Themistocles felt tears come to his eyes, unbidden. He had dreamed of just that response, but the reality came crashing down on him. Xerxes had lost so much in Greece. There had been every chance he would have had Themistocles killed and his head returned to Athens. That was the strain Themistocles had lived with for the endless trek into the interior. Having it lifted away left him giddy and light-headed.

‘Are you well, Themistocles?’ Xerxes asked in concern for him. ‘Should I have let you rest?’

‘Majesty, I have never been better. I bless you for your generosity and great heart. I only wonder … is there wine?’

38

Themistocles stared over a city as wide and deep as Sparta, with a green mountain on one side and ten thousand families down in the streets and markets, given to him to own. He had taken an empty palace built on a hillside at the edge, for the view it commanded. It had been empty, but furnished, as if its previous owner had just walked away. Themistocles had not liked to ask about the man who had lived there before. He suspected he knew the answer. Whatever the king gave, the king could also take.

A trio of house slaves brought platters of grapes and cheese, with a jug of wine as good as anything he had known in Athens. Themistocles knew he was drinking too much. He had almost drowned himself in the first weeks, but surfaced somehow, despite all the weight of regret.

There was nothing else to take up his time and the evenings stretched to eternity. The days were pleasantly warm, though it was autumn as he understood it. He had been assured the winter would bring cold. He could not complain, though the dream had soured for him in just a few days. Nothing was what he had hoped it would be.

Xerxes had made him a governor, or a satrap, whatever term he preferred to describe his new estate. The truth was rather different. Though Themistocles had guards, they were not loyal to him. They spoke no Greek and when he learned the right words in Persian, they reacted slowly or not at all, with scorn on their faces. At times, they ignored him completely, standing stiff-faced. Themistocles had not yet tried to dismiss them from their posts, to be replaced by others. He was almost certain they would not go – and the extent of the farce would be revealed.

Even the slaves were both his and not his. They clipped hedges in the gardens, hedges that had been there before him and would no doubt be there when he was gone! They served food and wine easily enough, but without meeting his eye. He felt like a prisoner.