In more normal times, before the Persians had come, envoys of Macedon would have halted by one of the great gates of Athens, waiting for permission to enter the city. That year, all their defences lay in ruins. The Persian army had smashed the stones to rubble. For the Assembly, it was like standing naked in a battle line, without a cloak, without shield or spear.

The king of Macedon and his companions paused at what would have been the boundary to the great city. Alexander could see broken stones stretching into the distance on either side, with the charred remnants of a gate lying by a fallen tower. Beyond, there were houses still, clay-coloured survivors of the great fire, some with new roofs. In the distance, more divine stones rose above the city – the Acropolis, the Areopagus, the Pnyx and the other hills that formed the stage for Athens. All were revealed, a precious robe torn away.

Instead of a wall, a line of hoplites stood across what would have been the main road to the north-west. They waited in place, bronze and flesh, spears ready to repel any invader. It was said that Sparta needed no walls. The men of Athens felt the loss even so.

Aristides strolled out to the horsemen. He wore only a robe and sandals, one shoulder bare. He carried a scroll tucked into his armpit and another in his hand. The Macedonian party dismounted as he approached. He bore no weapons and yet the hoplites had deferred to him. The horsemen exchanged wary glances. The ways of Athenians were known to be peculiar.

‘Gentlemen, you find us at a disadvantage,’ Aristides said. ‘Are you looking for work? We are in need of masons and carpenters …’ he consulted the scroll in his hand, ‘and … potters, yes. If you have any of those skills, I can find you a place. Beyond that, we need no new mouths to feed, at least until spring. I am sorry.’

His gaze lingered for just a moment on the darkest of the three, who wore a neat beard of oiled ringlets and whose fingers shone with gold rings. Aristides waited with eyebrows raised, apparently about to turn away.

The largest of the strangers let his patience vanish. He tapped two fingers against the heavy lion clasp on his cloak, drawing Aristides’ attention to it.

‘I am King Alexander of Macedon, ally to the Great King of Persia, personal envoy of General Mardonius, who commands all Persian forces of land and sea. I have come to speak to your Assembly, under formal truce.’

‘Can you also make pots?’ Aristides asked. ‘I cannot tell you how much we need those. They were all smashed, you see. We have kilns running, but without thousands more pots, we cannot store oil or grain or wine.’

Alexander of Macedon blinked slowly.

‘Are you … mocking me, Athenian?’ he asked.