Xanthippus stood still as Cimon slowly reached out his hand. One of the two hoplites had been his choice, Xanthippus recalled, a burly hoplite he had introduced as Relas of Hippothontis, who wore a thick black beard and smelled of olive oil and sour wine. With infinite care, Relas removed a bow from the case on his back, sliding it out without sudden movement, then handing it to Cimon. Xanthippus just breathed and waited. The sun was low on the horizon, a chill already in the air. It took time to dig even a shallow grave. If they buried the bodies, perhaps the air would be clear enough for them to sleep in the house. Otherwise, he could wrap himself in a blanket under the stars. At least it didn’t look like rain.

With perfect control, Cimon strung the bow and placed an arrow, bending the weapon into a curve without a tremor. Xanthippus noted the power in his arms. His father’s son. In the silence, the chicken scratched and pecked at something, accompanied by a soft clucking sound. It froze, turning its head this way and that, sensing danger.

The arrow took it cleanly through the breast. Xanthippus said nothing as Cimon dashed over with a shout, tossing the bird to his companion to be plucked and cleaned. Xanthippus forced himself to smile, though he felt only exasperation. The world was in ruins, his homes burned to ash, and he was there, playing games and politics.

‘As I said before, Cimon, I have a little meat and bread in my pack. I am going to bury the family here.’

Xanthippus turned to Relas, already snatching feathers in handfuls from the bird.

‘You,’ Xanthippus said. ‘And you, Onesimos. Both of you help me dig the graves.’

To his irritation, Relas looked first to Cimon, but received a nod. The half-plucked bird was left on the packs by the horses. Onesimos sought out the farmer’s tools, sensing Xanthippus’ disapproval and keeping his head down. Cimon frowned and took a moment to look into the house. That glance stole away anything but a sense of grim duty. He took up the spade he was handed.

They worked hard and well. Before the sun had set completely, three shallow graves were finished in the yard. Xanthippus had put coins into the mouths of the husband, wife and young daughter, before their faces were covered. It was all he could do, though he prayed for them and told them he was sorry they had been so cruelly used. There had been a great deal of blood. As the moon rose, he found he did not want to spend the night inside after all. He lay for a time, looking up at the stars. Cimon stood first watch, wine on his breath and his eyes terrible.