A growl of anger met his words as more and more of the crowd understood what was happening. Agariste saw red faces spluttering indignation, but also some nodding heads and men raising their arms in approval, as they did sometimes on the Pnyx.

‘Peace is what they want!’ the man said. ‘The king of Persia treats his allies with honour, we know that. If we want peace, we have merely to ask.’

A stone hit him on the shoulder, bouncing off. He looked up in surprise, utter shock on his face. In that breathless moment, before he could speak, another was thrown, with all the force of rage. It struck him on the mouth, bloodying his lips and knocking his head to one side. He dropped into a crouch, holding his face. Agariste heard people cry out on his behalf, but at least it was over.

He was a strong man. Though his wife tried to hold him, he shrugged her off and rose once more, blood dribbling right down his face and neck, darkening the front of his leather apron in a slick. He began to speak again, but the sight of the blood released something in the crowd. A group of four men suddenly went for him, darting in together. They had picked up stones, holding them as clubs. He had time to turn to face them as the first one struck, smashing him in the cheek.

His wife shrieked as he fell a second time, but the men did not stand back, or run away in shame. Agariste pressed a hand against her own mouth to stifle sounds as they brought stones down on him, breaking bones. The blacksmith would not rise again, that was clear.

They were panting as they let the stones drop, but there was something unsatisfied in that crowd. Agariste saw Ariphron gathering his courage to go forward. She put out a hand and pinched his bare thigh, halting him.

‘Stay,’ she hissed at her son. ‘They will kill you if you go now. Protect me. Protect your brother and sister.’

She saw Ariphron lose his dark expression as he heard her words and let the call to action fall away. He nodded and she saw the two hoplites were listening, looking for orders, needing them.

Agariste almost rose to her feet when she saw women gathering. The violence was at an end and the four killers began to move away, their expressions blank, even confused. When a woman picked up one of the fallen stones and bloodied her fingers, Agariste could read her expression. It was bitter as the wind or the sea-cold.

‘Traitors,’ the woman called, pointing at the man’s wife and children.

‘No! We said nothing,’ the other woman replied.