‘Corinth and the forces of Arcadia will be our centre,’ he said. ‘There will be some thirty thousand in formation there, when we include Chalcidians, Leucadians, Eretrians …’

He named each group with an ease that pleased and surprised Aristides. He could see Tisamenus was murmuring names, no doubt supplying those Pausanias might have missed, but still, it was an impressive feat. Remembering a man’s name could secure his loyalty, Aristides already knew that. He supposed it was much the same with cities. Certainly, he saw men smile as their homes were spoken aloud by the Spartan. They had come to save themselves, of course, but also the peoples around them. To his surprise, Aristides felt a surge of emotion that closed his throat and made his eyes prickle. The wine was clearly stronger than he had realised.

‘On the left,’ Pausanias went on, ‘Athens will hold the wing, with Megara and Plataea. They will not be turned, I know that. The ruins of Plataea will be visible tomorrow, gentlemen, as we cross the range of Cithaeron through the high passes. The price of Persia in our land will be clear to all of us, if it was not before. We will stand, we seventy thousand, against three times as many. We will face men of Macedon and of Thebes, alongside Persian, Mede and Indian. Yet I do not fear them, this enemy. They have cavalry we lack and land that suits them, but it is not their land. It is ours. Gentlemen, I would not be anywhere else this evening. Nor would I choose any others to stand with me, at my side. We will destroy this enemy. The gods themselves have promised five victories to my soothsayer, Tisamenus. This battle, close by the ruined city of Plataea, will be the first.’

Pausanias raised his cup again and they all rose stiffly, at first in awed silence. Aristides could not resist glancing around the room, looking for weakness or fear. He saw only determination. Pausanias too was looking across them. Aristides met his gaze and dipped his head in acknowledgement. He saw the regent nod in return.

It was the simplest of things to stand there. They had chosen to. Some of those present would surely be killed, perhaps even all of them. Yet they had come out to face a vast host. Aristides felt his eyes sting. The strength of feeling surprised him.

‘There is only one toast before war, gentlemen,’ Pausanias said. ‘To home.’

‘To home,’ they echoed as one, and drank.