Themistocles nodded to the servants who stood open-mouthed at the exchange. The table and chairs were cleared and the breeze blew harder. One of them went for a blade and came trotting back with it held in his arms.

Themistocles looked around, trying to think what his tactics would be. He saw two men standing naked at the river and recognised Xanthippus and Epikleos. They had arrived so drunk the night before he’d thought they might easily be found dead that morning. It lifted his spirits to see both of them awake. Xanthippus raised a hand to him, tilting his head in question. They would be wondering why he was belting on a sword. He was wondering that himself.

Themistocles swore under his breath when Xanthippus began walking over to him. He did not need an audience, no matter what happened. In fact, he would prefer some things to take place without witnesses. He and Eurybiades were alone on the field, no matter who stood and watched.

‘Are you ready?’ Eurybiades said. ‘I have given you every chance to prepare. Come, draw your sword.’

Themistocles held up a hand. He was sweating; he could feel it start to run down his ribs, like paint on his skin. Eurybiades was around sixty years of age, though as fit as any Spartan could be. To have risen to such a senior role, he had to be one of the most skilled swordsmen in all of Sparta. The man would be blisteringly fast and he would not tire. Themistocles glanced at Eurybiades and saw no weaknesses at all. When the Spartan removed his cloak and folded it, the form beneath appeared to be made of teak. Themistocles felt a cold spot bloom in his stomach. Fear. He thought Eurybiades was a humourless fool and a poor leader of men. That mattered little or nothing when it came to facing him with a sword.

‘Themistocles?’ Xanthippus called as he approached them. ‘What is this?’

He and Epikleos came to a halt facing both men. Xanthippus started in surprise when he recognised the Spartan.

‘Eurybiades!’

‘Oh yes, a Spartan was looking for you,’ Epikleos added, deadpan.

Themistocles chuckled, but Xanthippus glowered as he understood.

‘This isn’t … By the gods, Eurybiades, the war is over! Tell me you haven’t come here to duel with an ally.’

Eurybiades flickered a glance at the man addressing him. He recognised Xanthippus easily enough, as well as the tone of one used to authority. He had heard that tone when Regent Pausanias had ordered him to stay behind, surrounded by the tatters of his career. Still, he knew Athenian cunning too well to take his eyes off Themistocles. He would not be surprised by an enemy.

‘I don’t think our friend Eurybiades is open to reason,’ Themistocles said softly.

Xanthippus shook his head.