Aristides sensed disapproval in the two Spartans walking at his side. No, he recalled. Only Pausanias was a Spartiate by blood. Tisamenus was something stranger. It was hard to deny the power to know the future. The gods granted it to a few men or women each generation. Aristides had seen the prophecies of Delphi entwined with his own life – and the lives of his people. What was the fleet, if not the ‘wooden walls’ the oracle had once said would save his city? Yet this Tisamenus seemed clear-eyed and fit, more like a warrior than any holy man or wild cave-dweller. There seemed to be a humour and understanding in him that was oddly discomforting. No man enjoys the company of one who truly sees through artifice. With a gleam in his eyes and a slight twist to his mouth, Tisamenus gave that impression. He also spent words like a hermit, apparently willing to let Pausanias speak for them both. Aristides knew he was being judged by the younger man, but there was little he could do about it.

Together, they reached the great temple of Demeter at the bottom of the hill. The columns were as wide as a cart at the base, stretching up in cream stone. Four men could not have joined arms around them. The priestesses were still singing within, Aristides could hear. Yet the great doors remained closed.

Pausanias reached out and rested his palm on the wood. The day had turned cold, though of course the Spartan showed no awareness of that. He knew very well that Aristides waited on his answer. Aristides feared Pausanias was a man who would make him plead in the end – and then still refuse. He prayed he was not correct. Athens needed the Spartan army.

‘I was told that some sort of drink is offered to those who are accepted into the inner sanctum,’ Pausanias said, ‘that it … sweeps men away, more powerfully than wine.’

He spoke almost idly, though his artifice was clear. Aristides felt his spirits sink further. There were some things he could not procure, even for a Spartan regent.

‘To enter,’ Aristides replied, ‘to be allowed to enter, a supplicant must spend a full winter in prayers to the goddess, arriving each day before dawn. He must learn the chant of the lesser mysteries and repeat it each morning as the sun rises, without flaw. If he – or she – misses a single day, they are not allowed to go further.’

‘You have gone in?’ Pausanias said.

He glanced once at Aristides, a flicker of the eyes, fully aware that the Athenian needed an answer of his own. Yes, Aristides thought, there was cruelty in the young man. The gods were capricious to have raised Pausanias, just when his need was greatest.