Xanthippus sighed as the knocking was interrupted below. He could hear voices. Epikleos? Perhaps. He thought again of Agariste. The combination of tears and her beauty aroused pity in him, of course. More, it made lust rise, though that was mingled with pain. Could he trust her not to murder another of his children? In all the other times they’d argued, going to bed had helped, sometimes like a dam breaking after days of strain. Yet this time, he could not bear the idea of filling her with a child she might then go on to kill. The thought was an ugly one and he felt it twist his face into anger. He could not forgive her. He could not go home.

‘Again and again, around and around …’ he murmured wearily.

He could hear steps coming up the stairs from below and he rose, naked, taking a robe from where it had been laid out for him. Xanthippus yawned and scratched his chin, feeling the bristles there. He would have to go to the barber and gymnasium before he felt fresh and cool again.

Epikleos entered the room. His expression stole away any sense of welcome.

‘Have you heard?’ he said.

It was obvious Xanthippus knew nothing and Epikleos went on.

‘Miltiades is dead. First night in the cell. They found him stiff and cold about an hour ago. His heart, the doctors say. His son has been told.’

‘Was it his wound? The fever?’

‘Perhaps. It played a part, of course. Perhaps being imprisoned and paying a fine to beggar even a wealthy family played its part as well. No one can say. Themistocles offered to speak at his funeral.’

‘Of course he did,’ Xanthippus replied. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. Epikleos watched him warily.

‘How did you know I was here?’ Xanthippus said suddenly.

‘I didn’t. I went first to the estate. Agariste was … upset. She said you would be here and so I came back. I take it you and she have not come to terms.’

‘Not yet, my friend. It is too serious to discuss it with you, at least for now.’

Xanthippus had a horror of sharing the intimate details of his marriage with anyone. It gave another man power over him, somehow. At least Epikleos knew him well enough not to expect it.

‘As for Miltiades, I think … I think I am delighted!’ Xanthippus said. ‘I asked for death – and here it is. He offered a vast fine to the city, which we will still claim. Can we still claim the fine?’

Epikleos nodded.

‘If Cimon doesn’t want to be exiled, he will pay it. Though I suppose fifty talents would make exile bearable enough. I imagine he will be bitter about it, but then he doesn’t know what his father did – and Miltiades did cost the city hundreds of thousands of drachms. It is owed.’

Epikleos eyed his friend, seeing the amusement in him.

‘Xanthippus, I think you should put on the most solemn face this morning, if you leave the house. Friends of Miltiades will be looking to see if you boast or laugh. Do not invite their anger, my friend.’