On a wild impulse, Mardonius held out his hand as if to an equal. He felt the strength of the younger man’s grip as he took it, like jaws closing on his hand. The Macedonian king was tall and dark-eyed, with a spring in his step that spoke threat into every movement. Though he had ridden three or four days southward, from his capital down to Thessaly, he gleamed with health. His hair was blond and very thick, reminding Mardonius of a lion’s mane.

‘You are welcome in my camp,’ Mardonius said. ‘I have food prepared – and quarters for you to rest and bathe. Your Majesty, I am grateful you came.’

‘I gave my word,’ the man replied. ‘And I am a friend to Persia.’ He smiled then. ‘I am pleased to finally meet you, Mardonius. You were out with your men when I greeted your king, when I opened my land to your army.’

Mardonius saw the king’s cloak was held by a large clasp in the shape of a lion’s head, the gold a statement both of wealth and power. He smiled. In the Persian court, it might have graced the shoulder of an attendant, or a child’s tutor. Here, it marked Alexander of Macedon as a king.

‘It is my honour,’ Mardonius said. ‘Please, I will show you where you will sleep tonight. There are slaves and clean robes, whatever you need. I hope you and your companions will break bread with me.’

Mardonius would not usually have said more until the rituals of welcome were complete, later that evening. Yet he could see the little group already frowning to one another, more suspicious with every passing moment. They saw the Persian strength of arms in the camp, in tents and lanes stretching into the distance. It did not mean they understood Persian hospitality. Mardonius said a silent prayer and forgave himself. The big Macedonian was little more than a shepherd with a palace, after all.

‘Your Majesty, I asked you here … as a favour to me – and through me, to Xerxes, king of kings. The Athenians count my Greek allies as traitors, to be killed on sight. Macedon, however, is another matter. I believe they will listen to you – and I have words I wish them to hear.’

12

Though Themistocles could be irritating, Xanthippus could not argue with this particular task. Perhaps Aristides might have gone in his place to Sparta, but it was hard to think of another. It certainly could not be Themistocles himself, not after the way he had fallen out with the Spartan navarch.