‘You know who I am,’ Pausanias began. He made a flick of his fingers, disdaining any other introduction. ‘In Sparta, word of this … discussion came to me. A scout reached my ear, saying Persia had offered peace to our allies, to Athens. I said such a thing was impossible, but I see that was a mistake. The army that burned this city, that sank our ships and drowned our people, now offers you the hand of friendship. They sent their representative to you, not to me. Yet I stand here as witness, as the eye of Sparta on you. I stand as the judge and guarantor of your honour.’

He turned his head back and forth, making sure they felt his gaze even as they shifted and grumbled at his arrogance. Themistocles stepped forward to answer, but Pausanias raised a hand, his voice ringing out.

‘I am aware of your poverty. If that is a weight on one side of the scales, I can remove it. Sparta will pay a stipend to your women over the winter. If you reject the offer of traitors and enemies, I give you my word we will not let you starve.’

The noise had been building in the council chamber as he spoke. Some of those there called out in anger, while hundreds more whispered to friends in a susurration that spilled onto the Agora like the light of lamps. Pausanias frowned at them, unused to the vigour of the response.

‘Sit down,’ he snapped to one who had risen to jab a finger at him. When movement caught his eye, he saw the hand of Themistocles now rested on the rostrum, tapping the wood. Pausanias turned to him in confusion.

‘Regent Pausanias,’ Themistocles said, ‘we are used to … discussing such things. There is no single voice of reply here, not even mine. We will talk through what you have said and then vote on it.’

He glanced over at the Macedonian king, seeing the gleam of sweat on his forehead. That man looked fairly ill at what he had heard. Or perhaps it was just that he realised how little his life was worth in that place, lion brooch or not.

‘Should we step down?’ Tisamenus said suddenly. ‘For you to discuss what you will do?’

He at least seemed to be enjoying himself. Themistocles recognised the man from the description Aristides had given. Themistocles swept his gaze over five hundred red and angry faces. He chuckled and shook his head.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary this time. You are the soothsayer who cannot tell the future?’

Tisamenus laughed at that.

‘I suppose I am. I know you, kurios. Your name is spoken in Sparta, with respect.’

‘I should think it is!’ Themistocles said, wide-eyed. ‘Considering I saved us all.’