Mardonius reined in and dismounted. He had cantered from one end of the marching column to the first stopping place, where a stream crossed a land much drier than home. Entire regiments were already busy along the banks, refilling skins and casks with water, quenching their own thirst until they were drenched and laughing. His men preferred to be clean, he knew. He envied them their freedom from care when he saw them blow and spit, flinging unbound hair from one side to the other. There had been that sense of authority loosed, ever since news had spread of the king’s departure. Some of the men clearly felt as children whose tutors have been delayed or fallen ill. Whatever dark clouds lay in the future, they were a little giddy for a time. Mardonius frowned at the thought. The quickest way back to discipline would be to flog a few. Yet perhaps his irritation sprang from the same source. He too felt abandoned, though it was without any sort of joy. The thoughts that whispered in the vaults of his mind were close to treason.

Everything had changed and nothing had changed. Mardonius told himself he still had the army. Xerxes had sent some regiments home by land and taken others on board the ships, heading home with forty thousand men. At least he had left the Immortals, reduced though they were. No excuse would matter to the young king, if Mardonius returned without a victory. The Greeks had to be made vassals, or his life – and the lives of his sons and daughters and wives – would all be ashes on the breeze. The king had hostages in the families of all his men, Mardonius thought. They were loyal enough, of course they were! Still, it was a consideration.

He dismounted and passed his reins to an attendant. In the absence of Xerxes, the servants and camp followers had raised the great pavilion once again, for the general to meet his subordinates. Incense burned in golden braziers, sweetening the air. A pot of mint tisane seethed on a tiny flame, ready to be served. Mardonius greeted Artabazus with stiff courtesy, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘Brother, you are welcome,’ he said. ‘Will you eat? I find a little mint and a sweet cake ease my weariness at this time of day.’

The sun was setting and Mardonius knew half his men had still not set up to cook a meal, or even laid out their sleeping blankets. The ground was stony there and the nights were surprisingly cold. Yet at least it was dry.

‘You are too generous, general. It gives me pain to refuse you, but I must. I have Hydarnes of the Immortals and Masistius, master of horse, both doing nothing of use while they look to me to tell them where to place their regiments, where to corral their carts and animals! I think sometimes you and I are fathers to children.’