‘Xan!’ he heard, startling him out of his reverie. It was Epikleos. Xanthippus raised an eyebrow to see his friend in a simple tunic, his legs bare in the heat.

‘Where are your armour and weapons? Are you not running today?’

‘I handed them in at your house. I thought I’d get ready with you, if that’s all right.’

Xanthippus nodded, still glum.

‘The er … the numbers are not … there are not many with us,’ Epikleos added, without looking directly at him.

In the months after Marathon, Xanthippus had organised dozens of races through and around the city for any hoplite willing to improve his fitness. They were run in full armour, with shields, spears and weapons, exactly as they would need in battle. At the height, over a thousand had joined them, running in agonising sprint charges or a long lope around the city walls to build lungs and stamina. It was gruelling and exhausting, but they had felt the benefit, with better wind and strength after just a short time.

The numbers had dropped off a cliff after the trial and death of Miltiades. In just a few days, the group had shrunk almost to nothing, as if word had spread that he was a leper, or cursed. Xanthippus wondered even so at the nervousness in Epikleos. Was he so stern, so terrible?

‘How many today?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps a dozen from Acamantis, around as many again. No more than that, I’m told.’

‘I hope the ones that have stopped coming never have to face another Persian line then, or charge their archers!’

Xanthippus could not hide his flush or his anger, though he felt guilty snapping at Epikleos, who bore none of the blame.

‘Is it Cimon?’ Xanthippus asked when he had mastered himself.

‘He is … a charismatic young man,’ Epikleos said, keeping his voice down. ‘More like his father than I understood at first. He blames you openly for what happened, and he still has wealth, with all the influence that comes from that. The crumbs from his table are worth having, especially to poor young men. He has offered to train them himself, at new facilities at the Academy gymnasium.’

‘That old place?’ Xanthippus snorted.

Epikleos looked unhappy as he replied.

‘They are rebuilding it – a new track, new gardens. Cimon’s wealth pays for all, while they run together there, each morning now. He talks of a grand expedition to seek the tomb of Theseus, with himself as their leader. The manner of his father’s death has won him many supporters, Xan. I’m sorry.’

Xanthippus cursed under his breath. He did not want to be pitied as he ran practically alone, nor followed by groups of urchins throwing stones. Though it galled him, he decided to take a route right out of the city and down to the port. He would show them the ships being built there, with dwindling stacks of seasoned pine and oak, cut from forests hundreds of miles away and dried for years before it could be used. The new fleet was a vast enterprise that overwhelmed the port itself. Already, there was talk of building massive new quays and workshops, while every carpenter was asking twice the normal wage or threatening to walk away with his tools. Xanthippus waved a hand and spat on the marble, irritated with their greed, irritated with everything.