Tisamenus looked away, staring into his own memories. Aristides felt the breeze pick up from the sea, bringing a winter’s chill to Eleusis.

‘In Sparta, they call their battles “contests”, did you know that? My new friend became very excited when he heard my prophecy. He believed – he still believes – that I am destined to win five great battles in my life.’

‘It was Pausanias?’ Aristides asked. ‘The Spartan who won?’

Tisamenus nodded.

‘It was. The nephew of the battle king of Sparta. He believes I am a sort of talisman, that I will bring him victory five times. I have visited the ephors in Sparta and they confirmed it. He gave me back my life’s purpose.’

The young soothsayer reached out and gripped Aristides by the upper arm, close enough to speak in a low voice.

‘Don’t judge him too harshly, kurios. His uncle’s death changed his life, just as mine changed on that day at the Olympics. It takes a little time to adjust.’

‘You think he will honour his father’s oath?’

‘He is the battle king of Sparta, at least until his cousin comes of age. And Pausanias wants to win in battle, with me at his side. Trust in that. He wants to win.’

Aristides replied with his voice unstrained, teasing the younger man out.

‘And these “difficulties” at home? They will not stop him?’

‘Pausanias is a man of honour, Aristides. Believe in that. The helots are …’ Tisamenus paused and chuckled. ‘I do not think Pausanias would want me to discuss such things with an Athenian.’

‘Son, this Athenian will stand as strategos on the field when the army of Persia marches into view. I have seen them. There will be no distinctions then, not between us. If we stand as Spartan, Plataean, Athenian, Corinthian … we will be destroyed. If we are Greeks, together on that day, one culture, one language, we have a chance to win. If you know something that will keep Sparta behind their wall, you should trust a man who has already lost everything. My city burns this evening, Tisamenus. My commitment to this cause is beyond doubt. If you need advice, ask. We are on the same side.’

They stood alone on the main street of Eleusis. Aristides let his expression remain still as he waited. He had done his best. The young man wanted to speak, he could feel it.

‘Very well,’ Tisamenus said. He glanced over his shoulder to where the Spartans had vanished, returning to their camp for the night, or perhaps already heading back to the isthmus that guarded the Peloponnese, just a day or two’s march to the south-west.

‘In Sparta, the helots are many. They are slaves, though the word means “captives”. Men like Pausanias hardly ever think of them. They are just goats or oxen, there to draw water and till the fields.’