The Naval Battle of Salamis, 480 B.C. Greek Land and Sea Forces End Persian Dominance, Leonidas, Xerxes, Themistocles.

The twin blows of Persia’s crushing naval defeat at Salamis and the decisive military collapse at Plataea brought an abrupt end to Xerxes’ grand ambitions of expanding his empire into Europe. In their wake, the Greeks emerged not just victorious, but as the dominant force in both the Mediterranean and Europe. This triumph secured their place as the leading power, setting the stage for their cultural and political influence to spread throughout the known world.

Salamis. September 23, 480 B.C.
Persian Forces: roughly 1,000 Galleys.
Greek Allied Forces: 370 Galleys.

Additional Reading and Research:

• Durant, Will. The Life of Greece.
• Fuller, J.F.C. A Military History of the Western World.
• Selincourt Translation: Herodotus. The Histories.
• Hignet, Charles. Xerxes' Invasion of Greece.
• Muarice, Frederick. The Size of the Army of Xerxes, Journal of Hellenic Studies.

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Transcript

Thanks for tuning in to today's episode of History's Greatest Battles. As always, if you're not yet, please subscribe and share this episode with a friend.

Today’s battle is one of the most influential of my mind. The world we live in today, or timeline, more than almost any other battle, is owed to this naval battle. And particularly to the real commander of the fleet, an Athenian Greek known as Themistocles. He was a cunning statesman, an incredible warrior, a philosophically minded conversationalist, an award winning athlete, and eventually, an exile of Athens. 
He is an example of other contemporary philosophers that stated that a pure democracy would always end. Athens would often exile their heroes once they were concerned that their power, prestige, or wealth became dangerous… a government built on the fear of the masses. 
Our founding fathers recognized this, hence our constitutional republic… not a democracy. Had this man, Themistocles, not lived or survived to fight and lead in this battle, your life would be so radically different than it is today, that it’s nearly unimaginable. My own moniker, under which I publish these episodes, is taken from this man, Themistocles.

Let’s now experience, the naval battle of Salamis.

Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season 01, Episode 64: The Naval Battle of Salamis, the 23rd of September, 4 80, B.C.

Persian Forces: roughly 1,000 Galleys.
Greek Allied Forces: 370 Galleys.

The twin blows of Persia’s crushing naval defeat at Salamis and the decisive military collapse at Plataea brought an abrupt end to Xerxes’ grand ambitions of expanding his empire into Europe. In their wake, the Greeks emerged not just victorious, but as the dominant force in both the Mediterranean and Europe. This triumph secured their place as the leading power, setting the stage for their cultural and political influence to spread throughout the known world.

Darius, despite the sting of his failed invasion of Greece in 490 B.C., was not a man to forgive easily. The Greeks had dared to meddle in his empire, fueling the fires of revolt in Ionia. For this insolence, punishment was not a question of if, but when. Another invasion would have been swift and merciless, but fate delivered a distraction. Egypt, bold and defiant, rose against Persian rule, demanding the king’s attention. Before the fires of rebellion could be fully extinguished, Darius fell in 486 B.C., his reign cut short. The empire did not falter. His son, Xerxes, inherited both his crown and his father’s smoldering desire for vengeance.

Xerxes, proving himself every bit his father's son, crushed the Egyptian rebellion with brutal efficiency. But his mind, and his ambition, had always been set on Greece. His army would be the hammer that would break those defiant city-states. The true size of Xerxes' war machine is lost to time, obscured by the grandiose claims of ancient writers. Some, like Herodotus, spoke of armies so vast they seemed to swallow the land whole—an absurd 2.6 million. But exaggeration or not, the Persian force was undeniably immense, a sea of soldiers and servants stretching as far as the eye could see. However, if one considers not just the warriors but the army’s vast support system—cooks, laborers, scribes—the number begins to feel less implausible. Even an army needs to eat, write, and clean. Herodotus, ever dramatic, claimed that Xerxes marched to Greece with over 5 million souls at his back, a number as staggering as it is dubious. Yet, even modern scholars hesitate to dismiss the sheer scale of this force. Contemporary historians, armed with reason rather than myth, estimate Xerxes' actual combat forces numbered between 150,000 and 180,000. These soldiers were not just Persians but drawn from every corner of his sprawling empire—a true army of nations.

The Greeks, basking in the glory of their triumph at Marathon in 490, had grown complacent, their eyes straying from the gathering storm to their petty internal feuds. While Xerxes meticulously prepared his vengeance, the Greeks were too busy arguing to see it coming. The Greeks, ever fractious, had returned to their old ways—Athens and Sparta, along with countless other city-states, were once again at each other’s throats, squabbling like caged animals unaware of the hunter lurking outside. Only when word of Xerxes' march swept through Greece in the winter of 481 did the warring city-states realize the peril at their doorstep. For the first time in years, they swallowed their pride, uniting under Spartan leadership in a desperate council at the Isthmus of Corinth. Yet, not all heeded the call. Many northern poleis chose absence over alliance, either out of fear or foolishness. The pressing question that now hung over the conference was where Greece would make its stand—where the might of Xerxes would be halted or the land ravaged.

Sparta, ever the fortress of the Peloponnese, argued fiercely that their peninsula, the very heart of Greek freedom, should be the battleground. Better to fight where their homeland could be shielded. But this plan would sacrifice northern and central Greece without a fight, leaving the rest of the country to the mercy of the Persian hordes. Worse, it risked driving those northern poleis straight into Xerxes’ arms, willing to bend the knee to save their lands from devastation. A bolder strategy took shape: to confront the invaders further north, at choke points like Thermopylae or the Vale of Tempe, where a small force could hold off even the largest of armies. Meanwhile, the naval straits of Euboea promised to neutralize Persia’s overwhelming numerical advantage at sea. But when a northern reconnaissance revealed too many passes to defend, the Greeks withdrew south, leaving the northern poleis in panic, convinced they were about to be abandoned to Xerxes' wrath. As if the situation weren’t dire enough, the Oracle at Delphi only deepened their despair. Its cryptic prophecy foretold Athens’ destruction but hinted that the other poleis might survive—if they stood apart from the fight. Undeterred, the Athenians sought the Oracle's wisdom once more. This time, the response was more hopeful but enigmatic: “wooden walls” would be their salvation. Whether this meant the city’s fortifications or the mighty triremes of their navy remained unclear. The Athenians chose to believe the ships would be their shield and sent a desperate plea to Syracuse, hoping its formidable navy might join them in battle. Syracuse, however, was entangled in its own struggles. The Carthaginians of North Africa, perhaps spurred by Xerxes himself, threatened their very doorstep. Bound by their own fight, they could not send aid.

At last, the Greeks resolved to take the fight northward. Even the iron-willed Spartans knew they could not stand alone at the Isthmus of Corinth, isolated against the torrent of Persian forces. United, they would face the enemy head-on. As spring dawned in 480, Xerxes unleashed his colossal army, a force so vast it seemed to envelop the Aegean like a relentless tide, advancing with a steady and unstoppable momentum. Xerxes’ engineers had already carved history into stone. They bridged the Hellespont with two vast chains of boats, a feat of engineering so audacious that it shook the ancient world. His army crossed not with haste, but with the deliberate march of conquest. Following his father’s example, Xerxes sent forth his heralds, demanding submission from the Greek city-states. Only in the far north, trembling at the approach of the Persian juggernaut, did any bend the knee. The rest of Greece steeled itself for war. Now in Europe, Xerxes’ forces advanced along the coast, their every need borne by the Persian navy that shadowed their march. This was no haphazard advance—it was the methodical march of an empire, each step bringing Greece closer to ruin. Like a great predator circling its prey, Xerxes’ army moved along the Aegean’s edge, closing in on the Greeks who waited grimly at Thermopylae and the narrow channel of Euboea, knowing that soon the storm would break upon them.

At Thermopylae, King Leonidas of Sparta held the line with a force of 7,000 warriors. The pass, a narrow ribbon of land by the Gulf of Malis, would be the site of Greece’s defiance, a place where courage would be tested against the flood of Persian steel. Across the waves, 333 Greek ships stood sentinel in the straits, blocking the lifeblood of Xerxes' campaign. Without control of these narrow waters, his massive army could not be sustained. The Greeks gambled on a single hope—that the true fight would not be on land, but at sea. Their army’s stand was but a ruse, a delaying tactic meant to force the Persian navy into a death trap of narrow waters. Fortune favored the Greeks. The heavens unleashed a storm, smashing 400 Persian ships beneath the waves before they could even engage. Nature, it seemed, had taken sides. Themistocles, the brilliant commander of the Athenian navy, seized the moment. He urged his fleet to strike now, while the Persian forces reeled from their losses—an opportunity too golden to ignore. Two clashes followed between the fleets, each ending in bloody stalemate. But even as the Greeks withdrew, grim news arrived: Leonidas and his brave 300 had been betrayed. Thermopylae had fallen, but not before the Spartans, defiant to the last, had written their names into legend with their noble deaths.

Now, with the Persian army marching inexorably south, Athens faced a bitter decision. Its citizens fled the city, abandoning it to the invaders, leaving only a token defense on the Acropolis. Their faith rested not in stone walls but in the ships that carried their hopes—the “wooden walls” of the navy. Themistocles, master strategist, led his fleet to the tight waters between Athens and Salamis, knowing that here, in these narrow straits, the fate of Greece would be decided. If the Persians split their fleet to surround Salamis, the Greeks would be trapped, pressed into a deadly corner. Yet Themistocles, ever the gambler, lured Xerxes into the trap, daring the Persians to strike here, rather than march directly toward Sparta’s defenses at the Corinthian isthmus. Meanwhile, Xerxes’ forces surged into Athens. The Acropolis fell, the city was consumed by flame, and the Persians believed they had broken the Greek spirit. They were wrong. As the Persian fleet closed in, cracks began to show in the Greek command. Eurybiades, a Spartan, held overall command despite Sparta contributing few ships. But tradition demanded a Spartan lead, and so it was, even though tension simmered among the allied captains. Many Greek captains balked at Themistocles’ audacious plan, unwilling to risk their fleets in such perilous waters. Yet Themistocles, with steely resolve, forced their hand. If they would not fight, he threatened, Athens would fight alone. His ships—the backbone of the navy—would abandon them to their doom.

By the morning of September 22, 480, doubt surfaced again. But Themistocles, ever the master of strategy and risk, upped the ante with a bold and dangerous gambit. Themistocles sent word to Xerxes, pretending treachery. He offered to betray his own people, promising to switch sides if Xerxes would strike now, while the Greeks hesitated. The truth, however, was far different. In truth, Themistocles had no intention of betraying Greece. The ruse worked perfectly. Xerxes took the bait, ordering his fleet forward. The Greek captains, now committed, had no choice but to fight as the Persian ships rowed toward them on the fateful morning of September 23.

Xerxes, confident in his overwhelming numbers, dispatched 200 Egyptian ships to circle westward, cutting off any hope of Greek retreat. The rest of his armada surged forward from the east, sailing directly into the jaws of the trap Themistocles had set with deadly precision. Xerxes' fleet, numbering around 1,000 warships, was forced to split as it navigated the island of Psyttaleia and the long peninsula before entering the Salamis channel. But in those tight, constricting waters, the vast Persian numbers became their curse. There was no room to maneuver, no space for the swift tactics they relied on. Deprived of their speed and agility, the Persian ships floundered. What was once their strength now became a death sentence, as they were caught in the narrow passage like prey in a snare. The Greeks, with their heavier and more robust 370 galleys, surged forward like a wall of iron. They smashed through the confused Persian ranks, ramming ship after ship, their oars cutting through the water with relentless fury. For seven brutal hours, the cacophony of battle filled the air—the splintering of wood, the screams of the dying, the roar of men locked in desperate combat. All of it rose to Xerxes, seated on his golden throne atop a nearby hill, watching what he believed would be his crowning triumph. But the scene unfolding below was no victory—it was disaster. Instead, Xerxes watched in horror as over half of his mighty fleet was obliterated, broken upon the rocks of Greek defiance. The Greeks, by contrast, lost a mere forty ships, their victory as decisive as it was humiliating for Persia.

Xerxes lingered in the ashes of Athens for a few more days, projecting the illusion of an emperor ready to strike again. But behind this mask of confidence, the great king was planning his retreat, the sting of defeat seeping into his every thought. Terrified that the victorious Greek navy might pursue his shattered fleet all the way to Asia Minor and sever his precious boat bridge across the Hellespont, Xerxes ordered the slow, grinding withdrawal of his army from Europe. His dreams of conquest crumbled into dust. But Xerxes did not leave without a parting blow. He entrusted 180,000 soldiers to his general, Mardonius, with orders to crush the remaining Greek resistance. The war was far from over, at least in the king’s mind. This decision came on the counsel of Artemesia of Halicarnassus, a fierce queen whose ships had sailed for Xerxes and whose bravery in battle at both Euboea and Salamis had earned his admiration. She alone among his advisors had the nerve to speak frankly to the king. Artemesia urged Xerxes to leave Mardonius behind, reasoning that if the general triumphed, Xerxes could claim the glory, but if Mardonius failed, the blame would fall on his subordinate. It was a cold, calculating strategy fit for an emperor who could not afford another personal defeat.

Mardonius, however, would meet his end less than a year later at the Battle of Plataea. He attempted to exploit the Greeks’ familiar bickering, but in the end, it was discipline that prevailed. The Persian general was crushed underfoot by the resolute hoplites of Greece. Though Mardonius commanded a mixed force that even included Greek allies, the 80,000 disciplined warriors led by the Spartan general Pausanias proved unstoppable. The Persian army, a diverse and fragmented host, shattered before the unified might of the Greek phalanx. With the victories at Salamis and Plataea, this chapter of the Greco-Persian wars came to a close. For the next 150 years, Greece and Persia would continue their struggle, clashing intermittently, mostly in Ionia—home to Greeks who had long chafed under Persian rule.

These battles did more than end a war—they reshaped the entire Mediterranean world, altering the balance of power in naval strength, military tactics, and political dominion. For fifty years, the Persian navy had ruled the eastern Mediterranean, its ranks bolstered by the skilled Phoenicians and supported by the ships and ports of the Ionian Greeks. But that dominance was now broken. Moreover, Carthage, Persia’s Phoenician ally, had helped extend Persian influence across nearly the entire Mediterranean. Together, they were a force that seemed unbeatable—until now. After Salamis, that power began to unravel. Persian control of the seas was shattered, and their grip on the Mediterranean weakened. While Persia’s navy would endure until Alexander the Great finally toppled the empire in 331 B.C., it was Athens that now ruled the seas. The victory at Salamis propelled the Athenian navy to dominance for years to come.

Decades later, when the Peloponnesian War tore Greece apart, old rivalries resurfaced with a vengeance. Sparta, in a bold move, brokered an alliance with Persia, enlisting the very enemy they once fought to use its fleet against their Athenian adversaries. Yet even with Spartan gold in their coffers, the Persian navy was a shadow of its former self, never reclaiming the supremacy it had once wielded so confidently before Salamis. Athens, now the undisputed naval power, seized control of the eastern Mediterranean's trade routes. The Ionian cities, emboldened by the Greek triumph, became a thorn in the side of their Persian overlords, stirring rebellion and unrest. From this point forward, Persia’s once firm grip on Asia Minor began to falter, as the Greeks continually fomented insurrection. The Persian empire, though vast, now found itself in a constant struggle to maintain control over its rebellious provinces.

In military terms, Greece now stood at the pinnacle of martial prowess. The Greek hoplite, armored in bronze and wielding spear and shield with lethal discipline, became the model of infantry excellence, a soldier feared and respected across the known world. The Greek phalanx, a wall of spears and shields moving as one impenetrable unit, dominated the battlefield, unrivaled in its time. It would hold this supremacy until the rise of Rome, when the legions adapted the formation into the fearsome cohort. From this moment on, even Persia sought to harness Greek military might. Persian kings, recognizing the unmatched skill of Greek soldiers, employed vast numbers of Greek mercenaries to wage their wars in Asia, hiring the very men they once tried to conquer. It was the hoplite that gave Philip of Macedon the strength to bring all of Greece under his dominion. And it was that same Greek phalanx, sharpened to perfection, which allowed his son, Alexander, to carve out an empire that stretched all the way to India.

But it was not on the battlefield alone that these victories echoed through history. Politically and socially, Salamis and Plataea marked a seismic shift. Historians agree: these were the moments when Europe took a decisive step toward becoming a civilization built on Greek ideals, no longer merely a potential vassal to the thrones of Eastern despots. Military historian J.F.C. Fuller captures the magnitude of these events: Salamis and Plataea "stand like the pillars of the temple of the ages supporting the architecture of western history." In his words, these were not just battles—they were the very foundation of the Western world’s future. The renowned scholar Will Durant echoed this sentiment in The Life of Greece, proclaiming the Greek victory as the most significant in European history. "It made Europe possible," he wrote. Greece had won not only freedom from the yoke of Eastern kings but also the chance to nurture the first great experiment in liberty. This victory preserved the brilliance of the Greek mind for centuries to come, sheltering it from the suffocating mysticism of the East and securing the seas for Greek enterprise.

And so, from these battles arose the very foundations of Western civilization. The political institutions, philosophies, and sciences we cherish today have their roots in Greece. It is hard to imagine any modern thought or system that wasn’t first pondered by the minds of Greece, over two millennia ago. Had Persia triumphed, the map of Europe could have been drastically different. Xerxes’ empire might have stretched far deeper into the continent. If they had managed to control Greece, even for a time, and bolstered their formidable armies with Greek soldiers, there was little in Europe capable of stopping them. No European force, at that time, had the organization or strength to withstand such an empire. Even the fierce Scythians, who had once thwarted Darius, might have crumbled before a Persian military reinforced by Greek soldiers and tactics. A Persian navy, ruling the Mediterranean, could have transported the empire’s soldiers to the heart of Europe, perhaps even crushing the rising power of Rome before it had a chance to dominate the world stage. The entire course of history turned on that fateful day in Salamis. Themistocles’ gamble did more than win a battle—it shaped the world as we know it. Had he failed, the world today might bear little resemblance to the one shaped by Greece’s enduring legacy.