While he remained at the halt, his regiments trudged past. They did their best to appear ready for battle, but he saw weariness in them, even fear. As the days went by, they had begun to feel the loss of the king’s eye on them. They wondered what it meant for them that Xerxes had gone home. Still Mardonius smiled like a proud father, nodding to his favoured generals as they rode past, each one bowing in the saddle. He had a special wink and tilt of his head for his four sons, but in truth he could not complain about the men Xerxes had brought to those dusty hills. The Great King had left the training and composition of the army to Mardonius and his senior officers. As a result, they were hardened and enduring. It turned out the only real weakness had been the king himself.

Mardonius still shied away from that in his thoughts, as a horse will jerk back from a darting shadow. From long habit, it was hard for the general even to criticise a member of the royal family. They were a different breed, more akin to angels than men, certainly beyond dispute or question. Yet the mornings were quiet as the army marched away from Athens, crossing hill after hill. An army of that size did almost nothing quickly. Days passed, simply in movement – and reflection.

In his most private thoughts, Mardonius kept returning to the failure of Xerxes, a young man he had revered. His tongue touched a cracked tooth in the same way. He knew he would have to get one of the blacksmiths to pull it for him. Pain could make a child of any man in the end; he had witnessed it. The will slowly wore away, sanded down by fear and suffering … Mardonius was furious at being abandoned, but he would not spit a single syllable of that aloud. Not for fear of whispers that might be carried home, but out of loyalty – to Xerxes, and most of all to the memory of his father. Mardonius was a loyal man. That alone would sustain him when the wine ran dry and the last of the bread was furred with mould. He hoped so.

In the distance, two scout riders appeared on a hilltop. They carried no shields or spears that he could see. They were clearly watching the passage of the Persian force, no doubt reporting back to the leaders of Athens, or Sparta – or any of the other small states. Mardonius ignored them. If they came closer, he might send a few horsemen to run them off. He shook his head, turning his thoughts again to what he had to do to finally go home. When he closed his eyes, he could see his garden, with all the flowers filling the air with scent. Persia in the spring! Yet when he opened them again, the ground was just dust, with olive trees twisted like old men.