‘The weakness in our plan is Sparta. I cannot say I understand them, not while a Persian army camps in Greece. Oh, they have built their wall, but it confines more than just the warriors of Sparta. Men of Corinth, a dozen towns in Arcadia, all lie behind it. I wonder if the Spartans might be persuaded to come out if they saw those others marching past. I took their oaths myself, gentlemen! That if the Persians came, they would stand with us. Perhaps it is time to remind our allies of that.’

The crowd growled assent. Themistocles nodded.

‘We should send a senior man, someone they will respect.’ He shook his head when someone called his name. ‘Not I, not today. I must oversee reopening the mines at Laurium, so that silver flows once more through this city, in the flood we desperately need. No, I propose Xanthippus for the role. His judgement is sound. He lived in Corinth for a time and he is known there.’

As the crowd murmured, Themistocles added under his breath, ‘And some say he is more Spartan than Athenian anyway.’

He saw from the stiffness in Xanthippus that the words had found their mark. It was not a plan they had discussed before. Sometimes, a man had to be pushed.

‘With the permission of the Assembly, I would like to go with him,’ a voice said from the left.

Themistocles turned to see Cimon standing with his hand raised. He shrugged, glancing at Xanthippus to see if the idea met with approval. Xanthippus was looking wary, as well he might with one who still blamed him for the death of his father.

‘He is a fine young man,’ Aristides murmured.

His approval was enough to make Xanthippus nod, putting aside his worries.

‘It would be my honour, Cimon,’ he said.

He turned to Themistocles then.

‘Why not simply ask me?’ he said softly. ‘Why must you always arrange us, like clay soldiers all in a row?’

‘Ask you? Where is the joy in that?’ Themistocles replied. He nodded to the epistates. ‘Young man? Call for a vote. Though I think there will be no dissent. My friends are going to Sparta!’

The weather had turned. Day after day was overcast and rains had drenched the land. It was a bleak time and about as far from the memory of Persian heat as it was possible to be. Mardonius found himself shivering as he warmed his hands before a brazier of black iron. At least olive wood burned well, with great heat.