His order was echoed in joyous, roaring voices. Men grinned as they understood, looking on him in a kind of awe. His crew knew what he had achieved, though no one else did, not then. Themistocles felt light as he took up spear and shield, rubbing the bristles on his face that had come in white. The labours of the day before made him feel twenty years older than he was. Yet he had given his people the chance they needed. The Spartans would call it Athenian cunning when they heard about the two letters, but they would not refuse the opportunity he had won for them.

On impulse, Themistocles knelt on the deck and bowed his head. He heard a dozen men stop their preparations and do the same, touching a knee to the planking.

‘Athena, you have kept us safe. Allow us the vengeance they have surely earned. I ask your blessing on this ship, this loyal crew. Give us the strength we need to finish the work, to save our women and children. I ask in your name. I ask the blessing of Ares and mighty Poseidon. Let us be your sword, your spear. Let us be your answer .’

He rose and opened his eyes, aware of soldiers and oarsmen below with bowed heads, making their own prayers or repeating his words. He saw determination in them. They were his people. Battered as they were, weary as they were, they would not fail, not that day.

7

Aristides hid any sign of irritation as he walked the main street of Eleusis. The Spartan regent walked at his side, red cloak flicking back and forth in the breeze, hands clasped behind his back. Pausanias was in the first bloom of his youth and health. He seemed always to have one eyebrow raised, which gave him a constantly sardonic expression. It was as if he found something to displease him wherever he looked.

On the Athenian’s other shoulder, Pausanias’ soothsayer walked in a belted robe and sandals, arms left bare and tanned. They walked like young lions, the pair of them, Aristides thought. Never injured, never broken. Certain of their own value and place in the world. Aristides showed no sign of the dismay he felt at dealing with men of their relative youth. Athens would never have appointed a regent below the age of thirty.

‘I must say, I am disappointed not to have witnessed the Mysteries,’ Pausanias said. ‘My uncle and father spoke highly of the services here. Yet I have never been invited, not into the inner sanctums.’