Of course, then Themistocles had intervened, forcing a vote in the Assembly, having Xanthippus banished from his home and family. Agariste set her mouth in hard memory. Those years could not be brought back. Themistocles would never be welcome in her home, not in her lifetime.

Pericles had crept forward to watch the sea battle once more. She understood his restlessness, though there was nothing she could do about it. Her son was shading his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, looking out at an implacable enemy, wishing he was with the fleet. He had tried to stay aboard when Xanthippus brought his ship to the docks for them. His father had knelt by both his sons and told them to protect Agariste and their sister Eleni. Agariste had seen too the knives both boys had accepted from his hand. She wondered if they had thought how they would wield those blades, whether they could truly kill their mother and sister rather than allow them to be made slaves. Agariste tightened her jaw at that. She understood the risks, for herself and Eleni. Yet she would take the knives off them if they tried. Women survived. There was always a path through. Always. She raised a hand in warning as Pericles half-slipped and caught himself, leaning out into space, his arms flung wide to catch his balance.

‘Come here , Peri,’ she said furiously.

He had shocked himself, she saw. The boy was blushing as he stepped back a few paces and sprawled gracelessly on the sand. His brother Ariphron looked away in irritation. Ariphron had no time for the antics of his younger brother and sister. He felt duty as a weight of responsibility. Agariste saw the pain of that in him. He too had wanted to go with their father. At seventeen, Ariphron was on the edge of formal manhood and a vote in the Assembly. Instead, Xanthippus had ordered him to stay. A few others of the same age had been left behind, a scattering of sullen youths in the midst of thousands. All the house guards and male slaves had been sent to the fleet. Agariste had heard Xanthippus promise freedom to anyone who fought or rowed for Athens against the invader. As she and the children had climbed down into the shallows, she’d suddenly seen the longing in the face of old Manias, most senior of the slaves in her household. She did not doubt he loved the girl he had dandled on his knee when she was small. Agariste knew he would have stayed, but in the moments of chaos, she had caught him looking back.