‘He is a slave,’ Themistocles said, staring after the king of Macedon. ‘He walks like a free man, but that does not change what he is.’

Aristides chose not to continue. He realised he would oppose Themistocles in the debate that would follow, as he had so many times before. It was not as simple as Themistocles appeared to think. The truth had to be teased out in argument and debate. If there was even time, before Themistocles had them all howling for Persian blood! With an exasperated sound, Aristides pressed the scroll into Themistocles’ hands and went after the Macedon king. Behind him, he heard Themistocles address the Assembly.

‘Why, yes. I will read it again, of course! Gather round, lads. Let me tell you what your enemies want.’

14

Xanthippus awoke in darkness, his hand snatching at a sword that hung on a hook by his bed. He stifled a groan. If it could be called a bed. He’d thought he had some knowledge of the Spartans from the time he’d spent in Corinth. He had met many of them there, in their distinctive red cloaks. He had never seen them doing business, or discussing the law, philosophy, even military tactics. They had acted as a breed apart, arriving very often at the run, with cloaks rolled and tied on their shoulders. Corinth was just a destination, though some of them frequented gymnasia there.

The city of Sparta itself was not one Xanthippus knew well. He had visited before, in his youth. Perhaps the surprise was that so little had changed. Athens had been rebuilt more than once in his lifetime, before the Persians ever marched into view. Yet Sparta seemed to have been set in amber since he had stood there aged eighteen, with his father and brother.

Xanthippus sat up and swore under his breath. At eighteen, he could have slept in a tree and awoken with nothing more than a stiff cock. At almost fifty years of age, he needed more than a block of wood with a section cut away for the bowl of his skull. He was not sure he had slept at all, spending the night staring at a ceiling, arms folded across his chest, for all the world as if he had died in his sleep.