Aristides saw the moment come, his stomach clenching so hard it hurt him. He had hoped the calls would fail at the last. It was a dangerous move for those who longed to punish Themistocles. Only one such vote was allowed each year. If it failed, he would be immune – and likely to escape censure of any kind. The previous three days had been bruising, without a doubt, though it was hard to say whether Themistocles had his head above water or not. The Assembly of Athens was not forgiving. They distrusted those in power and Themistocles had shown no remorse for anything he had done in the war.

Aristides thought Themistocles himself was not sure how it would go when he stepped down from the speaker’s stone. Eight sessions had left him bruised and bloody, but not without support. The trouble was, there was no second pot in an ostracism. Supporters could not vote for him.

Themistocles looked grim as he walked away from the hill, heading down to the Agora to find something to eat and drink. No one was allowed to address the crowd once a vote to ostracise had been called. Yet it would still be hours until there was a result. Those who stood against him had to find small pieces of pottery and scratch his name into the glaze. Those who had some personal reason could add details, or insults, but only the vote counted. As Themistocles passed through the crowd, a huge urn was brought up, repaired with iron strips and rough mortar holding it together. He winced at the sound of lesser pots being broken for their ostracon pieces, but he did not look back.

Aristides remained behind on the Pnyx. He had attended every session and, though he knew better than to speak in support of Themistocles then, he would still watch the process and make sure there were no double tokens dropped in, or an unreliable count made. He watched Xanthippus head down with Epikleos, but Pericles stayed. Of course, Aristides realised, it was all new and exciting to him. The young man saw only the drama, not the man’s fate at the heart of it.

When Pericles approached him, the latest epistates was standing nearby, watching them both in suspicion. Aristides was not allowed to speak on the subject at hand. There was still some time before the formal vote, so he took Pericles by the arm, away from the milling crowd.

‘Can’t you stop it?’ Pericles whispered.

Aristides felt his eyebrows rise. He had assumed a son of Xanthippus would have been one of those who stood against Themistocles. Serious men tended to misunderstand one who laughed at them – at life. Yet Pericles looked pale with worry. Aristides wondered if his brother Ariphron would have lined up to put a piece in the voting pot.