He felt his neck ache as he tried to keep the enemy in sight, but helots were trudging through his wake, raising their own dust. Aristides shook his head at the way they ambled along. It was a shame the Spartans hadn’t trained them as soldiers, though he supposed he understood why they had not. If Tisamenus had spoken the truth, the last thing any Spartan would want was a force of trained men looking after crops and nursing Spartan babies. They looked fit, though, he noted. They may not have understood what they were being asked to do, but they were not panting and puffing either. It didn’t make them soldiers.

Aristides wondered if the Persians would even come out. With Sparta perched on the hillside like a hawk ready to fall on them, they’d suspect a trap from the first moments. What commander would split his force, when his main advantage lay in greater numbers? They had done it at Salamis, through overconfidence. He doubted they would make the same mistake again.

Aristides nodded sourly when he saw only a part of their cavalry set out, raising dust and blurring as they came. Of course, those young noblemen would be lusting for vengeance. No doubt they would report back as well, so that the Persian general could decide what to do.

Ahead of them, not an hour’s march away, the caravan would be trundling closer. Down on the plain, Aristides had lost sight of it. All he could do was aim his men in the right direction and pray silently that it was not all some trap of the Persians, sprung at exactly the right moment to bring them all to ruin.

24

Xanthippus stood at the prow as his warship was driven onto the beach at full speed. He held on as the entire ship trembled under him, the keel skimming through ripples of sand, then settling, coming to rest in a groan of timbers. All around, hoplites of Greece were wading in from boats or climbing down from the sides of their own ships, helpless as whales on land. In the rush and clatter of armoured men, Xanthippus set foot on Persian soil for the first time in years. He thought he felt the ground shake beneath his tread, but it was just the time he’d spent at sea.

The hoplites formed up away from the beach, the great granite mount casting shade over them. The Spartan king waded through the shallows, having jumped from a small boat. Bronze would not be touched by salt water, but all soldiers winced at the thought of iron swords in the sea. Every hilt and blade would have to be taken apart, cleaned and re-oiled when they were done. Some would be ruined even so.