‘And I you, regent. I have looked for you on the hills before this. I told them Spartan honour was not a weak thing.’

Xanthippus observed the tightening mouth of Pausanias as he understood. It seemed Aristides thought he had come to discuss bringing out the army in spring. Or that was the impression Aristides wanted to convey. Xanthippus hid a smile with a bowed head.

‘Come, gentlemen, as honoured guests,’ Aristides called to them.

He waved his hoplites aside, though Xanthippus was not the only one to note how they formed up behind. The tramp and jingle of armed men would follow the Spartans right to the heart of the city, it seemed.

Aristides strode ahead and they led their horses after him, passing through the broken walls and taking the road to the Agora. Aristides spoke over his shoulder, his voice raised so that they could all hear.

‘The council of Athens has been told of your arrival. There are rooms there, to wash away the dust of the road. I have slaves ready to tend you; water for washing, fruit, fish and wine to sate your appetites. The moon rises. Shall we say two hours?’

‘What of the Macedonian?’ Pausanias broke in.

Xanthippus watched Aristides frown in confusion. He found he was enjoying the performance.

‘King Alexander?’ Aristides waited for the Spartan regent to nod. ‘He is here, still. He remains in the city. I am surprised to hear word of his presence carried as far as Sparta.’

‘You have made no agreement with him, no treaty?’ Pausanias asked.

Aristides shook his head. His tone changed subtly, deepening as it lost the artificial rhythms of a host.

‘We have not, Pausanias, no. We have made no agreement with an ally of the army that burned Athens, the men who despoiled our temples, who broke our walls and drowned our people.’

The silence that followed was darker and deeper than the night around them. The Spartan regent had the grace to look abashed, though also relieved, Xanthippus could see that. Pausanias had come to prevent an alliance. The anger he saw in Aristides was balm on a wound to him. Xanthippus wondered if Aristides’ prickly sense of honour had given away an advantage. Still, some things could not be hidden.

With the moon high above the city, they crossed the open Agora, silent and still. At its edge stood the rebuilt council building, where the tribes of Athens met to administer rulings of the Assembly. Servants led the Spartans to bathing rooms and food laid out for them.

The new bouleuterion building was not shuttered despite the late hour. Oil lamps lit every room there, spilling onto the Agora. Xanthippus thought he could hear the murmur of voices in the main chamber. His people, speaking their souls to the air, ordering the world around them. He wondered how Spartans would fare in front of that audience.