‘To ashes?’ Xanthippus said harshly. ‘To a burned city? No, I will make a mark these people will never forget. Take up his son.’

The governor wailed in fear and grief as Epikleos stepped forward. The hoplite officer stood in full armour, wrapped in bronze. His expression was stern and yet worried for his friend.

‘Xan …’ he said. ‘There is no need …’

‘My order is to nail his son to a tree, Epikleos,’ Xanthippus said. ‘As an example to them all. Then to execute this Persian governor. If you cannot carry it out, relieve yourself of duty and return to the ship.’

‘Please , kurios!’ the governor said. ‘Take me, not my son!’ He sagged as if he had been knocked out, his head hanging.

‘If I refuse an order, my life is over when we return,’ Epikleos said softly. ‘If you are my friend, Xanthippus, you will not make me choose.’

He saw nothing but madness in Xanthippus. Though he understood it, he shuddered.

‘Order me instead to take Pericles back to the ship, Xan. If you have ever called me a friend, grant me that.’

Xanthippus looked back at Pericles, who wept as he stood there, staring at the son of the governor. The boy was no more than eight or ten years old and he was terrified.

‘Very well,’ Xanthippus grated. ‘Take Pericles back to the ship.’

‘Come with us,’ Pericles said. ‘Leave this behind, father, please.’

‘That’s enough,’ Epikleos said roughly.

He took a firm grip on Pericles’ arm and did not look back as he half-dragged him out of the town square. The sea was very blue as they walked away from the sounds of fear and weeping.

‘Why?’ Pericles said. ‘Why is he like this? It won’t bring Ariphron back.’

‘He is lost,’ Epikleos said. ‘Or broken. Part of him will remain here, Pericles, with your brother. I am sorry. Your father has been my friend since I was just a boy. I have seen him suffer, in battle, in exile. He has endured great loss. Yet I have never known him to be cruel. I … never thought I would see it in him.’

As the moon rose that night, Xanthippus returned to the ships of Athens and her allies. Only the triremes of the Peloponnese had gone; those who remained were still many. He came on board the flagship and removed all his armour to stand naked on the deck. Buckets were dipped into the sea on ropes and handed to him, over and over under the moonlight. He washed away soot and blood and sweat as best he could, rubbing his skin raw with a pumice stone and oil. When he was clean, Epikleos brought him a tunic, sandals and a cloak against the night’s cold. Xanthippus wrapped himself in them and lay down on the deck to sleep. All around him were the pupae of his men, awake and grim-faced as they stared at the stars overhead.