Aristides ignored him. The Spartan army seemed to grow with every pace, a wide and wider line. For a man who had known battlefields, it was hard not to feel his heart race. It was all very well saying they were there as allies, but just standing while a dust cloud swelled and red-cloaked lines marched at him was enough to make the hair prickle on the back of his neck. He felt his breath come faster, like an old hound hearing a hunting horn.

‘I can hardly imagine a force to beat these men,’ Aristides said. ‘But if I do not return …’

‘You will,’ Themistocles said. ‘Who else would want you?’

For the first time, Aristides understood that Themistocles was as nervous as he was, as worried for the future. His bitter humour covered it well. It eased Aristides’ spirits to know he was not the only one.

‘I meant … I still have some land and property, but no heirs. I would like it to be auctioned off, the money to go to playwrights. If the city survives, of course.’

‘I didn’t know you enjoyed such things,’ Themistocles replied.

Aristides shrugged.

‘When I feed the poor, they grow hungry again. A good play, though, is a story for the ages. Aeschylus is one I would sponsor. He understands tragedy – and he was with us at Marathon. His brother died there. Trierarchia, Themistocles. It is a noble idea. Ships and plays for the city. Our duty.’

‘If the city survives,’ Themistocles said.

They held one another’s gaze then for just a moment.

‘Yes,’ Aristides said. ‘If she survives. We have held nothing back, Themistocles. Nothing. This is the season that decides our fates. I thought it was Marathon, or Salamis, but no. It is this spring.’

‘Good luck, then, brother,’ Themistocles said.

Aristides blinked, then nodded, taking the hand offered in a brief, dry clasp. Aristides gathered up helmet and spear then, the tools of war resting on the ground by his feet. A slave would carry his sword and shield. He stepped down with just a glance back, heading out to stand with the hoplites.

Xanthippus did his best to conceal his pride as his sons came on board. His daughter Eleni would remain with her mother, rebuilding the estate outside Athens. It seemed wrong just to let that once great house sag into its ashes, waiting on the turn of seasons and some hope of victory. More, the household slaves needed work, or they would surely turn to petty vice and idle spite. The freed slave Manias had to earn his pay, now that he had taken on the role of foreman. Xanthippus knew he would either return to an estate remade, or a wasteland. If he returned, he reminded himself quickly. The gods punished pride.