Xanthippus was not surprised to have Aristides approach him, gathering in Cimon with his other arm. Relas and Onesimos waited to one side.

‘We have a little time,’ Aristides said. ‘The Persians have offered peace.’ He nodded as Cimon snorted in disgust at the very idea.

‘As slaves, perhaps,’ Xanthippus said. ‘They know nothing of freedom. Was that the Macedonian you mentioned before?’

‘King Alexander of Macedon,’ Aristides confirmed. ‘Sent to us as one we know. A traitor, made to kiss the ground Xerxes walks. You will see him in the council chamber.’

He looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign yet of any of the Spartan group returning. Athenian hoplites remained on guard and they would have reacted to the soldiers of another city creeping around.

‘There can be no peace,’ Aristides went on, ‘not while this Persian army threatens us. I’ll test the will of the council, but I cannot imagine they will accept. Themistocles will fill the room with talk of war and vengeance. I may not oppose him! Perhaps the Spartans will understand then that we are in earnest. That is our aim, gentlemen. To bring them out, with us, in the spring.’

‘And if they do not come?’ Xanthippus said.

‘Have you heard they will not?’ Aristides said immediately, searching his eyes.

Xanthippus shook his head.

‘We had barely one night in Sparta before we were gathered up and drawn back here. This Pausanias keeps his own counsel … but he worries me. He knows what we want, what his own father, Cleombrotus, promised as his oath. The brother of Leonidas is very ill, I learned, too weak to see anyone, perhaps close to death.’

‘I see. If he dies … will that affect the oath he gave?’ Aristides muttered. He could hear noises from the antechambers. The Spartans had clearly not wallowed in the pools or dawdled over the food laid out for them. They were already moving and dressing once more.

Xanthippus considered. The truth was complex.

‘I think it will, if Pausanias wishes it. Yes. If the regent truly wants to come out and face Persia, it would not matter. Yet I see no great battle lust in him, or none that he has let us see.’

Aristides spat an angry phrase, surprising Xanthippus, who had known him for most of his life and never heard a coarse word. Aristides was the man who had scratched his own name on a piece of pottery when he had been ostracised. His honour and personal discipline were renowned. To hear him swearing was oddly disturbing.

‘Perhaps Pausanias can be made to repeat his oath in council,’ Aristides said. ‘This Persian envoy, Alexander, has been waiting days to hear our reply. Would it hurt us to have the Spartan hear his offer?’

‘It might,’ Xanthippus said. ‘I am surprised you haven’t already sent the envoy back to the Persian camp.’