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slash subscribe. It's 480 BC. The calm waters of the Terranian Sea are a royal blue, with the Italian coast visible

in the distance. A small ship sails north, carried by a favourable wind and keeping close to

the shoreline. It's a trading ship, full of fancy vases.

The helmsman and his crew had come from Athens.

They were sailing north to trade with the great power that dominated Italy at that time,

the Etruscans, who had developed quite a love for Greek art.

Over the past few weeks, they had been sailing around the Italian coastline, passing numerous

cities along the way.

Tarentum, Croton, Regium, Elea, valued havens in a world where sailing as night was avoided.

Now they could see the next port city on the horizon, situated in a great fertile plain

with mountains rising up behind. Impressive stone walls surround it, and beyond, protruding

above this defence, the tops of the great monuments that defined this city were visible. Two large temples side by side,

one bigger and grander than the other, shouting out a clear message, Greeks live here. A warm bed,

wine, and music awaited the helmsman that night, familiar Greek comforts in a foreign land.

He thanked Poseidon for the ship's safe journey so far.

He vowed to make an offering to the terrifying deity as soon as he landed, lest his luck change.

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