‘Had you come out, Regent Pausanias, before Athens burned for a second time, we would not have been made homeless and desperate. Still, I learned the greatness of Sparta today. I hope you saw as much of my people.’

‘I’m sorry, I did not see you fight,’ Pausanias said. He eyed the bloodstained, exhausted Athenian standing before him, choosing his words carefully. ‘Though I do not doubt your valour.’ He might have left it at that, but some impulse made him speak again before Aristides could reply. ‘I asked you, though, not to make my helots think they could fight. I am told they stood against a Persian war line. They were cut down in their thousands. I will have the numbers for you in the morning, but it was a heavy price to pay.’

Aristides realised it was the wrong time and place for reconciliation. He recalled the old law, that men should not discuss a battle until they have slept and eaten – and slept again. Tempers ran too high in the immediate aftermath. Blood seethed and men spoke rashly, even to their allies. He bowed deeply to the Spartan regent, including Tisamenus in his gesture. The soothsayer returned it, while Pausanias only nodded stiffly.

‘It was a great victory,’ Aristides said. ‘I will withdraw now.’

‘You have a city to rebuild,’ Tisamenus said.

‘Yes,’ Aristides said with a smile. ‘Yes, that is true. I will make her even greater than she was before.’

With that promise, he left them, seeking his own people in the darkness all around. Bodies hissed and shifted in the night. There would be little chance for sleep as things twitched and creaked around them on the plain. He found his men, and as he approached, one of their number was holding up a wineskin, boasting to his friends.

‘I kept this safe the whole battle, just to toast the victory.’

‘May I have it?’ Aristides asked him.

The man spun round, ready with a retort. When he saw it was Aristides and heard the man’s name whispered amongst his friends, he handed it over without hesitation.

‘Of course, kurios,’ he said.

Aristides thanked him and took it away. He had lochagoi officers to handle the work of settling hoplites down for the night after a victory. They would send messengers back to Themistocles, telling him they had saved Greece.

Slowly, with every joint aching, Aristides climbed the flank of the mountain until he found a place that felt high enough away from the noise of men. He sat himself on a shelf of rock and moss and drank the wine. It was sour stuff, but it warmed him. He thought he would sit there until the sun rose. He had not expected to see another dawn. He leaned back against a rock that still held some of the sun’s warmth. After a time, without knowing it, he slept, the wineskin cradled like a child in his arms.

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