‘The town of L-Leuctra, kurios … We have brought offerings for sacrifice against the Persians. Meat and wine for the men. Kurios, this poor caravan is all we could raise for you, b-but it …’

‘Get it moving again,’ Aristides snapped. ‘Stay close to us and you might reach safety. Fall behind and I will burn these carts and leave you for the enemy.’

Aristides had been peering into the distance, watching for the Persian outriders, even as the caravan master stammered his explanations. The Persians had finally ridden right round the Greek force, using their speed and range, hungry for more damage. The dust was already settling around the standing ranks, revealing them.

Aristides was close enough to see the first consternation, the pointing arms. The Persians turned their mounts in place, shouting to one another, staring at the Greek force. The helots did not look like hoplites, not up close. Though some carried spears and shields, most stood with just a knife or some sort of cudgel. They wore no greaves, no bronze helmets. A few had caps of felt or dogskin, with wide belts over tunics and bare legs.

From a distance, they had seemed a huge force, an army of great strength. Yet the horsemen had finally come close enough to really see them. Aristides winced as a great cry went up. The hunt was on and this time he was the prey. With no way to respond, he could only watch as hundreds of riders began galloping back towards their camp. How would General Mardonius of Persia respond? The man still had the threat of Spartan forces on his flank, ready to gut him as he came out. Yet he was in command of two hundred thousand, more. He would surely fear no force of men.

Aristides turned with the caravan as it was swallowed into the mass of helots. They turned to follow the hoplites who had become the vanguard, taking the lead as they headed back. The slaves looked determined enough, Aristides thought. Around him, helots held knives in clenched fists and marched with heads high. He wondered what it would be like to grow to manhood alongside Spartans, to know that no matter how strong you became, no matter how fit or skilled, you would always be a child to those who owned you. He shuddered at the thought. To make a child of a grown man was a hard thing, even if it was done from love.