The little boat moved silently over the dark waters. Its oars were buried in the water and raised with care because they had to reach the shore without attracting the attention of the Persian outposts. Its keel was rubbed all over with black pitch, and its boatman was naked and covered in dark mud to soak up the sweat so his body would not reflect light. The single passenger was wrapped in a dark cloak given to him before he left Salamis.

Sikinos was lost in thought. He hands grasped the wooden rail firmly, but his eyes moved continually back and forth over the endless Persian camp. Inside him, the sense of duty wrestled with his fear and his emotions. His heart fluttered like a bird from one nest to the next. His master's message was clear. By bringing it he would be helping both his master and his own country at the same time, but there was no way to tell if his countrymen would believe him.

He had grown up in Persia and he knew very well what a terrible punishment would be waiting for him if they decided he was a spy or a traitor. He would be buried in the sand under the sun until his body dried out and he died of thirst in the best case, and in the worst case they would impale him on a sharp stick and he would die slowly, his guts dripping out with unbearable pain. But in spite of that, his spirit pulsed with excitement. He would speak his mother tongue again, the one with which he had grown up, the one in which he always prayed to Ahura Mazda, the Great Judge and his god.

"May his will be done…" he murmured to himself, and opened his closed hand to scatter a little of the aromatic incense he carried with him in his pouch into the night air, finishing his ritual. "No one can stand against the will of the Great Creator…"

When he stepped on the shore, his feet wet with sea water and his hands moist from anxiety, he would not have time to do more than shout an invocation to his god in official Persian before the guard pierced his breast with a javelin. That piece of advice was given him by Themistocles, and it saved his life. Hearing their language and the name of Ahura Mazda, the Persian soldiers lowered their spears and looked at him curiously. Then they took him gently by the arm and led him to their commander.

From commander to commander and from officer to officer, giving explanations in flawless Persian, Sikinos reached the Persian war council one hour later. The council was in session, setting the strategy for the fleet the next day.

"I wish to speak to Artemisia…" he said, looking with awe at the high-level Persian officers with their painted faces, colorful uniforms and expensive jewelry.

"Me?" the queen asked, surprised.

"Yes, my lady."

"Who are you?"

"Do you not recognize me…"

"The question is where you know Artemisia from…"

Sikinos turned to the back of the great tent to look at the person asking. He turned and was speechless. His face went white, his heart stopped beating and his legs trembled. The golden throne and the scepter with its precious stones and winged lion did not leave any room for misinterpretation. He fell to his knees, bent at the waist, lowered his head and touched his forehead to the ground. He was breathing with difficulty and his mouth had gone dry.

"Great Emperor… King of Kings… My lord…" he managed to stammer out.

"Who are you?" asked Mardonius curtly.

"Now my name is Sikinos. But I was born with the name Mithranis…"

"Are you Persian?"

"Yes. I was once a warrior in the Spanda, the imperial army. I was taken prisoner in the campaign of the Great Darius in Macedonia and sold as a slave in Athens."

"If you had a Persian mother and father, how do you know Artemisia?" asked Admiral Achaimenes, who was standing to the emperor's right.

"I don't know her, I said that before, master."

"Then why are you asking for her?"

"I have a message for her."

Before Achaimenes could ask his next question, Artemisia came forward and approached the prostrated Sikinos. "From whom?"

"From my master…" he answered her in broken Greek, making her breast swell with suspense.

"Who is your master?" she asked him, waiting for the answer with longing.

She did not get it. "Throw him out. Take him to the eunuchs. He is a Greek spy" shouted Mardonius when he heard the words in Greek from Sikinos' mouth.

Xerxes raised his hand. "No. Let him speak."

Mardonius turned sullen, but he could not ignore the emperor's command.

"Who is your master?" Artemisia repeated her question.

"His name is Themistocles."

Freezing cold. And smiles. The first on the face of Mardonius. The second on the faces of Artemisia and Achaimenes.

"Has the right time come?" the second asked.

"Yes. It seems it has" the queen answered.

Mardonius looked at them with obvious hostility. Especially at Artemisia, his great competitor for the emperor's favor. "The right moment for what, woman?" he asked fiercely.

"If we let him speak you will understand" Artemisia answered him with a boldness it was hard for her to hide.

"Speak better, woman!"

Xerxes abruptly raised the scepter to impose silence. "Speak, Mithranis…" he said slowly.

"My master says that the right moment has come…"

"What does that mean?"

"He says that Artemisia will understand his words and that more explanation is not needed."

"What does that mean?" repeated the Great King, now watching Artemisia with his jet black eyes.

She looked at Achaimenes and waited. If she had managed to acquire the title of queen and a coveted place in the Persian war council, she had done it by flattering her superiors and showing absolute respect to the hierarchy of the Persian fleet. Now, in spite of the fact that she had made the agreement, the honor of announcing it must belong to Achaimenes, the brother of the emperor, the first level under the Great King.

"The Athenian is ready to come over to our side, together with his ships. The Athenian division," Achaimenes explained immediately. "The largest, strongest and best trained in the Greek fleet. Themistocles is the…"

"I know who he is" the emperor stopped him. "He is the one who humiliated us on the sea."

"He is capable, intelligent and brave. If he comes to our side, nothing will be able to stop us anymore. If the Athenians secede, the other Greeks will not be able to last even a day on the sea" answered Artemisia.

"And what is he trying to do? Why has he changed his mind at the last moment?"

"It is a trap, Great King" shouted Mardonius. "The Athenian is cunning, everyone knows that, Hippias has informed me of him."

"He does not want anything, my lord…" continued Artemisia, ignoring Mardonius. "He will be my husband…"

The eyes of Xerxes gleamed. From enthusiasm or jealousy, no one could tell. "You are relatives…" was all he said.

"Yes. In our veins flows the same blood. My father and his mother were brother and sister."

Slowly, calmly, Xerxes smiled. "Interesting… Treachery at the right moment is the best and shortest way to win a war…"

"It is a trap!"

Xerxes raised his scepter to stop Mardonius' cries. "I have already lost too many ships and too many men. I do not want to lose more."

"I usually do not agree with Mardonius, but this time I have to. It might be a subterfuge. It is strange how that man got here so quickly, a simple slave on such an important mission" said Hydarnes, who had been silent until then.

"He is not a slave. He is a Persian like us" said Achaimenes.

"Even so. He has lived with the Greeks for many years. He has even learned their language… Perhaps he has changed… Perhaps he is playing their game…"

Achaimenes came forward, opened the slave's heavy chiton and pushed his chest forward into the light of the lamps and torches. On Sikinos' chest, rough and scarred by the whip and hardships, hung a worn fire amulet, such as hang on the chests of all those who are faithful to Ahura Mazda from birth.

"He is faithful to our god. He cannot lie. Everyone knows that on the bridge of the Great Judge, a single lie can send you to eternal darkness. No one who is faithful would risk it.

"That many years living next to a lying Greek could have changed his habits" insisted Mardonius.

"No. He cannot lie. I myself made the arrangement with Themistocles. He will come over to our side…"

"You yourself?" wondered Hydarnes. "Why would he do that? Why would he betray his country?" he asked.

Instead of Artemisia or Achaimenes, Sikinos gave the answer: "Because the Greeks are continually fighting amongst themselves. Their morale is low and there is dissent. At every council they swear at each other and almost come to blows" he said, making everyone else stop talking.

"How do you know that?"

"My master takes me with him to the councils."

"Why?"

"Precisely because they quarrel all the time. For his safety. With my own eyes I saw Adeimantos, the admiral of Corinth, attack him this afternoon. The Greeks are always fighting. And now…"

"Now, what?"

"They have dissolved the alliance and are going to abandon Salamis."

"When?"

"Tonight. Just before daybreak. At the darkest hour of the night."

"Are you sure?" asked Xerxes.

"Yes, Great King. I was there. Half of the commanders of their fleet saw our glorious army marching towards Isthmos and panicked. They want to leave so they can protect their cities. The ships from Corinth will leave this evening. I heard it with my own ears."

"Are you telling the truth?" insisted the emperor, his gaze already on the relief on the great table depicting the island of Salamis and its two straits, one to the east and one to the west.

"I swear by the Great Judge…"

Silence fell. The news was shocking. Suddenly, as if the gods had blessed the Persian war effort, everything seemed to have been solved in the best possible way. With treachery. Effortless, quick and without loss of blood or money.

"What do you say, wise Ariaranes?" Xerxes turned to the taciturn man, his most trusted councilor.

"I say that we must test the reliability of this man before we decide on anything."

"He is Persian" said Achaimenes.

"Right. But he could also be greedy. Which one would prevail if the Greeks filled him up with gold to come here and tell us what he has told us?" Ariaranes answered him, and then he turned back to his emperor, repeating his proposal. "We must test his reliability."

Xerxes nodded his head in agreement. "Take him and give him to the black eunuchs to whip him. Then we will see if he still says the same thing. After that we will decide."

"The Greeks will escape before dawn" said Achaimenes uneasily.

"No one can endure the hand of the eunuch and the whip of wire for more than an hour…" the emperor said slowly. "If he still says the same thing after the whipping and the torture, we will surround the Greeks on the island in the night, secretly draw up our ships before them and drown them in their own sea as soon as the god of the sun starts out with his chariot" he added.

"No."

Dozens of eyes turned towards the voice that dared to dispute a decision expressed by the lips of the emperor himself, and to his face.

"This time you have overstepped the bounds, woman!" shouted Mardonius at the same moment that Hydarnes ordered the imperial guards to intervene and punish this unbelievable insolence.

Another "no" was heard. This time from the mouth of Xerxes. "Let her speak… Last time she was right… Speak, Artemisia…"

"Everything you said, my great king and lord, was right. But it is not good to take the fleet into the sea straits. It is enough to block the two passages and wait. That many thousand people will not be able to find food for long on such a small island. Sooner or later they will have to leave and then they will fall on our ships alone, and they will have to fight on the open sea. And without the Athenian ships, they will be certain to be crushed."

"What you say is not wrong, queen of Halicarnassus, but we cannot wait either" the emperor's advisor said calmly. "We are too far away from our supply bases. We have hundreds of thousands of soldiers. We cannot maintain them for a long time without conquering new territory."

"Ariaranes is right" Mardonius agreed immediately. "If we wait too long, the morale of our army will collapse. What will our soldiers think of an emperor who stands and waits fearfully?"

"We will not wait very long" replied Artemisia. "When Themistocles defects with his ships, the rest of the Greeks will panic."

"No… If we wait as you say, we will merely have a victory. If we crush them all together, we will have a triumph. The Great King will be crowned with glory for all time…"

"But if we have a defeat?"

"Merely saying that insults the emperor, woman!"

At that moment Xerxes raised his scepter and everyone was silent.

"Enough! I have made my decision!" said Xerxes in a loud voice. "It is enough if the hostage is telling the truth…"


No trumpets sounded. No horn was blown. There were low-voiced orders from the officers and quiet nudges from the petty officers. The oars had been dipped in fresh fat to slide easily in the oarlocks. The sails were tied tight to the masts to avoid rustling. No lamps were lighted on the ships.

It was not yet midnight when the rowers from the Persian army got tiredly up from the dry ground after a few hours of sleep, their hands still red from the rowing of the day before, their shoulders aching and their legs numb. After they received their half-dry oars and smeared them with fat, they drew up in two lines, one behind the other, stumbling in the darkness.

The petty officers under the hanging rope ladders waited to give the signal to board. Messengers brought it in low voices from one ship to the next all up and down the four miles of coast where the Persian fleet was drawn up. To the east were first the first divisions of Phoenicians, then the divisions of Ionia, then of Lycia, of Egypt, and of Cyprus. Dozens of different languages, dozens of different uniforms, dozens of different kinds of prayers. There were all different builds and makes of ships: the Phoenician ships with their high and wide decks to accommodate more marines, archers and spearmen, the Ionian ships, smaller, lighter and more maneuverable, with their great power of speed for ramming, and finally the Egyptian ships with their elongated prows and their heavy equipment, constructed for drawing alongside other ships and boarding them.

The stones the petty officers held in their hands began to beat out their muffled rhythm when everything was ready. The hundred and fifty thousand oarsmen waiting in lines under the rope ladders began to go forward silently. Two by two, they climbed up the ladders, came on deck and took their assigned positions. Behind them came the petty officers to inspect their position on the rowing benches. Then came the signalmen and the helmsmen, taking their places at the bows and sterns, respectively. Then the warriors boarded. Then archers and spearmen with their weapons, enormous bows of horn and ivory with dozens of yards range, javelins of osier and dogwood with sharp bronze points, swords, daggers and axes for hand to hand combat.

Last of all the captains boarded. They inspected the state of their ships, spoke to their officers, gave their orders in low voices, made arrangements with the petty officers and steersmen, and sat on their raised pedestals at the stern of the ships.

One hour after midnight everything was ready.

The slaves on shore pushed hard and the ships slid into the water.

The Persian armada sailed for the most important battle in its history.


"It is unbelievable…" murmured Cimonas in a trembling voice.

Before the east turned grey he had climbed high on the island's hill with Themistocles, Aristeides, Eurybiades and Adeimantos and they were looking, impressed, at the arrival of the whole Persian navy.

First the Phoenician vessels arrived from the east. They were large and tall, like huge rocks scattered in the sea. Without wasting time they entered the straits, sailing past the coast of the mainland, across from the island, and took up position on the west side. Immediately after that, the ships of the Egyptians appeared and took up position at the center, next to the Phoenicians. And finally came the ships from Ionia that looked exactly like the Greek ships. They sailed into the strait lasts and took up position on the east side, completing the Persian formation that stretched out in three lines with the last line almost touching the rocks of the opposite shore.

But the show of force put on by the Persian fleet was not yet over. As soon as their formation had drawn up, the ships of Cyprus, Lycia and Samia appeared around the curve of Piraeus and drew up at the exit of the eastern straits to cut off any chance of retreat and sink any Greek vessel that might try to escape. To the west, from the other side of the island, right on the horizon, they could see the ships from Pamphylia closing off the other exit.

"It is just as Aristeides said… They have surrounded us from all sides…" Adeimantos admitted.

"I had a hard time passing between them, coming back from Aegina this morning. I told you."

"Then we decided right to have the sea battle here, at Salamis. Any other maneuver would have meant disaster" said Eurybiades.

"Exactly. It was difficult but I convinced you" said Themistocles.

"You forced us, you didn't convince us. You delayed so long that the Persians were able to surround us and we can't sail" retorted Adeimantos.

"Don't start again. The decision has been made. Now is the time for unity in battle, the time for reconciliation in service of a common goal" Eurybiades scolded them. "What I am worried about is why the Persians decided to sail at night."

"They thought they could surprise us."

"Why would they think something like that?"

"You are too much of a Spartan to understand," Themistocles told him with a smile.

"Why are they in such a rush? Why did they not wait and fight on the open sea where they have the advantage?" Eurybiades insisted.

"Because human nature is impatient and greedy. And an emperor is much more human than anyone else" Themistocles said enigmatically. "But the reason why is no longer important. Everything happened as it should. Now the sea battle will be in a place where we have the advantage. We only have to strike a decisive blow to win."

"With a fleet like that arrayed against us?" Cimonas was still in doubt.

"Yes…"

"How can you be so sure?"

"I am sure because a battle, my brothers, is won before it is fought… And this one was decided yesterday evening…"

Aristeides raised his eyes to the sky, which was turning grey. "But we are wasting precious time with this chatter. The crews and the marines must board the ships."

"Not yet" murmured Themistocles.

"No? You were impatient to give battle."

"Impatience… It's even worse than cowardice…"

"Now what are you trying to say?"

"One of the most difficult things in the world is to be patient and wait for the right moment. A hasty man is worse than a fool. And I am neither."

"It's a tiring thing, democracy. I don't know why they voted for you" mocked Adeimantos. "Your words are harder to understand than those of the Pythian oracle. What are you trying to say?"

"We will start the battle when the sun is all the way up over the horizon. Neither sooner nor later."

"Why?"

"Because we need allies. And the best ally on the sea is the wind. The wind always blows in the straits soon after the sun rises. Our ships have low decks, while the decks of the Phoenicians are high out of the water. This wind will catch them on their sides and their ships will have difficulty holding their places in the formation. Also their archers will have a hard time shooting straight."

"How did you know all that?" wondered Aristeides, who could hardly hide his admiration.

"From the fishers of Salamis… The lowly people, my friend… The people whom you aristocrats despise. They know many things. Perhaps after the war you will finally understand…"

"We do not despise the people. We want to govern for their good."

"But without listening to them…"

"Stop. We are standing right next to our crews and our marines" said Eurybiades, who was allergic to Athenian verbiage. "Aristeides is right. We must board the ships so that the trumpets and our martial hymns can sound!"

"No."

"No? No again?" asked Eurybiades and looked at Themistocles in confusion. "Why?"

"It's better to let their arrogance swell up inside them."

"Arrogance and courage go together. What will we gain if we let courage strengthen their spirits?"

"Surprise, Adeimantos. If we surprise them, their arrogance will collapse and the courage you are afraid of will turn to fear and then to panic. And a fleet in a panic is like a herd of frightened deer. They run in every direction without thinking. If that happens to their ships, our victory will be easier."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"As I said before, Eurybiades, you are too Spartan to…"

"Will you finally stop making that joke!"

"The admiral is right. A little respect for hierarchy wouldn't hurt. Besides, it's not the time for jokes" said Aristeides seriously. "Just explain your plan to us, Themistocles."

"Every war is started by envy and deception and continued by courage, or at least that's what Homer and the Odyssey teach us. So if we are capable of attacking, we have to appear incapable. When we are near them, we must make the enemy think that we are far away. Offer bait to tempt them. Pretend you are weak and you will stimulate his arrogance. Attack when he is unprepared and appear when he does not expect you. Pretend to be afraid, rush in with heroism and destroy him. Pretend to be disorganized, strike with organization and crush him.

"You, Aristeides, will gather up all the oldest soldiers and have them run up and down on the beach for no reason. And as for the women that are still in the city, put them on the hillside facing the Persians and command them to kneel, tear their hair and wail so loud they can be heard all over the straits. And you, Adiemantos, follow the plan we made earlier and sail with your ships to the west before our crews take their places on our ships. Make it look like abandonment and disorderly flight. You will turn your prows back again and return quickly when you see my ship raise the white flag with the olive branch and hear our martial hymns. Thus, my brothers, we will first put the giant to sleep and then strike it at the right moment, unexpectedly."

Speechless.

They were all speechless.

Some from admiration and others from jealousy.

Without another word, the four men turned and took the path down the hill, towards the camps of the Athenian army and the anchorage of the Greek fleet.

The great hour had come.


Themistocles looked at the eastern horizon, where the sun had just risen. Then he turned his gaze to the empty sea stretching out for half a mile before him, in front of the first ships in the Persian armada. He looked at it carefully, searching for the signs the fishermen had told him about. When he saw dark bands begin to come up and the surface began to look like the back of a fish with silver scales, he immediately sent his messenger to the other divisions of the fleet. The wind rustled in the masts of the ships. The hour they were waiting for had come.

Without losing time, he went to the Artemis' rope ladder, climbed up to the deck and stood at the stern, with his face to the shore. He raised his hands to the heavens and waited for a moment, silently, while his sailors and rowers gathered in front of him. Then, suddenly, he broke his silence and addressed the men in a passionate voice, as Greek always do before sending them into battle.

"Free citizens of Athens! Rowers of our fleet! My brothers!" he shouted in his stentorian voice, famous from his rhetorical speeches in the assembly of Athens. "Our hour has come! Either we will live free or we will die. Today we will fight with self-sacrifice and courage, we will crush the invaders and throw them back to Asia, to their arid steppes and tyrannical emperors!

"Citizens of Athens! Rowers of the fleet! You are the ones the aristocrats look down on. You are the ones they call the most and the worst. Today you can prove that you are not only the most, but the best. Today you have the chance to prove that the democracy gives birth not only to thinking citizens, but also to heroic soldiers. Today is your day, and you will never get another chance like this, to fight and defeat the proudest and most haughty of all tyrants. Today is the day you can humiliate him before his slaves and win glory like our ancestors, the heroes who conquered Troy! Do you want to do that today, citizens of Athens? Are you ready for glory?"

A buzz and clamor sounded from end to end of the gathering. Their chests, exhausted from pulling the oars, swelled as if filled with the winds of winter. Reddened hands were clenched into fists and raised. Mouths flayed by sun and salt were opened wide. Cheers, shouts and cries of derision filled the air.

"My brothers!" shouted Themistocles, and he raised his open palms to the delirious crowd. "Look at my hands. Look at them well. Look at the calluses on my palms. They are hands like yours, although you all know my wealth could have given me hands as soft as the hands of Apollo. Since I was a boy I have pulled the oars in my father's ships and I still pull the oars along with you in the exercises of the fleet. I am one of you, my brothers. I am you. Not from need, but by choice. Because I believe in the power of democracy and the power of democracy is you, its simple people, its citizens and fighters.

"Fight bravely with me today, citizens! Fight with manly courage, but also with your mind and with passion! Fight to humiliate the proud barbarians!

"Forward, citizens of Athens!"

"Forward, children of Greece!"

"For democracy and freedom!"


Artemisia was taking her place on the east side of the Persian formation when she heard the voice of the lookout from the bow.

"Nothing yet, my lady. All their ships are still on shore."

She turned and looked over the mass of Persian ships. Behind her not an inch of sea was visible. The ships were crowded closely, in some places rail to rail and in others stern to stern. In some the oars had been raised to make more room, and in others the rowers had pulled them in so they would not break.

And yet Achaimenes had still not sent ships into the straits. The Persian vessels kept coming in, one after another, like thirsty camels coming to a well. Even more ships had drawn up on the nearby eastern exit of the straits, forming a dense line of rams to cut off any chance of escape from the trap.

"The trap for whom?" she murmured skeptically to herself.

She sighed and pressed her lips together. If the Greeks attacked first, as had happened three weeks earlier at Afetes, they would fall on their closed lines and be torn apart like soft flesh falling on iron spears. But if the Persians had to attack first, it would be hard to maneuver in such a dense formation. Then the danger would not come from the Greek ships, but from their own.

She had warned the emperor. But Xerxes decided like a proud king, unable to withstand his own vanity, and not like a wise general. He had drawn his entire enormous fleet up and now he was admiring it, seated on his throne, on the side of the mountain behind them. He had chosen the risk of resplendent triumph over the safety of patient victory.

If Themistocles kept their agreement and the ships of Athens left at the right moment, the Greek fleet would look like a little rabbit before a huge bear and the triumph of Xerxes would be certain. And it would have been made on her advice. Then the emperor's gifts would exceed all her fantasies and her rise in the hierarchy of the Persian court would be swift. The Great King was famous for the harshness of his punishments, but just as famous for the generosity of his rewards.

But if Sikinos was lying and Themistocles, a man for whom intrigue was second nature, did not keep to their agreement, then victory was not so certain. There was a danger of becoming involved in a conflict at sea in which their numerical superiority would become a great disadvantage. The only comfort she had was that the Greeks were fighting amongst themselves. Of that she was certain because, all the way through the whippings and the torture, the Persian slave swore to Ahura Mazda that he had seen them arguing, swearing and fighting with his own eyes.

"How well can an army fight if it is panicking? How can officers work together if they are torn by strife and coming to blows with each other?" she wondered, optimism coming back to life inside her and dispelling her fears. "That stupid democracy of theirs… It will destroy them…" she murmured finally, and it was as if she could see Themistocles himself again, as he was that night in her bedroom at Halicarnassus.

"They're leaving! They're leaving, my lady!" sounded the voice of the lookout at the prow.

She abandoned her thoughts, jumped up and climbed onto the pedestal at the stern.

"Some of their ships are leaving from the western side, my lady" the lookout explained.

Yes. From the west. She could see them herself, even though her ship was on the eastern side. In the clear morning air, she could easily make out a division of about forty Greek ships that had set sail and were withdrawing, taking advantage of the wind that had just started to blow.

A broad smile was carved on her face. She had been right. Sikinos had told the truth. The ships were withdrawing. The Greeks were breaking formation, abandoning their alliance, escaping.

She climbed down from the pedestal at the stern and walked quickly down the corridor to the stern.

"What city are they from?" she asked her lookout anxiously.

Her heart was in agony. At the other exit there were a hundred Persian ships from Pamphylia, waiting like a spider in its web until their victim was ready.

"I cannot make it out, my lady. Their sails are white, like the sails of Athenian ships."

She sighed heavily and returned to her place.

It was no longer important whether the ships leaving were Athenian or whether the Artemis, the ship of Themistocles, was among them.

In a little while the battle would start and the gods would decide victory and defeat, life and death.


Xerxes sat on his shining throne on the mountainside and looked at the sea straits with shining eyes. He saw the retreating Greek ships as well, and his mind was already carried away by the brilliant victory and the glory awaiting him.

Next to him, General Mardonius amplified his enthusiasm, trying to increase his share of the coming triumph. Good words never do any harm, and neither does flattery, especially to ears that are used to hearing them.

"The lookouts I placed on the cliffs confirm everything the slave has said. The signalmen on our ships report the same. There is panic in the Greek camp," he had said earlier, in a voice trembling with enthusiasm.

"And now their ships are leaving. I hope they don't all leave and I have someone to crush" the emperor said cheerfully.

"Even if they want to, they can't all leave. Our trap has closed. All the sea routes will throw them on our rams" Mardonius answered conceitedly.

"Wonderful…"

"They themselves know it, my king. They are trapped. Our messengers and lookouts inform me that their women are already wailing on the sides of the hills and in the temples of the island" he explained, before adding with even greater arrogance "and their men are in despair. They are running up and down on the coast without a plan and without discipline, in total panic."

"That is natural, Mardonius. Even their god, Poseidon, would be frightened if they saw our fleet and our hundred and fifty thousand rowers and marines" said Xerxes, even more arrogantly. "Really… What about their rowers?"

"Their rowers are paralyzed by fear. They do not even dare to board their ships yet."

"Anyone would hesitate."

"Do you think this is our time to attack and strike their ships on dry ground? The Greeks won't have time to board."

Xerxes leaned back in his throne and looked silently at Salamis opposite."

"No… We cannot, their shores do not have room for that many ships" he said finally. "Besides, it would be too easy of a victory. Not worthy of me at all. No… It is better to wait for them to go out on the sea so we can crush them."


On his ship, the tallest and heaviest of the Persian fleet, Mervalos looked in puzzlement at the forty Greek ships sailing to the west.

"They are leaving, master" said the helmsman standing behind him. It was difficult for him to hide his joy. "They are running like rabbits!"

The Phoenician admiral did not share his helmsman's enthusiasm. "Exactly as you say… Rabbits run…" he murmured, looking thoughtfully at the Greek ships, with their sails spread and their oars pulled in. "But these ships are sailing slowly, they look like they are going on a journey. Who runs in panic like that?"

"Maybe they are doing it to provoke us. But we could overtake them easily and strike them from the back."

"Maybe that's exactly what they want…" murmured Mervalos, looking at the Greek ships drawn up on the shore. "To weaken our east side by taking off some of our ships."

"We can strike quickly and return in time."

"No."

"We are in no danger from them, that's obvious" insisted the helmsman and pointed at the Greek anchorage. "Look, master… Look at their women… Look at their rowers running back and forth… They are frightened and disorganized…"

"The truth is that they look that way…"

"Well then?"

"But are they?" wondered the Phoenician, thoughtfully rubbing his beard, which was fluttering in the breeze that had suddenly started up. "Are they?"


Adeimantos and his division have withdrawn" said the messenger sent by the lookout on the hilltop.

"Is the Persian formation complete?"

"Some of their ships are still in the middle. All the rest are in position."

"Good…" Themistocles looked at the white clouds on the surface of the sea, where the water was not protected by the long cape of Kynosoura that stuck out like a thumb into the sea on the east side of the straits. Then he turned his eyes to the waiting rowers. "Then we're ready" he said calmly.

"Ready" confirmed Cimonas, standing under the stern of the Artemis and waiting for his orders.

Slowly but decisively, Themistocles nodded his head. Then he climbed onto the pedestal at the stern and raised his right fist.

"May the goddess Athena be with us…" he said, and put on his helmet.

The trumpets sounded and the fifty thousand rowers and marines of the Greek fleet climbed into the ships and took their places at the oars and on the decks, behind the oiled leather of the oarlocks and the protective shields on the rails.

Old men, women, even little children pushed at the wooden scaffolding. The keels, smeared with sheep fat and supported on boards, slid into the sea.

Thousands of oars were plunged into the water and hundreds of prows sailed against the enemy.

The trap was closed.

Now it was time for battle and bravery.


What is happening, Mardonius?"

"They have boarded their ships and started, my king."

"Finally…"

The emperor leaned forward, full of excitement.

The hour he had been waiting for so many years, had arrived.

"Finally…" he repeated and ordered the imperial scribes to open their papyri and record his triumph in detail.


From the west end to the center were the ships of Athens, exactly opposite the Phoenician formation. If that broke, the rest of the Persian fleet would break up.

On the east side were the sixteen ships of the Spartans and next to them the ships from the island of Aegina. In the center of the Greek formation were the ships from the other cities and the islands.

The Artemis sailed ahead with all the speed her rowers could give her. To the east was the cape and to the south was the land mass of Salamis. Between them the water was calm, protected from the southeastern wind that came howling into the straits and stirred up the waters off the coast of Athens.

"Straight ahead, attack speed" shouted Themistocles. The petty officer gave the command to the rowers and the signalman transmitted it to all the ships of the division.

To the right of Themistocles sailed the Aisia, Cimonas' ship. To his left was the Ischys, the ship of Ameinias who was shouting passionately at his crew, as if they were on seats of the stadium at Olympia watching the athletes in the Olympic Games.

"Even more power to the oars" shouted Themistocles, seeing the white clouds on the surface, a sign that they were coming out of the protected waters.

The high rails of the Phoenician ships were a hundred yards away. The forty marines and twenty archers on their great decks could be seen clearly. On their own decks there were only ten marines and four archers, which made the ships lighter, because Themistocles believed that a sea battle is won or lost by maneuvers and by ramming, not by swords and arrows.

The Artemis bucked wildly when it hit the wild waters. A wave hit her on the side of the bow. The bow reared up and then fell, slapping the water. The ship shuddered from bow to stern like a house in an earthquake. Many of the marines were shaken and grabbed on wherever they could, and the helmsman threw himself on top of his great oars to hold the ship steady.

"Avast!" shouted Themistocles suddenly, and the rowers slowly reversed the direction of their rowing, slowing and then stopping the ship.

The trumpets sounded slowly, giving the message. The ships of the Greek fleet, one after the other, slowed down and stopped near the center of the straits, tossed by the waves. The maneuver looked like a dog throwing itself onto its prey, only to find that the prey was not a rabbit but an enormous bear.

"Now what do we do?" asked the petty officer.

"We stay still."


"They are afraid. That's logical" said Xerxes, and laughed out loud. "Fear holds empires together. It destroys armies and fleets."

"That is true, my lord" Mardonius agreed cheerfully. But his eyes remained fixed uneasily on the western side of the Greek armada, where the ships of Athens were drawn up with their rams ready to go. That could only mean one of two things: that their hostage was mistaken or that Artemisia had lied.

"Give the command to attack, Mardonius. When a wild beast hesitates in fear, that is the best moment to strike," Xerxes commanded.


"They are afraid, it's obvious" muttered Mervalos, looking at the low Greek triremes bobbing up and down on the waves like walnut shells, and then at their own heavy vessels with the raised rails and the dozens of marines on their decks. "We'll make one mouthful of them…"

"They are afraid, my lady."

"How can you be so sure of that, Diomedes?"

"They underestimated our power. Now that they are close to us, they have realized their mistake and they're stopping. What else could it be?"

"Only the mind of that cursed Themistocles knows" Artemisia answered her helmsman, her heart boiling at the thought of the Athenian's betrayal. He had made a fool of her and the emperor at the same time. Xerxes was famous for his rage and if there was no glorious victory after this, then she herself was sure to be one of the victims. "By Artemis, if we win and I get out alive, I'll tear him to pieces with my own hands," she swore to her protecting goddess.

In vain, because as everyone knows, the oaths of pride always give way before the commands of love.


The Greek ships stayed still at the center of the straits, a position which is very difficult for a ship to hold without dropping its heavy anchor and with the wind hitting it from the side. The rowers did not pull the oars out of the water at all, but moved them back and forth in a short, rapid motion, their hands and shoulders numb from the uninterrupted effort.

"If we have to do this much longer, the men will be exhausted before we attack."

"Who told you we were going to attack?" Themistocles calmly answered his anxious petty officer.

"Well then what are we going to do?"

"Go backwards slowly… Softly… Without turning, stern first…"

His order was transmitted soundlessly through the little white cloths stretched at the sterns of the Greek fleet, in accordance with the plan Themistocles had laid out in the last war council they held before they sailed.

Very slowly the Greek ships started to row back again, towards Salamis. They were retreating, it was obvious that they were retreating. And without any coordination, giving the impression that they had been overcome by awe and terror. Exactly as Themistocles wanted.

"Are we leaving? Are we giving up?" asked the helmsman with his great oars raised.

"It is wise to known when and how to retreat" he answered him. "Isn't that what bulls do before they charge?"

The ill-organized retreat of the Greek fleet continued for about two hundred yards, until the ships had got back to the calm waters and slowed their pace.

That was the moment when the great horn and the drums were heard from the other side. The Persian ships had been ordered to attack by the emperor and their drummers began to give the rhythm to their rowers. The marines and archers took up battle position at the prows and the rails to the side. The captains raised and put on their armor and their helmets. The drummers quickened the pace and the black Phoenician ships lunged forward in pursuit of the terrified Greeks.


"Avast and battle position!"

The white flags were taken down from the sterns and red ones were hung in their places. The Greek ships stopped abruptly and with the help of the helmsmen and the calm waters, they quickly drew up in a straight formation, one next to the other, with their rams pointing forward.

"Avast! Stay still again!"

Themistocles' order seemed at least paradoxical, since the enormous Phoenician ships were bearing down on them from the end of the straits at full speed, with their short, heavy rams tearing through the water. Everyone knew that standing still at the moment of clash and ramming could be fatal for a ship. It wouldn't have the speed to maneuver, and it wouldn't have built up the momentum to strike.

"Avast? Are you sure?" shouted Cimonas from the deck of the Aisia. "In a little while they'll hit us!"

"You're too much of an aristocrat to know the secrets of the sea… And it's time for you to learn… Avast!" Themistocles repeated with certainty, looking straight ahead and calculating the speed and the distance.

"May the god Poseidon help us…"

As the Persian ships continued relentlessly on course, the great biconvex bows on their decks were strung and hundreds of arrows were shot up almost vertically and in bursts, like a sudden summer storm. At that angle of shooting they would fall from a great height, killing the marines on the Greek decks as well as the unprotected rowers on the highest bench.

But that did not happen. The wind took the arrows and pushed them aside while they were still high in the air. At the same moment the Persian archers lost their footing and could not aim right, because the Persian ships had now reached the center of the straits, the point with the strongest wind.

As the wind blew through the black rigging and the curly-horned goats at the prows, the raised decks of the gigantic Phoenician ships changed from an advantage against the enemy to a disadvantage against the wind. With their high sides exposed to the strong wind they rose and fell uncontrollably, while at the same time leaning to the right.

The farther they sailed the more difficult it was to keep to their original course. And it was even more difficult to stay in formation. They started to turn in spite of all the will of their captains and the best efforts of their oarsmen. After a few minutes of exposure to the strong wind their rams were turned to the side and they drifted to windward. But in spite of their unusual and dangerous position, they did not change course. That would have looked like fear and retreat, and it was unthinkable to show fear under the eyes of the emperor, who was watching the attack from his throne. From the moment they received his order and started out, there was only one choice. Forward and only forward. That was what they did, hoping to cross the dangerous center of the straits as quickly as possible. Luckily the Greeks were panicking and terrified. And anyway, not even Ahura Mazda himself would be able to protect them when they were exposed like that.

Themistocles waited. He watched them and his heart felt like it was pounding on top of his metal armor. His plan had unfolded exactly as he wanted it to. Now the great moment had arrived. The moment that would decide everything.

When he saw the first Persian ships enter the smooth waters, he raised his hand high. Then he brought it to the side of his mouth. He waited one or two moments and then shouted in his stentorian voice.

"Full speed ahead! Attack speed!"

At the same instant blue cloths were raised on all the sterns of the Greek ships. From their decks sounded the piercing trumpets and pipes playing the martial hymn of the Greeks. The captains of the whole fleet gave the command to attack, while from the mouths of the rowers came the passionate verses:

 Forward, children of Greece

 set your country free, set your children free,

 your wives, the temples of your ancestral gods,

 the tombs of your ancestors

 now the struggle is forever…


Before the Artemis could get up to full speed, the Ischys, the ship of Ameinias, shot by them and plunged ahead. The Athenian captain stood in the stern and howled like a madman to urge on his rowers, his officers and his marines.

"Quickly! With power and speed!" shouted Themistocles, who did not want anyone else to have the honor of striking the first blow.

He didn't make it. The crew of the Ischys rowed paroxysmally, like a Dionysian troop in an ecstasy. He smiled faintly as the politician in him took over.

Inspire the people with your vision and let them lead the way, but keep them under control, he thought.

Anyway, the important thing was not one blow, but the triumph itself. No one could take that from him, since everyone knew that he had prepared for it for many years, patiently, insistently, sacrificing even his personal fortune for that goal.

While the Artemis sailed at full speed towards the scattered Phoenician ships, Themistocles turned his eyes to the west. There, at the end of the straits, the ships of Corinth appeared. They had turned their prows east again and were approaching relentlessly. Adeimantos had heard the pipes and the martial hymn and he was now returning to carry out every last detail of their planned flanking attack.

Everything was ready. The noose was closed, and now he only had to draw it tight around the Persian neck. Themistocles leaned forward again, trying to make out the prow with the great Phoenician goddess Astarte as its figurehead. The prow of the ship of Mervalos, the king of Phoenicia. He could not find it. The choppy sea, the strong wind and the Phoenician rowers who had been caught by surprise in the Greek's sudden attack, had turned the Persian formation into a flock of sheep just before being attacked by wolves.

He stopped searching. They were already coming up on the first Phoenician ship. Her prow was turned to the west, her keel at an angle, the ideal position for ramming. Her high deck shuddered dizzyingly from the side wind and most of the marines she carried were seasick. In spite of that, her size looked terrible as they approached. She was painted entirely in black, with a great winged fish as a figurehead and an enormous blood-red eye painted underneath it.

"Ramming speed, diekplou and helm to starboard!" yelled Themistocles.

The Artemis increased her speed as the distance with the enemy ship decreased to fifty yards.

"Ri – pa – pie! Ri – pa – pie!"

The demonic cry of the rowers, who increased their speed every time they raised their oars, sounded from end to end of the Artemis, drowning out everything else.

Except for the pandemonium coming from its starboard side. Ameinias' Ischys had mercilessly rammed her first victim and her men were passionately avenging the sacking and burning of their city by the Persians. First came a rhythmic crackling of snapping oars and gruesome cries from the rowers as their bones were crushed. Then, before the wailing faded away, came the thunderous crash of impact. The ram hit the undefended side of the Persian ship with terrible force and there was the sound of splintering wood and cracking joints, the cries of wounded men and cheers from the attackers.

"Glory be to Athena the Triumphant!" shouted Themistocles enthusiastically.

The Greek fleet's first ramming had been successful. It was a good omen. Everything seemed to be according to plan and proving the correctness of the prophecy of Eufrantides, the diviner, who had made sacrifices and libations before the battle and had declared that the will of the gods agreed with the plan of the Greeks.

"Ri – pa – pie! Ri – pa – pie!"

Harder.

Louder.

"Diekplous! Marines to the bow!" Themistocles had time to shout before the helmsman slammed the double oar to starboard and the Artemis turned abruptly, bringing her ram around to strike the exposed side of the enemy ship.

Above them the Persian marines ran feverishly carrying ropes and hooks. They understood what the Greek ship planned to do but their rowers did not have time to avoid it. The only solution left was tie the enemy ship to their own after the ramming. Then they could board it and capture it with spears and swords in a hand to hand combat, in which they would have the numerical advantage over the Greek marines. That was the only way to avoid sinking along with their ship.

"Ram!"

There was an unbelievable crash as the Artemis struck with all its force. The whole ship shook with the impact and there was a deafening sound of breaking wood as a huge hole was opened in the side of the Phoenician ship. The enemy ship rolled all the way to starboard, its mast almost touching the surface of the water. Half of the marines on deck lost their hold on the rails and fell into the wild sea.

"Back!"

The Athenian rowers immediately reversed the direction of their oars, trying to pull the Artemis out of its dangerous embrace with the enemy ship. The backwards movement after a clash is the most critical moment in the maneuver of ramming, and the most difficult. They had to detach their ship before it sank along with one that had been rammed, and also before the enemy had time to jump onto their decks.

While the petty officer passionately urged on his rowers, the Persian spearmen threw their thick ropes attached to hooks onto the Greek ship and tried to keep it in place.

"It was a crushing blow. Only half of the Persians are left. We can attack first and kill all of them" shouted the Artemis' lookout from the prow.

"No. Full speed back!"

Themistocles had explained everything in detail to the other Greek captains. They must not waste time boarding the enemy ships to take prisoners or trophies, but strike like lightning, like the bull that sinks its sharp horn into its opponent and retreats immediately. Their goal was to sink or immobilize as many enemy ships as they could as soon as possible, spreading panic and chaos through the immensely superior Persian fleet. The marines on the decks would be finished off by the raging sea, since it was impossible to swim in their heavy armor.

While the rowers fought to detach the Artemis, the Athenian marines tried to cut the enemy's ropes with axes, knives and swords and to throw the hooks away. A hail of stones fell on the deck and Persian arrows were shot at close range. Two marines and the piper of the Artemis fell writhing in pain, one with a crushed foot and the other two with arrows buried in their flesh.

Themistocles grabbed his shield and spear and ran towards the bow, calling all the men except the helmsman to come with him. If the Persians dared to board, they had to throw them back before they could set foot on the ship, because their numerical superiority might be fatal and victory might turn into defeat.

But it was not necessary. With an ear-piercing cry from the rowers and a sudden jolt, the ram came out and the Artemis was propelled rapidly backwards. Themistocles looked at the breach they had made and smiled in satisfaction. The added weight of the marines at the bow had sunk their ram eighteen inches below the surface of the water, so the breach was under the enemy ship's waterline. Now that their ram was no longer there, water poured into the gap. The Phoenician ship had no chance. In a few minutes it would sink with all its crew.

Themistocles turned on his pedestal in the stern and looked around to assess the situation, select the next victim and attack without delay. But it was not so easy. The sky had suddenly darkened, covered by thick clouds that slid across the heavens like his own rapid, agile ships. Beams of sun pierced the clouds in places, slicing the moist, dark air. They might be fighting in the kingdom of Poseidon but the scene resembled a landscape from the kingdom of Hades. That was a good sign, because the Persians would give it the worst possible interpretation. They worshipped the god of the sun. If it disappeared while they were fighting, their morale would suffer. Their confusion and panic would get worse.

"Full speed ahead!" he shouted when the Artemis had fully disengaged from the sinking Phoenician ship.

He continued to observe his surroundings. The Ischys of Ameinias was already headed towards another exposed enemy keel, while the Aisia of Cimonas was getting into position across from the exposed side of a Phoenician ship. Since they were on the right side of the formation, he could not make out any details farther on. The ships had broken their lines and were now engaged in fragmented, ship to ship combats, where individual initiative and decision played the decisive role, and where the free citizens of the Greek ships would have the greatest advantage against the passive slaves of the Persian ships.

Uproar and confusion. The water had sprung up into the air from the hundreds of clashes and a moist curtain like thick fog covered the field of battle. All that could be seen was the masts of hundreds of ships, looking like a forest, and the emblems on the few sails that were spread. The chaos and complete disorganization were strengthened by the thunder of ships crashing into each other and the lamentations of men who were being crushed together with their oars and their hulls.

"All according to plan…" murmured Themistocles in satisfaction, and turned his gaze back to the waters near him.

The Aisia had completed her maneuver and was going forward at ramming speed. The Phoenician ship was between his own ship and that of Cimonas. The heavy enemy ship was trying to turn to port to protect its vulnerable side from the attack of the Aisia, but that left its other side unprotected, open to the Artemis' ram. Themistocles decided without a second thought.

"Hard to starboard!" he shouted to his helmsman, while signaling the petty officer to increase the rhythm for the rowers.

The low Greek ship, easy to maneuver and light because of the small number of marines it carried on its deck, turned quickly and came into ramming position. Now the Phoenician ship was between two rams.

"Ram!" he shouted as soon as he saw Cimonas' ship increase its speed to attack.

The Artemis and the Aisia struck almost simultaneously. The Phoenician ship was raised several yards above the surface and then fell again with a crash, broken in the middle. The stern was separated from the bow and the two pieces detached violently, sending bloody parts of the bodies of marines and rowers flying through the air in all directions, crushed by the collision.

While the spearmen and the archers of the two Athenian ships finished off the few sailors that had survived the crash, Themistocles and Cimonas raised their fists triumphantly.

"Courage…" murmured Themistocles, justifiably pleased with himself. "We have courage, a soldier's most important weapon…"


On the Cassiope, Artemisia was trying in vain to maneuver her ship into battle position. To port and starboard her other four ships were crowded, before her was the stern of a ship from Lycia and behind her the bow of another from Cyprus. If she rowed backward so as not to ram the ship in front of her, she was in danger of being rammed by the one behind her. The situation was hopeless and the only thing she could do was to keep a safe distance so as not to suffer damage without even being in the battle.

But that would not last long, and she knew it. The lookout high on the mast had informed her that the Greeks had sunk many ships of the first line and that they were putting pressure on the whole eastern side of the Persian formation. She looked back unconsciously toward the mountainside where the emperor sat on his throne, surrounded by his generals, his advisors and his mages.

"Foolish, by Artemis, foolish and incompetent in sea warfare. All these ships will cripple each other without the Greeks having to lift so much as a finger."

She climbed up to the curved ornament of the stern and tried to watch the course of the battle to the west, where the elite divisions of the Phoenicians were drawn up. If those managed to beat the Greek divisions across from them, the Greek formation would break and an empty space would be created, relieving the pressure on the center and the east side.

She could not make much out. The atmosphere created in the battle by dozens of clashing ships caused a haze that was impenetrable to human eyes. Also, the heavens were covered by black clouds and the clear morning light was lost. So she could not even see which Greek ships were battling in front of her. She hoped though, hoped with all the strength of her spirit, that they were Athenian. She wanted to find him in front of her. She wanted to make him pay for his betrayal. Themistocles. Cunning Themistocles. Devious Themistocles. Charming Themistocles.

She cursed herself because even now, even after his betrayal and the trap he had set for her, her heart still yearned for him. She was very young and she was a woman, but she was already a famous warlord. She was an amazon who did not hesitate to throw herself into the fire of battle. And she did it in the Greek way: not looking on from the rear and giving orders, but leading her troops and ships herself. And yet, when she was with Themistocles she still thought like a simple-minded woman, destined to melt with love and lose her head at the thought of a man.

"But whatever happens, we have something in common. That cannot change. Maybe that's why sometimes…"

She stopped her monolog, spat in disgust and got down from the stern. The heartbreaking cries of the Persians and the triumphant shouts of the Greeks were growing stronger and stronger. It was a sure sign that the Greek ships had broken the Persian front line at several points and were now approaching their second line. She had to take precautions before they came within ramming distance. She had to order her ships to take up a defensive position to repel the attack. But it was not at all easy to do that in these unbelievably crowed conditions.

"Raise the oars!" she shouted to the captains of the ships next to her, to gain space for the rowers to push the Cassiope forward as soon as she gave the order. "Stay like that and when my ship leaves, each of you in turn take up my position to extricate yourself and follow me. First the two ships to port and then the two to starboard" she finished her orders to her captains.

Then she put on her helmet and grasped her sword tightly.

"Hands on the handles of the oars, everyone in readiness!" she shouted to her petty officer, who immediately relayed the order to the rowers in the hold.

"Row forward?" asked the petty officer.

"Not yet. When I give the order" shouted Artemisia and she began to climb the mast to watch the course of battle with her own eyes.

She did not need to climb to the top. The wake of a tremendous collision shook every board of the Cassiope.


Eyes narrowed.

Lips hermetically sealed.

Xerxes watched the sea battle with increasing discontent, unable to believe his eyes. His ships were crowded together and they were retreating, leaving an empty space to the Greeks, a space that was very useful in this narrow strip of sea.

"Who commands the Phoenicians?" he asked at a certain point, through his teeth.

"Their leader is their king, Mervalos."

"And the Persian admiral?"

"Your brother, Ariavanis."

Xerxes sighed heavily, trying to rid himself simultaneously of his worry and of the rage that overwhelmed him. Then, feeling somewhat calmer, he scanned the sea battle before him once more.

On the eastern side, the Ionians were under great pressure from the Greek advance, but they seemed to be holding out and in some cases, sporadically, to be counterattacking. They had a huge advantage in weaponry and sooner or later they would prevail, since they could afford to lose many ships without reversing the balance of forces. In the center things seemed to be proceeding just as steadily, with the Persian lines holding in spite of the fierce attack they had sustained. But on the west side of their formation, the situation had reversed itself and things looked dangerous. That was the point where his brother Ariavanis was fighting, the point where the elite divisions of Phoenician ships were drawn up against the Athenian ships.

Those divisions were almost torn apart. Some of their ships had been completely destroyed, and nothing remained of others except some broken boards and oars floating on the waves. There were many ships that continued fighting, but they retreated constantly and were in danger of being crushed on the rocks. The longer the emperor watched, the more clearly he saw that the situation was not just dangerous, it was almost desperate. The Phoenicians were being attacked on two fronts simultaneously, from the front and from the side. The forty Greek ships that had withdrawn before the battle had now returned and were striking from the vulnerable starboard side. No matter how well trained and well armed a fleet is, it is still difficult for it to fight off a coordinated double attack. That is true of battles on land and even more true of battles on the sea, as the enraged Xerxes now saw.

"And yet… It is impossible for us to be defeated. Impossible… The Persian army is invincible…" he murmured and raised his eyes to the heavens in a plea to the god of the sun. But the god of the sun had hidden himself behind a thick veil of clouds as if he were abandoning them at the critical moment.


With the help of the ships of Adeimantos that had suddenly returned, the Phoenician fleet was rapidly pushed back to the east. The last lines ran aground on the rocks off the coast and were smashed to pieces. The Persian marines sank straight to the bottom in their heavy armor, while the Phoenician rowers who tried to swim away were mown down by javelins and arrows from the decks of the fast approaching Greek ships. The frothy sea was died red and severed hands, feet and heads bobbed in the water along with intestines and pieces of wood from smashed ships.

"They are leaving. The Phoenicians are running for the eastern exit."

"They don't have any other choice" Themistocles answered his helmsman. "If they stay, they won't have a single ship left."

"Shall we pursue them? Full speed ahead?

"No."

"No?"

"Let them go. They cannot escape. The exit from the straits is blocked. They will fall on their own ships trying to get away."

"Then the battle is over for us?"

"The second line of our ships will stay. The first line, advance to the center to help the ships from Megara. Helm to starboard."

The Artemis leaned far over and made the turn.

After the Phoenicians they had to deal with the Egyptians and the Ionians.


It was the last thing she expected.

Her gaze was fixed forward, trying to make out a Greek ship, but the sudden jolt came from the starboard side, the side protected by one of her other four ships, the Nymphi. The two ships from Halicarnassus shook spasmodically as they collided, but fortunately they had pulled in their oars or the beams would have broken and the ships would have been impossible to steer.

"What is happening?" she shouted in an alarmed voice to the captain of the Nymphi.

"I don't know. The Phoenicians are crowding us from the west."

"The Phoenicians?" Artemisia's mouth fell open. It was unbelievable. "Why?"

"They are retreating."

The fire inside her was lighted in an instant, worse than it had been when she was young and Sardis burned. If the Phoenicians had lost and were retreating, then everything was lost.

They had to leave. They had to extricate themselves from this destructive jostling as quickly as possible.

"Full speed ahead!"

"Where?" asked the petty officer, looking around him in confusion.

"Ahead!"

"That's difficult."

"Why?"

"Our stern is involved with the Nymphi's stern. There is no room for us to put our oars in the water, except at the bow. And the bow oars don't have enough power to get us out. The rowers are exhausted, they've been rowing continuously since yesterday evening."

Before the desperate petty officer had time to finish explaining, Artemisia jumped up and ran down the ship's corridor. She reached the bow and jumped into the hold, where her rowers were. She was immediately immersed in its choking atmosphere. A heavy odor of sweaty male bodies, urine and decayed corpses assaulted her nostrils in spite of the aromatic oil of lily with which she had anointed herself earlier. She put a scented linen scarf to her nose and stood at the side of the hold, looking her rowers in the eye.

"I know you are exhausted. But we have only one chance to save ourselves and go back to our city, and that chance is now. We must push the ship forward. Even if it's against the gods and against nature, we must do this. Otherwise we will find ourselves at the bottom of the sea and in the kingdom of the underworld. Forward! All together!"

Without waiting for an answer she rushed forward, pushed the first rower from his bench and sat in his place, grasping the oily, dirty handle with both hands.

"Forward, all together! Petty officer, give the rhythm!"

With a loud cry that ended in a cheer, dozens of hands pulled together with the queen. A hollow splash was heard and then a long-drawn out screech of wood rubbing on wood. The hull shuddered, the bow lifted, but the Cassiope stayed in place.

"Again!"

Again they raised the oars, buried them in the water and pulled with the same force.

"Again!"

Another fruitless attempt followed.

"Throw ropes with hooks to the ship in front and pull with us!" she yelled her order to the officer of the marines on deck.

"Strongly, oars and ropes together!"

The Cassiope groaned, shuddered, dragged slowly forward with a blood-curdling sound and then suddenly leapt into the space of water before it.

The cheers of the men filled the hold, but Artemisia did not stay for single a moment to celebrate with them. They had taken the first step towards saving themselves, but there were many more. She climbed up on the bench and from there jumped to the deck and looked around her. She saw pandemonium on the sea, ships clashing and ramming each other at will from one end of the field of battle to the other. Arrows, javelins and rocks shot from the decks fell like rain. All around her she saw flanking movements of ships and desperate marines charging with swords and axes in their hands. But behind her the space left by the Cassiope was enough to allow her other ships to maneuver and follow her out. She ordered her signalman to tell the Nymphi and her other ships to move into the empty space and escape their deadly embrace, and then turned to the petty officer.

"Full speed ahead. We have to get out of this bloodbath right now."

She went back to the stern, to the captain's position and threw a quick glance around the ship to check its condition. The back rails on one side were crippled, but they were quite a bit higher than the waterline and that meant that the damage did not require immediate attention. Many of the oars had been snapped, but they had a store of oars in reserve and could replace some of them in order to build up enough speed to escape. The marines were in their positions, unharmed, and her helmsman gave her a nod to indicate that the two great oars of the rudder were still working perfectly.

She sighed in relief and threw a quick glance at the sea around her to choose the best and safest way out. Then she ordered the helmsman to turn the Cassiope toward the east, the only way out of that well-laid trap. That meant fighting the Spartan division, but as everyone knew, the Spartans were only famous for their prowess in war on the land. On the sea they were inexperienced and weak. That was the best solution, she decided quickly.

"Hard to port, attack speed" she ordered her petty officer.

She looked behind her. The Nymphi, the Amphitriti and the Triaina, three of her four ships, were now sailing in a straight line. The Areti had not managed to extricate herself. It was still in the same place, being hit by other Persian ships and half sunk on the starboard side.

She did not stop to mourn. She merely swore to revenge her lost men and then concentrated all her energy on escaping. Fortunately she had the best crews in the fleet. Their continuous training the summer before was now bearing fruit. The Cassiope, the Nymphi, the Amphitriti and the Triaina maneuvered with the precision of a dancer through the crowded straits, avoiding clashes with out-of-control Persian ships as well as with the Greek ships that lay in wait and made lightning attacks, taking advantage of the high morale of their crews and the haze of battle.

"Full speed ahead to port. Go!"

"I hope the emperor can't see us in this mist… Otherwise we'll save our ships and lose our heads…" murmured Diomedes, the most trustworthy of her men.

"I'll think about that problem later" she answered him curtly. "Now we just have to get out of this shambles without being killed" she added with her eyes on the exit from the sea straits to the east, at the cape of Kynosoura.

Yard by yard they came closer to the exit, avoiding battle so as not to delay. Now they could clearly see their destination: the open sea behind the cape. But now they could also clearly see the Persian ships drawn up there on Achaimenes' orders to prevent the Greeks from escaping. As things had turned out, they had closed their own trap on themselves.

"We're getting nearer, my lady…"

"I see that, Diomedes."

It was now a matter of time before they got there, and with relief Artemisia gave the order to stretch the porphyry sail with the white and gold horns on the small mast. It was the symbol of the Persian fleet and she hoped that the lookouts would recognize it in time to let them pass out of the straits.

Her relief suddenly evaporated when she heard her lookout cry "Greek ships to starboard! And behind us!"

Artemisia jumped in place, terrified, and turned first to the prow and then to the starboard rail.

She saw two ships rowing towards them at high speed. One of them, the one coming up from behind, was very far away and would probably not reach them in time. But the other, with the figurehead of Medusa on its prow, was already rowing towards them at ramming speed. The worst thing was that, behind that ship and a short distance away, there followed two others that were also ready to attack. She might be able to fight off the first, but she would have no chance against all three of them.

She looked to the east, feverishly trying to judge the distance. The exit was near, but not near enough to for them to reach it before the Greek ships got to them.

Themistocles' words came to her mind: "They have put a price of ten thousand drachmas on your head…"

That would explain the manic pursuit. She looked up and down her ship for some emblem of Halicarnassus. On the prow was the wooden statue of her beloved Artemis, the goddess who had given her her name. That was what had betrayed her.

"Take down the figurehead!" she yelled to her lookout. "Chop it down with the axes and throw it in the sea!" she added, internally promising sacrifices and libations to the goddess to abate her wrath over the sacrilege.

Then her eye fell on the porphyry sail her petty officer was holding, getting ready to tie it to the mast.

"No! Throw the Persian emblem back into the hold!" she shouted.

She looked quickly back over the starboard rail. The Greek ships were relentlessly closing the gap. Getting rid of the emblems had not worked, and she had very little time. She had to find another solution, a quick and effective one, and she had to find it immediately.

Panting like a runner racing towards the finish line, she looked around her. Greek and Persian ships were fighting to port and starboard, creating pandemonium, but to starboard she could make out two Persian ships rowing undisturbed towards the exit, raising the porphyry sail with the white horns to get past the Persian navy.

She didn't think about it another moment. She gave the order to turn to the left and told the marines to go to the bows.

"Ramming speed!" she shouted to her petty officer, who was looking at her in astonishment. "Now!"

"They are ships from Caria and Lycia. Ours…"

"Ramming speed!" she repeated, screaming like a madwoman.

The petty order did not dispute her order again. He bent to the deck and transferred it to the rowers immediately.

The Cassiope turned to port and plunged forward with her prow vertical to the direction of the waves, not at top speed but steadily and with her ram making a firm straight line.

The ship in front of her, the flagship of Caria, the ship of King Damasythymos, was moving at a slow pace towards the exit, waiting for the Persian ships to open a passage.

"Ram!" shouted Artemisia without hesitating for a second.

The Cassiope dealt a crushing blow. Its ram found the Persian ship almost at a standstill and struck it at an angle of forty five degrees, opening an enormous rift under the waterline.

Cries of pain from the wounded rowers and the yells of surprise from the marines on the deck followed the crackling sound of crushed wood. Damasythymos turned his head in astonishment and his mouth fell open when he saw the queen of Halicarnassus at the stern of the ship that had hit him.

The rowers of the Cassiope received the order to row backwards and detach the ship while Damasythymos, beside himself with rage at Artemisia's treachery, shouted to his marines to throw out ropes and hooks and storm its decks before his ship sank. At the same instant, a rain of arrows and stones was shot against the Cassiope by the desperate Persian marines on the deck of their rammed ship.

"Weapons in your hands! Everyone at the bow!"

Artemisia looked behind her. The Greek ships had slowed down their rhythm and some had stopped completely, watching the strange spectacle of the ramming. The attack on the Persian ship confused them, and now they assumed they had been chasing the wrong prey. Before Artemisia turned her eyes away, the first of the Greek ships that had been pursuing them had maneuvered to starboard and rowed away.

She smiled in satisfaction. But not for long. In front of her a battle was raging. Her crew was trying to cut the ropes thrown by the Persians, while her marines had raised their spears to repel their attack. She sought out the captain and ran forward, snatching the sword from the sheath hanging at her side. As she ran down the passageway the first Persian warriors set foot in her bows, which had not yet detached themselves. Fortunately there were not many of them, most having fallen from the deck into the sea at the moment of impact.

"Single file!" she shouted, running. "Form lines! Lock shields! Raise spears!"


"It is the Cassiope, the ship of Artemisia."

The messenger had just returned from the eastern lookout, bringing the answer to the question the emperor had asked a short time earlier.

Xerxes nodded and told his personal scribe to note down the name on his papyrus.

"Why?" asked Mardonius, who had expected her to finally get the punishment her insolent and disobedient character deserved.

"She shall inscribed in the Orasagon… She deserves it…" the king answered him.

"The role of imperial benefactors?" asked Mardonius, stunned by the unexpected answer. "Her treachery is undeniable."

"It was not treachery."

"The ship she hit was not Greek, Great King. It was ours. It was the ship of Damasythymos, king of…"

Xerxes raised his hand tiredly, commanding him to stop. "I know. But again, I believe it was not treachery. It was a struggle to survive, to save her life and the lives of her men. And in such a struggle, everything is allowed. If we had more commanders like Artemisia, we would have avoided this disaster…"

The words of Xerxes faded inside the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth as red-hot iron fades in ice water. His hand went limply to the armrest of his throne and his body reclined in a posture of exhaustion and resignation. But his gaze remained fixed on the straits before him which were full of oars, planks, broken sterns, half sunk keels, human limbs and broken bodies. He took a deep breath and sighed, breathing out forcefully in an attempt to release all of his pent-up frustration.

"My men fight like women and my women like men…" he murmured slowly and tonelessly.


As the hours passed, the victory of the Greek fleet grew more and more certain. Those Persian ships that remained unharmed and were still fighting, were attacked many times in ways that were difficult to resist. Most were crowded together at the exit of the straits, trying to escape. Many were smashed against the rocks on the coast while others were torn apart when they fell on friendly prows, rams and oars. The Persian ships that managed to escape the straits sailed quickly to Faliro and Piraeus where the Greek ships could not follow them, and where they were protected by the Persian army.

"Do not try to take plunder, or to capture the enemy's ships to tow them to Salamis as trophies!" Themistocles ordered, looking down from his high stern at the battlefield, the sea covered with debris, its waves dyed red with blood. "Just sink them and kill the crews…"

And that is exactly what most of the Greek ships did. Leaning over the rails, their hearts full of hatred after the painful days and nights they had spent in Salamis watching their city burn, the marines spied out Persians who were still swimming or clinging to the wreckage of their ships and finished them off with javelins and arrows, like fishermen who have come upon a school of fish.

"Prow to the east!"

Themistocles had no desire to become involved in that slaughter. He left the others to carry out their horrible duty. Besides, his resourceful mind was not used to thinking about revenge. It was absolutely concentrated on results. Small purposes did not interest him at all. Only the great purpose mattered. And now, the great purpose was to sink as many Persian ships as they could, to prevent them from getting away and to remove the Persian threat from the sea once and for all.

The Persian ships crowding the exit of the straits resembled a flock of sheep being attacked by wolves. The ships in front pressed forward with whatever oars they had left, those in the center were crushed by the pressure, and those behind had turned their rams backwards in a hopeless attempt to cover their weak points and repel the attacking Greeks.

Around the Persian formation, in a great semicircle, sailed the ships from Aegina and Megara. They circled the flock, thirsty for blood, but could not find any gap which would allow them to attack with their rams. The Persians had learned from the tactic the Greeks had invented at Artemisio, and they were using it now.

"There is no other solution…" murmured Themistocles as he stretched out his hand and grasped his helmet, his sword and his spear.

He placed his marines in the bows in battle position and gave ropes to the rest of the crew on the decks, ordering them to climb the masts so they could throw the ropes more easily and hook the enemy ship.

"There are too few of us to take the ship by storm. We only have ten soldiers and the Persian ships have forty. It will be one against four. They'll win," objected Sosikles, the officer in command of his marines.

"Counting me, there are eleven of us. But that doesn't matter. You don't win just by capturing ships. You win by dominating the enemy's mind. You win when you have made him accept his defeat. And the Persians know they are beaten. That will paralyze their hands and weigh down their weapons.

"But they might react like a cornered animal. They might fight tooth and nail like a wild thing that doesn't have a way to escape. If we get close to them, it's likely they'll try to board our ship to save themselves."

Themistocles thought about that for a moment. He knew about democracy, and he knew that the most important thing any politician or general can do is not to speak with confidence, but to listen with understanding.

"You are right. Tell the rowers. Since we're not ramming, we don't need three banks of oars. The first line of rowers will come on deck together with the marines" he ordered the petty officer.

"But they're not soldiers. They don't know how to do anything else but row."

"That's what they're going to do now too…" Themistocles said enigmatically, and he put on his helmet and gave the command to approach the enemy vessel, ready for hand to hand combat.

The air was filled with the war cries of the Persians and the battle hymn of the Greeks, the shouts of the petty officers and the groans of the rowers, the clashing of swords on the metal of shields and the thunder of running feet on the decks.

"Lock shields! shouted Themistocles. "Everyone forward!"

As the two ships came closer together, he climbed onto the tip of the prow in front of all his men, ready to leap onto the enemy ship. He was a riveting sight. High above everyone else, dressed in his bronze armor with the white crest of his helmet and his blue cloak fluttering in the breeze, he looked like Talus, the mythical supernatural warrior, or like a fearless sea warrior rising from the waves, sent by the god Poseidon himself.

As soon as the ships touched, ropes were thrown and arrows and stones were simultaneously shot from both sides. Persians and Greeks climbed up on the prows and the rails, ready to board. Then the rowers came forward, stretched out their long oars and started to sweep the enemy's deck, throwing down the Persian marines and creating gaps in their defensive line.

"Charge!" shouted Themistocles, and with a bound, taking advantage of a gap in front of him, he jumped to the enemy's deck while simultaneously lowering his heavy sword on the body of a Persian and splitting it in two.

Behind him the other Athenians poured in through the toothless Persian line onto the deck of the other ship. After the boarding, things were easier. The bronze armor of the Greeks and their long spears were more effective in hand to hand combat.

Foot by foot, aided by the fatigue of the Persians after rowing all day and all night as well as by their sense of defeat, the Athenians advanced in formation from the prow to the stern, eliminating everyone who stood against them. At the very back, pressed up against the curved ornament of the stern, stood two enormous Persian warriors on either side of Daskylos, from the island of Samos.

"He's mine" shouted Themistocles when he saw him, because he had tried many times unsuccessfully to convince Daskylos to enroll Samos in the Greek alliance. The Samians were famous for their greed, and they always put gold above honor. "Now he will pay for everything…"

He plunged forward with two other men. The first buried the point of his spear in the breast of a Persian, but the second was not so successful. The Persian's ax sliced the spear in half, was raised, and then came down heavily on his head. The bronze helmet could not withstand the terrible blow from the ax. It was split in two along with his skull, and the blade of the ax did not stop until it reached the breastbone, making the Athenian marine resemble an animal prepared for sacrifice.

The first marine immediately turned and tried to strike the gigantic Persian with his bloody spear. He had no better luck. His spear was shattered by the heavy ax before it could touch the scaly armor. The Athenian took a step back to avoid the huge weapon on its way down, but his foot slipped on the body of his comrade and he fell to the deck beside him, looking up with terror at the approaching giant. The Persian raised his ax again, holding it firmly in both hands. His dirty, sweaty face was distorted with a grin of triumph. But before he could lower the heavy ax, his expression changed to doubt, pain and paralysis and he collapsed, shaking the wooden boards of the stern with his enormous bulk and still holding the ax in his hands.

In the moment when the Persian was standing with his arms raised and his breast uncovered, Themistocles had taken a step forward and buried his sword deep in the left side of his unprotected chest. He stooped over the lifeless Persian body, pulled out the sword and wiped off the blood on the colorful Persian trousers.

Then he raised it and looked the well-fed Daskylos, who was shaking like a big fish caught in a net, in the eye.

"You betrayed the Athenians once when you accepted darian gold and ran from the battle of Lade. A few months ago you betrayed us again when you refused to join the Greek alliance and sent ships and men to aid Xerxes in his campaign against us. I begged you many times, but you didn't even take the time to give us an answer" he said, in a tone that called to mind an orator much more than a warrior. "Now the time has come for you to pay for everything, in the name of the people of Athens…"

Daskylos fell to his knees and held up his hands. Golden jewelry glinted between his fingers. He held it out towards the Athenian and wept, begging for mercy.

"Take it, son of Neocles. I have more in the hold. And even more on Samos. It will all be yours if you let me live…" he said with lips trembling from fear.

Themistocles took three steps forward and stood over Daskylos. Then he looked at his gathered men. Without a word, he brought down his sword on Daskylos' neck, cutting off the head which rolled all the way to the other side of the deck.

"Take it and nail it to the mast. And don't sink the ship. I want to tow it to Salamis so that everyone can see what happens to traitors."

"And the body with it?"

"No…"

Burial and respect for the dead were things the Greeks could not neglect.

"Throw his body in the sea."

"Without burial? He is Greek, he believes in the same gods as we do. It is hubris and sacrilege to throw him in the sea."

"Hubris, yes, but justified for a traitor" said Themistocles coldly. He would hear those words again some years later, and he would remember them until the end of his life.


Night fell quickly, covering up the hideous scene. Bodies were washing up all along the shores and many more were anchored to the bottom by their armor. Human limbs were tumbled by the waves and the wind. Planks, oars, sail, broken prows and sterns. Catastrophe. Annihilation. Disgrace.

Yes, night fell quickly, but Xerxes did not rise from his throne on the mountainside. He sat without moving, his shoulders bowed, his face expressionless, his gaze fixed on the east, where the sky was already dark.

His thoughts were blacker than the deepest darkness. The sights he had seen that day weighed on him like a heavy burden. His breath came in slowly, like that of a person forced to his knees. It was a strange way for a King, a Great King, a King of Kings, to breathe.

"How many ships did we lose?" he asked finally in a toneless voice.

"About two hundred and forty. Together with the desertions, perhaps two hundred and fifty."

Silence.

Silence and concentration.

"Men?"

"Fifty thousand. But the nations are still counting them. Perhaps sixty thousand before the night is over."

"Sixty thousand men in one day…"

It was impossible to believe the number he heard. Even more than the number, it was impossible to believe the loss of the flower of the Persian nobility who commanded the divisions of the fleet and the marines on the decks. The slaves rowing the ships were expendable, but not the Persian nobles. Among them were two of his brothers.

The advisors and generals waiting on him were also silent in the darkness. The sorrow of the King was sacred, and at such moments no one had the right to speak to him without his permission.

The silence and the motionlessness lasted for hours. Hours that passed slowly, tortuously for the emperor, and anxiously for those waiting for his decisions and fearing his rage and his punishments.

But they were wrong to fear his rage. Rage had been replaced by disappointment, a more devious, more excruciating emotion. Rage is easy to satisfy but disappointment is not, it slowly digs holes in the spirit and snuffs out every hope as it gnaws away at the will and wears down morale. Even the morale of kings.

"Take the commanders of the Phoenicians and behead them. They have not kept their promises, they were not worthy of their reputation. They ran like cowardly women, betrayed my trust, and are more responsible for the disaster than anyone else" said Xerxes after hours had passed, and he ordered the torches to be lighted to start the council of war.

"Here?"

"Here, Mardonius. Before the field of catastrophe. Incorrect actions are the best path to correct thoughts."

When the torches wrapped in resin had been lighted, reflecting off the shining throne and the gloomy faces gathered around it, Xerxes commanded that the great map of the sea between Asia and Europe should be brought before him and spread out.

"Our time is running out" he said after he had looked at the map thoughtfully for a while. "The days have grown colder and the nights longer. Winter is before us and our army will starve if it remains encamped here."

"Perhaps we could disperse it over Attica and Boeotia. It will be easier to find food" proposed Mardonius.

"Those are areas we have already looted, ravaged and burned. They cannot support that many thousands of men."

"And now, without our fleet, it is impossible to bring the stores from Thrace and Macedonia here" said Ariaranes, the emperor's advisor. "But the state of the food for our spirits is even worse than the state of the food for our bodies. Soon winter will be here. The men are impatient to return to their country and their families. How can we keep their morale high when we don't have victory, plunder and spoil to offer them?" he wondered at the end.

Xerxes nodded thoughtfully. Even an emperor could understand the correctness of the words of his wise advisor, no matter how unpleasant they sounded in his ears. One defeat can bring a man to his senses better than thousands of words.

"You are right, Ariaranes…" he murmured dejectedly.

"We can withdraw the army to Macedonia. There the lands and the cities are untouched, they can feed it. We can wait there until next spring and then start another campaign against Greece" proposed Hydarnes.

"This many thousand men will need a month, maybe two to turn back. Why? Why should they stay on foreign ground all winter? And then they would have to turn south and go past Thermopylae again. With what courage? With what morale?"

"With the courage given by fear. With their morale raised by the promises we give them. Because does our emperor not rule that way? With an iron fist and divine generosity" retorted Hydarnes in support of his proposal. "Our army never retreats, is never defeated!" he shouted at the end, in a last attempt to raise the abject morale of the war council, and of the king himself.

"And yet, believe me, Hydarnes… All armies can be defeated… Even my father, the Great Darius, was defeated when campaigning in the land of the Scythians…" was the king's answer.

"But that did not stop him from ruling the empire for many more years with strength and decisiveness" added Ariaranes.

Artemisia took her gaze from the island of Salamis. During all those hours of waiting she had been looking intensely at the land across from the straits. There were fires burning everywhere on the shores and on the hills. She looked and wondered if the traitor, the devious, charming Athenian, was still alive, alive to enjoy the result of his cunning, his victory and his triumph. Perhaps, if he was alive, she could reveal her great secret to him now that everything was over. Should she keep the flame of hope alive inside her, her hope to have him alive near her one day, beside her and beside her son, waiting for them back in Halicarnassus?

"In regard to that…" she said, raising her voice suddenly, "I would like to relate some thoughts that have passed through my mind…"

"The mind of a woman? By the god of the sun, I've never heard anything more paradoxical" mocked Hydarnes.

"You again?" Mardonius reacted more calmly, turning his eyes, narrowed in rage, toward her.

Xerxes raised his hand. "Let her speak. She is the only one who gave me good advice on this campaign… Come forward, Queen of Halicarnassus…"

Artemisia left the line, walked to the pedestal of the throne, and stood before the emperor.

"Lower your eyes" said Mardonius curtly.

Xerxes smiled for the first time. "She is the only one among us who has the right to raise them. Speak, Artemisia… I am listening…"

"My father and your faithful servant, the satrap Lygdamis, has told me that on that campaign the King of Kings and King of the Earth, Darius the Great, faced an even greater problem than defeat."

"What do you mean?"

"The Scythian warriors cut the bridges he had built over the great river for his troops to pass. After the defeat and without the bridges, the return of that great army was made impossible by the river swollen with water. And thus many brave men, valuable to the empire, were lost. I wonder…"

"What?"

"I wonder if the Greeks, now that they have become rulers of the sea, will cut off the sea routes… How will so many hundreds of thousands of men return? How will our troops return, Great King? And most importantly, how will you return with your entourage?"

"Unacceptable! That is unacceptable!" Hydarnes shouted in a rage. "The emperor and his army do not run like rats from a sinking ship. They stay on the field of battle, they fight and they overcome! Your questions are Greek. Rhetorical, asked merely to make an impression. They are worth nothing!"

"And yet…" aged Ariaranes said slowly "They are questions of a prudent mind, not the cries of a conceited spirit."

"Do you agree with her?" the king asked him.

"I agree that we must think very seriously about the concerns she expresses. Besides, the advice she has given, as you said yourself, my King, has all been correct. So why should we not listen to her now?"

"We can build more ships over the winter. We can face the Greeks again and defeat them. We can become rulers of the sea again" shouted Mardonius in support of Hydarnes.

"It is difficult to build that many ships in such a short time. And it is impossible to find trained crews to replace those we lost" said Achaimenes, the leader of the crippled Persian fleet. "For the next few months, unfortunately, the Greeks will be the rulers of the sea."

"Well then? What will stop them from cutting off our return by sea if we give them time to develop their fleet?" asked Artemisia.

"Our return…" Xerxes repeated slowly.

"It is true that it is difficult to feed an army as large as ours in winter on enemy territory. But a smaller one? An army that is easier to move?"

"What are you trying to say, Mardonius?" asked Ariaranes, puzzled and uneasy, because he too believed that the Persians must avoid staying in Greece at all costs. The messengers who had arrived a few days before from Persia by the imperial road, had brought bad news from Susa. The Babylonians had rebelled again and Egypt was seething in the absence of the imperial army. "What is your proposal, general? Speak clearly, not in riddles.

"I propose that the emperor and his entourage should return with half his army and that I should remain here with the other half, to offer him the conquest of Greece next year as a gift."

The lips of Ariaranes curved in a half smile of contentment. "The emperor must return in any case. Half the army can remain without cost to the empire. The proposal of Mardonius, as I hear it, is a proposal that is wise and prudent."

"Besides, you have fulfilled your promise to your father, Great King. Athens has been destroyed…" added Artemisia.

Xerxes stretched out his hand and commanded his servant to bring him the golden cup with the sweet wine.

He brought the full cup slowly to his lips and drank a few sips. Then he suddenly turned it over and poured the rest on the ground.

Finally, he raised his head and turned his gaze to the east, to the land of his fathers and the boundless territories of his empire.

The sun was just rising. Rosy-fingered dawn glowed faintly on the horizon.

"We are leaving…" he said slowly. "The sun hid its face all day yesterday and it has come out again today, after the destruction. The god is telling us to return…