Cimon waited patiently, without challenge. He knew the household needed time to come alert to the presence of a stranger. The day was hot and he imagined some of the family had been sleeping, or sitting in cool shade inside. He sensed the drowsy place coming alive. More than once, the curls of some young woman appeared in the doorway or at a window on the second floor, only to be pulled back. Themistocles remained on the path, standing between his children and a man he had once called a friend.

Still outside the wall, Cimon held up empty hands, though he wore a sword on his hip and a Spartan kopis jutted very obviously from his belt. He had ridden far and one man alone would always be vulnerable to thieves and slavers. Themistocles weighed his presence for what felt like an age before he gestured for him to come closer. Cimon stepped onto the property, walking stiffly down the path towards the house. He stopped when Themistocles held up a flat palm.

‘You are my guest,’ Themistocles called to him. ‘If you have come to kill me, I ask you to declare yourself.’

As he spoke, two young men who resembled their father came out to stand behind him. They made a formidable wall and Cimon saw both sons were armed and openly hostile. They did not know him. Themistocles looked more relaxed than they did.

‘I give you my word,’ Cimon said, ‘on my father’s honour. I am no threat to you or yours.’ He held up his empty hands once more. ‘I have come to bring you news – from your friends in Athens.’

The mention of the city brought a tightening around Themistocles’ eyes, but also a hunger. He had been away from the heart of the world for just a year. Cimon thought it might have felt rather longer in the quiet of grapes growing.

Cimon saw Themistocles make a decision. He felt himself tense as the man murmured something he could not hear to the young men. The result was that they turned back and went inside. Themistocles smiled and beckoned him in.

‘Excuse my caution, Cimon. Seeing you … I had not expected anyone from Athens to visit me all the way down here.’

Cimon had to duck his head to pass under the lintel. The inside of the house was noticeably cooler, a blessing after the furnace outside. There was no sign of wife or daughters and Cimon guessed they were hidden upstairs. He thought he heard whispered voices there. Only Themistocles and one of his sons remained to watch over him.

‘Cimon? This is Diocles, my son. If you hand over your weapons to him, I will be more able to enjoy your company. It is your choice. Will you take a little wine, some cheese and figs? There is a fish stew here that is almost ready.’