.

And then, before the words were out of her mouth, the first line of Greek ships rushed forward to the paroxysmal rhythm of the pipes. At the same time, great stretched leather drums sounded loudly, shaking the air of the bay, as the trumpet calls echoed through the steep cliffs that surrounded it. Just before the enemy ships reached their greatest speed, the trumpet calls suddenly stopped and thousands of male voices were raised. The Greeks attacked frontally, singing their victorious battle hymn.

"It's amazing…"

Artemisia looked and could not believe her eyes. Ignoring every rule of war at sea, the little Greek fleet attacked first, not waiting for battle. The Persian vessels that had come out into open waters were swept by the first wave of the attack. Some of the Greek ships appeared to have achieved their purpose and sunk the Persian ships, others clashed with the heavier Persians and were damaged. The sea battle had an ambivalent outcome in spite of the prowess and daring of the Greek crews, and Artemisia did not understand why they were making this suicidal move. Because of this, when the time for the real battle came, the Greek fleet would have even fewer battle-ready ships.

Her doubt was soon over. Forty of the Greek ships were engaged in battle, but the other eighty skirted the conflict and outflanked the Phoenicians who were protecting the dockyard. They gathered together, undisturbed, a little farther on, drew up in a straight formation and immediately rushed forward again at top speed. They were going to ram the Persian ships while they were still docked at the shore. It was very dangerous since some of the attacking ships might run aground in the shallow water off the coast, but the Greeks were fighting on their own territory and obviously they knew the waters.

The Persians did not have time to sail away. They tried to pull their ships even further out of the water, using slaves and draft animals to take them out of the reach of the enemy rams, while at the same time their archers let loose broadsides of arrows at the rowers, trying to hit enough of them to lessen the speed and momentum of the attack.

Before the sun had climbed over the mountains of central Greece, towering to the west, the Greek fleet withdrew as quickly as it had come, leaving behind chaos, panic and seventy destroyed ships. Although the damage to the Persian fleet was slight in absolute terms—it still had enough ships and crewmen in reserve—the damage to the morale of sailors and officers was incalculable.

That same evening, Achaimenes publicly beheaded the officers on duty and two admirals as an example. Then, still full of rage, he summoned a war council. Not so much to return the blow as to find a victim that he could offer to his brother in atonement, along with the bad news.

"Well?" Achaimenes asked again, returning her to the present. "Are you going to tell me where you were?"

"I do not understand, my admiral…"

The Persian sat down again, exasperated, still holding in his hand the papyrus with the imperial seal. "In addition to your strange absence that night, the next day you avoided taking part in the battle. Why?"

"I was ill."

"Where were you, Artemisia?"

"Here. In the dockyard."

"No one saw you."

"I was high up on the hill."

The Persian sighed. He raised his hand and gave the papyrus to the officer of his personal guard. "Carry out the orders of the Great King. We won't get a word out of her mouth."

The officer opened the papyrus and ran his eyes over the words. "Very well…" he said finally, and his eyes sought the huge black eunuch.

"When everything is finished, write a letter to the king. Say that his wishes were carried out immediately, exactly as he asked" said Achaimenes to the scribe of the admiralty.

"What do you want me to tell you?" shouted Artemisia, as she sensed behind her the eunuch's heavy breath and the smell of blood coming from his gigantic body.

Achaimenes sighed. "You know what I want you to tell me. I asked you before. Where were you and what did you do for my brother to make a decree like this?" He looked at her face impatiently. Then at the lamp that had almost gone out. "Don't take too long, Artemisia. I am tired."

"I was with Themistocles".

"The Athenian? The leader of our enemies?"

The eunuch shook beside her.

"Yes. We are relatives."

"But enemies in this war" murmured Achaimenes through his clenched teeth.

"Not any more. I will tell you. I will tell you everything."

The admiral made a gesture to the eunuch, who withdrew. "Quickly though. Do not try my patience."

"I made a deal with him. At the right moment Themistocles will come to us. Perhaps with the whole fleet of Athens."

"Are you telling the truth?" asked Achaimenes doubtfully. But the excitement that had suddenly appeared on his face clearly showed his interest. Treachery was the best tactic for swift victory in war. It had been shown at Thermopylae the day before. Treachery would be the best gift for the Persian admiral's abject morale. "Are you telling the truth, woman?" he asked again, intensely.

"Yes."

"And what does the Athenian ask in return?"

"To become my spouse and king of Halicarnassus."

Achaimenes smiled. For the first time since the previous day. Then, as if he had suddenly thought of something, his face clouded over again.

"When did you make this arrangement?"

"Yesterday evening. I met him secretly on the island of Skiathos."

"If that is so, why did the Athenian not warn us today? Why did he attack us with the other Greeks?" he asked nervously.

"He will come to us at the right moment, that is what we agreed. Today was not the right moment. It was too soon, he did not have time to put our plan into practice. If he had not fought with them today, he would have caused suspicions and the whole plan would have foundered."

"And when will the right moment be?"

"At the decisive naval battle. Today, in spite of the damage they caused, they only destroyed a small part of our fleet. Most of our ships are still ready for battle…"

"We have six hundred left. We have lost almost a third of our ships in storms and sea battles."

"Still. We have the advantage on the sea and we completely dominate the land. What can stop us? If everything goes well with Themistocles, it is only a matter of time before we destroy the Greek fleet and become masters of the sea. And that honor will belong only to you, Achaimenes. History will memorialize your name for ever.

Flattery is the shortest path to success. Everyone knows that. Although Achaimenes was a member of the Persian court and had used the ploy many times, he gave in to its seduction immediately. Anyway, this time he was not using it. He was its object, and that made all the difference.

"I must admit that your plan is very good, Artemisia" he commented. "Perhaps that is what made my brother issue this decree. Were you perhaps gone today because you were secretly travelling to his camp at Thermopylae and telling him what you had accomplished with Themistocles?"

"No…" she answered, really puzzled this time.

"Take her" he ordered his officer.

The eunuch moved toward her. The sword of the officer touched her back.

"Without me there is no agreement" Artemisia reacted. "Themistocles will not commit treason for money or gifts, but only for my sake. If something happens to me, the agreement will be cancelled."

"Why should something happen to you?" asked Achaimenes. "Now, after all you have told me, I applaud my brother's decree as well, although it enraged me at first."

"What is his decree?" she asked in surprise.

"He has appointed you vice admiral of the fleet."

The officer's sword was lowered.

The eunuch's thick hands withdrew.

The scribe rolled his eyes.

"Vice admiral?"

"Together with Mervalos and Tetramistos, the Phoenician admirals. Immediately under me. That was the sudden and strange imperial decree that made my heart stop and filled my mind with doubts and questions… No longer… After what you have told me, I understand what he did and I agree…" murmured Achaimenes with satisfaction. "Women… Sometimes more cunning than the gods…" he added, smiling.


[ "The Fall of an Empire" ]

[ The Decision ]

A moonless night. And yet their anguished faces were lit up as they stood on the shore of the island of Salamis across from Athens. They watched with fear, awe and anger as their city burned. The shops and houses, the market, the gymnasia and the theaters had already fallen prey to the flames. But their indignant eyes were mainly drawn to the flaming temples of the Acropolis.

When the Persian army reached Athens three weeks after the battle of Thermopylae, it had captured an abandoned city. All of the noncombatants, tens of thousands of people, had been moved to the nearby islands of Aegina and Salamis. The evacuation was completed in fifteen days and nights by the Athenian warships returning from Artemisio, together with merchant vessels and transports from the harbor of Piraeus.

The fury of Xerxes had known no bounds. He laid siege to the Acropolis, where those who were too old or too disabled to move had taken refuge, and when he captured it he respected neither the temple of the goddess Athena nor the supplicants who had taken refuge in it. He slaughtered them all and set fire to the whole of Athens.

"By Zeus… We don't have a country any more…" murmured Mnisiphilos, his voice shaking with grief, as he watched the destruction.

"And yet…"

"And yet what, Themistocles? Look. There are fires everywhere. Nothing is left of the Acropolis but the rock. Mnisiphilos is right, we don't have a city any more, we don't have a country" said Cimonas in a rage.

"Yes, we don't have a city any more, but we do have a country."

"Ashes and embers is all we have."

"No. We have dry wood and strong hulls. Our ships are our country now."

"What do you mean? That we are all going to live together in the holds, like rats?"

Themistocles did not have time to answer Mnisiphilos' sarcasm. The messenger started to shout even before he reached the top of the hill where the three of them stood looking at the destruction.

"Eurybiades wants to see you, Themistocles."

"Where?"

"On his flagship. He has called a war council."

Cimon raised his head and looked at the sky. The moon was in the east, but this was the third week after the full moon and that meant that the night was far gone.

"At this time of night?" he muttered, puzzled.

"We're at war, Cimonas. There are no good or bad times" commented Themistocles, who was worried. "I am sure the Spartan has his reasons."

"I'll come with you…"

"No, Mnisiphiles, the soldiers of the infantry know and respect you. I want you to be near them because I trust you. I control the fleet. I'll take Cimonas with me."

"Why Cimonas?"

"If I need to leave the war council for any reason, I don't want to give Eurybiades and Adeimantos a chance to influence the leaders of the other cities against us. There must be at least one Athenian to protect our interests."

"Why would they influence them against us? At Artemisio we all fought together as one."

"Only for three days, Mnisiphiles."

"What does that mean?"

"That that's how long Greeks can remain unified" Themistocles said, uneasily, and he started to walk quickly down this hill with his heart hammering faster and faster from suspense.

When he reached the bottom of the hill before the dockyard where the whole Greek fleet had anchored after leaving Artemisio, he stood still for a moment in surprise, hearing a strange noise and feeling the earth tremble under his feet. He raised his eyes, puzzled, and looked across the sea straits. A white cloud of dust several miles long was rising from the mainland opposite.

Then he understood why Eurybiades had suddenly summoned the war council in the middle of the night.

The Persian army was leaving ruined Athens and marching south.

Towards Corinth and Sparta.


On Eurybiades' ship there was clamoring and great passion. Greeks shout and wave their hands even if there are only two of them together. Now there were twenty Greeks talking all together in a space only forty yards long, the length of a ship.

"In this situation we cannot delay. We must leave at once."

Adeimantos, the admiral of Corinth, the city just forty miles to the south, spoke curtly and decisively. His eyes shone like lightning, his face was wrinkled with anger and suspense."

"We agreed to…"

"I haven't recognized you, Themistocles!" Eurybiades stopped him angrily, striking the wooden deck with his staff. "You cannot interrupt someone who is talking whenever you want to!"

"I can when what he says is the opposite of what we agreed."

"The Persian army has started out from Athens. You saw it yourself as you came here. Corinth and Sparta are in danger. We must leave at once" Adeimantos shouted, upset.

"My city was also in danger, and it was lost. But I sacrificed it because I believed in doing what we agreed, in anchoring here and fighting the decisive naval battle in the straits of Salamis."

"Circumstances have changed. And when circumstances change, agreements must change too," Eurybiades said drily.

"Correct…" Themistocles answered him ironically. "Anyway, for you Spartans agreements don't have any meaning. You did not send your whole army to Thermopylae and that's why the Persians were able to get through the pass and destroy Athens unopposed."

"The Athenian envies us because we still have countries. We must not listen to him. And a man without a country cannot insult us in this way" raged Adeimantos.

"I sacrificed it to protect yours! If the Persians had not slowed down to plunder Athens, you would not have had time to build a wall at Isthmos and defend yourselves!" yelled Themistocles, beside himself, and rushed at Adeimantos.

Cimonas grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back. And that was a good thing, because at that moment the commander of the ships from Mycenae lunged at him to protect his friend Adeimantos. Spirits were suddenly inflamed and the famous curse of the Greeks, discord, had taken control of their irritable minds.

The other commanders shouted, cursed and swore, each trying to be the loudest in defending the interests of his own city. The admirals from Corinth, Sparta and Mycenae wanted to leave at once and meet in front of their army, which was defending Isthmos. The admirals from the island of Aegina and the city of Megara wanted the fleet to stay at Salamis, since a withdrawal would surely condemn their cities to the Persian yoke. The admirals of other cities and islands were divided. Some wished to remain and fight the sea battle before Athens as they had agreed and others asked to return to their areas at once, to be near their families.

In its hubbub and confusion, the war council resembled a quarrel at a symposium. Everyone shouted without asking to speak, some squabbled and others had already come to blows. Eurybiades thumped the wooden deck with his staff in vain, trying to get them to calm down and continue the council so they could vote on tactics. The face of the Spartan, unused to such unrestrained behaviors, had become as red as his cloak and his knuckles had turned white.

"The Persian army has destroyed Greece, it is marching towards the few cities that are still free, and we are fighting among ourselves!" he shouted fiercely, trying to calm the exacerbated tempers.

"Correct. We must think about defense and not fight among ourselves like roosters" said Ablemonas, the admiral of the ships from the island of Naxos, in frustration.

"That is why our fleet must fight here, at Salamis as we agreed" shouted Themistocles, taking advantage of the momentary pause in the quarrel. "The sea straits between…"

"It's not your turn to talk yet. I haven't recognized you" Eurybiades cut him off abruptly.

"I don't need your recognition. The gods in whose name we took our oath recognize me and everyone will listen to me. You too, Spartan."

"This is mutiny" Eurybiades shouted, beside himself, and raised his admiral's staff with the intention of bringing it down on the Athenian's head. "You will have the chance to speak when it is your turn!"

"Hit me, but listen to me first" Themistocles said, and grabbed his wrist.

"You know what happens to those who start the competitions early, Themistocles. The judges whip them!" taunted Adeimantos.

"And those who start late never win!" he answered, holding Eurybiades' arm in a tight grip.

"Let me go…"

"You will listen to me first."

"Let him speak." The voices were heard from one end of the ship to the other. Admirals and commanders from all the cities and islands demanded that Themistocles should be given the right to speak. "We want to hear what he has to say before we vote."

Eurybiades thought for a little while and then nodded his head. "Very well, since the leaders themselves ask it… But after that, Adeimantos will speak…"

The admiral sat down again, putting down his staff. Themistocles let go of his hand and climbed to the highest point on the ship, right next to the stern, where everyone could hear and see him.

"Greeks… My fellow warriors… We fought hard together at Artemisio, that is how we managed to defeat the Persian fleet even though it was three and four times our size. Unity, decisiveness and spirit led us to victory all three times we clashed with them on the sea. But out of those three, the most important is unity. Without that, there would not have been any spirit because each of us would have felt alone and weak, or any decisiveness because everyone knows that weakness gives birth to fear and that gives birth to doubt, which is the great enemy of decisiveness.

"My brothers… Think… I ask you… Would it be good to break up now? Can we do more if some of us stay in Salamis and others leave? Or would that be an unexpected gift to the Persians? I say that it would be an unexpected gift to our enemy, and he would take advantage of our disunity to destroy us all. That is why I will vote to stay here. You should vote with me too, for unity, so that you will not see your cities destroyed, as mine was. So that you will not see your temples plundered and your wives sold as slaves. Because if we break up, that is the future that awaits you!"

"He is saying all that out of jealousy" Adeimantos shouted immediately. "From pure jealousy for those of us who still have cities, since he lost his own and is without a country. Without rights, house or fortune, which we have! That is why we will leave tomorrow, to defend our cities and our goods. That is also why you must vote to withdraw from Salamis."

"Fool!" shouted Themistocles passionately. "We Athenians abandoned our houses and our fortunes because we believe it is not worth becoming slaves to save dead things like houses and lands. Because for us, freedom is more important than gold and wealth!


North of Salamis, along the coast of Athens, the army of Xerxes continued to march all the next day, the shuffling of tens of thousands of feet in the dry ground raising a cloud of dust. That was the sight that made the hearts of the men from Corinth and Sparta sink. They had gathered on the north coast of Salamis and were worriedly watching the Persian hordes march against their cities.

The Athenians were gathered on the east side of the island. Across from them lay the ruins of their own city. Smoke was rising from the temples of the Acropolis, the hills of the Nymphs and the Muses, the market and the neighborhoods, everything. It was a heavy weight on the breasts of the warriors, who watched the terrible vengeance of the Persians without being able to do anything.

"That Adeimantos was right. We don't have a country anymore."

"We don't have a city, Cimonas. It's not the same thing."

"Soon we won't have a country either. Not even the earth will be left to us to rebuild our city. We will have to abandon it. You heard it with your own ears, Themistocles. Adeimantos said it, even though we haven't voted yet. The ships from Corinth and Sparta will leave, their commanders are having a hard time keeping them here already. And if that happens, we won't be able to face the Persian navy on our own. We'll have to withdraw too."

"What did you say?"

"That the ships will leave. They would have left already if Eurybiades hadn't broken up the council."

"Not that. After that. What did you say after that?"

"That we will have to withdraw too if they leave."

"That, yes, that might convince them to stay."

"You didn't manage it yesterday with your fiery, passionate words, even though you tried all night. You spoke in the name of our common country and common gods. What makes you think that today you will be able to…"

But Themistocles was not listening any more. He was thinking. Thinking of how sometimes cold-blooded blackmail is more effective than thousands of heated words.

Without saying a word, he turned and began to walk quickly towards the shore, to the cove where the Spartans' ships, including Eurybiades' flagship, were drawn up on the sand.

Pitiful, disgusting, bleak sights met his eyes as he climbed the hill and walked towards the dockyard, making his heart sink with sorrow and foreboding. He walked faster, lowering his head, but he could still see them. Women were pulling up the few edible plants remaining on the hillside, hungry children ran behind the rowers begging for a mouthful of the ration the fleet gave them, old people lay weakly in the sun because their strength had left them, lines of people as long as rivers stretched out from the places where drinking water was distributed, and people implored, weeping, before the stores of food and supplies.

"Whatever happens, it will have to happen soon. Otherwise we will all die of hunger or disease. The island is too small to feed so many people and our supplies are dwindling. The Persian might not defeat us, but if we don't do something soon, hunger will" he said to himself as he arrived at the flagship of the Greek fleet.

The Spartan guard blocked his way.

"Inform your admiral that I am looking for him" he told him curtly.

"He is sleeping."

"Wake him up. He will have time to sleep when it's time for the boatman of souls."

"I cannot break his orders."

He did not wait to hear more but pushed the man roughly aside, climbed into the ship and started to walk towards the bow, where Eurybiades' sketchy accommodation was.

The guard ran behind him but did not dare to touch him. He was a Spartan, brought up from childhood to obey his superiors and respect hierarchy.

"Eurybiades!" Themistocles' voice sounded like a drumbeat in the enclosed space of the bow. "Eurybiades!"

When the little wooden door opened slowly, a grim and weary Eurybiades appeared. His eyes were red and sunken in their sockets and his face more wrinkled than the leather coverings of the oarlocks on his ship.

"I tried to stop him, admiral, but…"

"I know, he's too pigheaded" muttered Eurybiades, and slowly stretching out his hand, he sent the guard away. Then he turned his attention to his visitor. "What do you want, Themistocles?" he asked icily.

"I want us to make a decision together. Everyone who is alone is lost."

"I know. That's why I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

"I'll be brief then, the way you Spartans like it. If you withdraw from Salamis, we will come with you."

Eurybiades jumped in amazement. "You can't do that" he protested loudly. "We are still in alliance. We have sworn before Zeus."

"We have sworn to be united in war and protect our countries together. But if you abandon Salamis, there will be no more country for us. Therefore there will be no alliance and no oath."

Eurybiades looked at him carefully. He studied him. He weighed him. The Athenian was not a soldier like himself. He was a politician. A politician notorious for his cunning and his bluffs.

"What do you mean?" he asked him, looking at him intently. "The oath is still an oath, you cannot break it."

"The oath I gave when I took the title of Athenian General is the most important of all. To protect the citizens of the democracy. And I will do that. I will embark them on our one hundred and eighty triremes and we will leave Greece at the same moment you leave with your ships for Isthmos" Themistocles answered him in a strong voice, and then made one of his famous rhetorical pauses, of which he was a master. "Think about it, Eurybiades. We have a hundred and eighty of the three hundred and ten triremes of the fleet. The best and strongest. And the best trained crews. What chances will you have without us? The Persians will crush you. Your name will go down in history as a synonym for disaster. Xerxes will rule the sea and will disembark his army wherever he wants, bypassing the useless wall you built at Isthmos."

Eurybiades was an undecided man, but he was neither stupid nor slow. He saw the deadly danger at once.

"Come inside. These matters should only be discussed behind closed doors" he said, and stood to the side to allow him to enter.


All the commanders of the Greek fleet were on Eurybiades' ship for the new war council the admiral had called. But Themistocles remained on the shore. He walked back and forth on the sand nervously, his head turned anxiously toward the path from the interior of the island.

He was alone. This time he had refused to have Cimonas keep him company, in spite of the fact that his friend and fellow warrior had offered to accompany him in the difficult struggle he would have to face again, to convince the war council to accept his proposal and fight as one at Salamis.

"General?"

Themistocles turned suddenly, before he even understood the word he had heard. The person he was waiting for would never dare to call him by his official title.

"Ameinias? What are you doing here?" wondered Themistocles, seeing the Athenian captain in the Spartan camp.

"Don't be afraid, I haven't become a Spartan" he answered with a smile. "I'm coming back from the watchtower. I was on duty at the cape of Kynosoura."

"Any news?"

"No. Their fleet is waiting at the coasts. They don't aren't moving because they want us to come out on the open sea, they don't want to come in and fight here, in the straits."

Themistocles looked at the straits between the shores of the island and Athens.

"Don't look at it" continued Ameinias, guessing his thoughts. "It's not even half a mile wide and only two long. No admiral commanding such a large fleet as the Persian one would go into battle in such a narrow space."

"That is the problem" murmured Themistocles thoughtfully. "How can we convince them to do it?"

"Why don't you go and talk to their war council, too?" said Ameinias with a ringing laugh. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you up there with the other commanders of the fleet?" he asked, pointing at the Spartan ship with the high porphyry stern, a signal that their council had started.

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Cimonas?"

"No."

"Aristeides?"

"No. He left this morning for the island of Aegina to bring the sacred statues of the Aiakides, and he hasn't come back yet."

"Well then? Who are you waiting for?" he asked.

His question was answered by itself.

"Master…"

Ameinias and Themistocles turned their eyes together high up the hill, to the place where they heard the voice. Sikinos ran, almost tumbling down the hill, gesturing and shouting.

"What do you think he wants? Has something bad happened?" asked Ameinias worriedly.

"No. Not yet…"

"He acts as if lustful Pan was chasing him with his phallus raised like a stick" he joked.

Themistocles did not even answer. He waited for Sikinos to come close, then turned and started to climb the rope ladder of the ship.

"Was it him you were waiting for out here, general?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I want him to be with me at the war council."

"A slave?" asked Ameinias.

"He is not just a slave. After he has stood beside me faithfully for so many years, he is more like a friend."

"A friend from Persia, though" said Ameinias gloomily.

"Exactly. He is Persian, he speaks their language and he served in Darius' army when he was young, so he might be able to answer some of our questions" Themistocles answered hastily.

But he did not wait to give more explanations. He climbed up to the deck and walked quickly, with Sikinos following close behind.

He found the other commanders in animated conversation, as Greeks usually are. They shouted, waved their arms and interrupted each other passionately.

Without waiting for Eurybiades' permission, he climbed onto the stern and raised his voice, determined to say what he had to say as quickly as possible. A message must be given with decisiveness. A threatening message must be given with decisiveness and without hesitation.

"We've come to a place where fine speeches won't help us, brothers. I won't waste my time today in words for closed ears. What I have to say to you, I will say once in front of you for all to hear, and I won't repeat it. If you withdraw from Salamis, we Athenians, together with our ships, will leave the fleet and the alliance and we will sail for Italy to found a new city."

A stir went through the commanders of the fleet. There were anxious and fearful whispers, since they all knew that without the Athenians the fleet would be lost.

"Let us vote…" said Pedaritos, the commander from the city of Mycenae, trying to prevent panic and find a solution. "If you are as democratic as you say, Themistocles, you will respect the decision of the majority."

"You are an honorable man, Pedaritos, I know that. But fear is making you talk wildly. I serve democracy, but first of all I serve my country. Especially when it is in danger."

"That is exactly why we want to leave!" shouted Adeimantos, annoyed, and then he climbed up on the rail and raised his voice. "Our brothers at Isthmos will be attacked by the Persians soon. We must be with them, we must help them!"

"We will help them better by fighting here. Everyone can see that the straits of Salamis are the best field of battle for us" insisted Themistocles.

"Exactly! But the Persians can see the same thing. They're not fools!"

"Like yourself, you mean?" Themistocles mocked him, unexpectedly and unprovoked.

Adeimantos seized him by the chiton and pulled him toward him in a rage. "Take back the insult!"

"It's not an insult, it's the truth" insisted Themistocles, completely out of character.

Adeimantos raised his hand to strike him.

Eurybiades raised his staff to prevent the use of force.

Behind Themistocles, Sikinos stood as if struck dumb. His master was not the kind of man who let himself be swept away by rage. He knew very well how to make compromises, to maneuver and sometimes retreat to get what he wanted. Without those virtues, he would never have survived in a system like democracy.

"We will vote now!" shouted Eurybiades, ending the brawl and raising a storm of whispers."

"I want to speak…"

"No."

Adeimantos was dumbfounded by the refusal of the man who, until the day before, had been his ally. He looked at Eurybiades with his eyes starting out of their sockets. "I want to speak!" he repeated imperiously.

"You had your turn. You had many turns. Now the time has come for us to vote and make decisions. We don't have long" Eurybiades responded, and he stood up. "How many vote to remain in Salamis?" he cried loudly.

Themistocles raised his hand before Eurybiades had time to finish his question.

Hesitatingly at first, but then with more and more confidence, hands were raised one after another. It was not a majority, but it was a number that worried Adeimantos.

"We are representatives of free cities here" he shouted, interrupting the vote. "Those who do not have a country do not have the right to vote" he screamed at the top of his lungs, looking at Themistocles.

"Fool! Do you think I don't have a country because I don't have a house and land?"

"He is without a country! He may not vote!"

"I am without a country because I accepted to sacrifice for our common cause! I am without a country because for me, as for glorious Leonidas, it is not the battle that is important, but the final victory! I am without a country because I love freedom more than earth and stones!" howled Themistocles. "And I do not intend to sacrifice that here, for the sake of some blockheaded fools like you!"

Adeimantos smiled nervously, seeing his excitement. He thought it was his chance to push Themistocles into leaving. So he ignored the insult and continued: "Only the rest of us will vote! Those who still have a country and want to protect it!"

Themistocles appeared to be seething with rage. His broad forehead was wrinkled like the surface of the sea in winter, his eyes flashed like the furnace of the god Hephaestus. He stared at Eurybiades with those eyes, trying to see his nod of consent.

"That's the end!" he shouted as soon as he saw it. "I won't sit in the council and listen to your insults any longer. I'm leaving now!"

"We're not staying either. We're not interested in your votes. The ships of Corinth will leave Salamis tonight!" Adeimantos shouted, beside himself.

That was what Themistocles was waiting for. After making sure that Sikinos was behind him and had heard the words of the commander from Corinth, he turned towards the prow and started to walk away with a quick, determined stride.

"The Athenians withdraw from the fleet and the alliance. Vote and decide among yourselves! Let's go, Sikinos…"

With a quick stride, paying no attention to the entreaties of the commanders of the fleet, he went towards the stern of the ship, hearing Eurybiades' words behind him: "We are interrupting this council to calm our spirits and give Themistocles' rage time to pass. We will meet again after dinner for the final decision…"

They got off the ship and walked to the cape of Kynosoura without exchanging a single word.

Themistocles walked to the edge of the narrow peninsula and stood near the steep cliffs at its coast.

He looked at the grey afternoon horizon and then at the sea before it. Then he looked towards Athens and the fires lighted on its coast, at the Persian anchorage.

Suddenly he turned and grasped Sikinos tightly by the shoulders. He looked him in the eye and spoke in a low voice, just as if he had not been shouting at the top of his lungs until then:

"My friend… I have made my decision… Your time has come…"