Aristides stood in the light of torches, the city at his back studded with the sparks of cooking fires. An odour of meat and mint wafted through the air and Xanthippus wondered if he would ever know hunger like it again. He and Cimon had moved subtly apart from the Spartans as the sun set, choosing to preserve some distance from them as they approached Athens. They had ridden hard all day and covered ground almost as well as the young scouts racing ahead. Pausanias was either oblivious to the exhaustion of his companions, or amused by their suffering. Xanthippus was honestly unsure which it was. The Athenians had realised they would not stop or eat as the day wore on. They’d settled in then to a grim determination not to let the others down. Cimon had seemed to understand without it being said aloud – he regarded everything as a competition, so that was no surprise. Relas and Onesimos had suffered most. Both were used to hours of duty on board ship rather than riding. When Pausanias had allowed a brief respite to empty bladders and pass around skins of watered wine, Onesimos had dismounted and immediately fallen, his legs stiff as boards. No one had laughed. It had been Relas who helped him to his feet and then to mount again, once they had made steam rise from the bushes alongside the trail.

If Aristides was surprised to see the actual regent of Sparta, he showed no sign of it. His sharp gaze picked out Xanthippus and Cimon, his chin dipping a touch as he acknowledged them.

‘I give thanks and rejoice to have your presence grace us, Regent Pausanias,’ Aristides said.

Xanthippus blinked slowly as he observed a man he considered incapable of emotional display nonetheless take the hand or kiss each one of their group. Pausanias he kissed on the cheek; Tisamenus, the lips, greeting him also by name. When it came to Xanthippus and Cimon, the Athenian statesman gripped each of them around the back of the neck and kissed them on the side of their heads, almost on the ear. Xanthippus half-expected a whispered message, but there was none.

It was odd how the greeting stole away some of the hostility from the group waiting to enter Athens. Whether Aristides had intended it or not, choosing to welcome them as allies and family meant that the perfect stillness of warriors had no place there and was put aside. Some of the Spartans shuffled as they waited. One yawned and rested his head against his horse’s neck as he stood beside the animal. They too had ridden far and fast; they were not made of stone.

‘I rejoice to see you so well, Archon Aristides,’ Pausanias said.

He had not lost all his stiffness. The eyebrow was still permanently raised and his manner restored formality to his men. Only the soothsayer Tisamenus grinned around him like an urchin.