The Spartan who approached had come prepared for war. Like the others, he wore no helmet, but a belt and sword hung from his hip. Xanthippus could see a second handle jutting from the small of his back, ready to be grabbed. The short, heavy kopis blades were an all-purpose killing tool, much loved by those who knew them. Xanthippus had once seen a Spartan cut down a young pine with one, just hacking at it until the tree fell. It was a fearsome weapon against an enemy. Most men would rather see an honest sword blade drawn than the wicked kopis.

Xanthippus felt himself bristle as the man came into range and halted before him. The Spartans knew their reputation better than anyone. Some of them considered the respect others accorded them as no more than their due. Others delighted in it. To his dismay, Xanthippus thought the officer was one of the latter. The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, hips rocking slightly forward and back, all while he smiled at them. It was not a pleasant expression. He looked for all the world like a tutor confronted with unruly boys, already enjoying the prospect of the punishment he would mete out. Xanthippus saw the man’s gaze linger on the burly figure of Relas. The smile grew wider at whatever he saw in the hoplite. Xanthippus could not look round, but had to endure as the Spartan tilted his head.

‘So, lads, what do we have here?’ he said. The accent was strange to an Athenian ear, as clipped as their manners. ‘What little fish have come into my net today, asking nicely to be allowed through?’

He appeared to be addressing Relas or Onesimos at the rear, but it was Xanthippus who answered.

‘I am Xanthippus of Cholargos deme, Acamantis tribe. Archon of Athens. Strategos at Marathon and Salamis. Navarch Eurybiades will vouch for me. The Spartan Cleombrotus will vouch for me. On the orders of the Athenian Assembly, I have been sent with messages to the ephors and kings of Sparta.’

The man’s gaze flickered to him, seemingly irritated at being made to look away from Relas. Xanthippus risked a glance back and saw Relas glaring and breathing through his nose like a prize bull. Xanthippus went on quickly, before the fool got them all killed.

‘My colleague here is Cimon, son to Miltiades, who commanded at Marathon. Grandson to the three-time Olympic champion of chariot-racing, his namesake. Strategos of Salamis.’