Cimon felt a tremor as he approached. He knew there was a chance Themistocles would ask him to spar. Some men tested one another in this way. He wondered how well Themistocles had researched his habits. Cimon’s robe concealed a frame of lean muscle – that was no secret. He ran or trained every day, building fitness until he and his friends were like young leopards in their speed and glowing health.

Themistocles glanced across at the figure approaching and then had to duck under a swing as his opponent tried to take advantage of his inattention.

‘Enough, enough!’ Themistocles said, chuckling. He kept one hand outstretched as he looked over, Cimon noted, to give him time to react to a rush.

The other man glared at the newcomer. He was red and veined, as if his skin had been scoured. He looked swollen in the face and body somehow, and sore, his mood close to anger.

‘I paid for a full session,’ the man said, tapping his fists together.

Themistocles turned back to him as if Cimon had vanished, his attention suddenly focused.

‘What’s that?’ he said.

Cimon could hear the edge, though the man seemed not to.

‘I said, I had paid for a full session!’ the man snapped.

Themistocles stepped in fast then and Cimon saw he had been only playing or teaching before. He hit the man with a jab and then a hook, stunning him. When the other boxer raised his arms, Themistocles hammered blows into his ribs, first one side then the other. It made the fellow groan and try to protect himself. Themistocles danced a step and then hit him again with a flurry of hooks and an uppercut, stepping aside as the man collapsed onto the sand. He lay unmoving for a moment and Themistocles signalled one of his staff to roll him over before he inhaled sand and suffocated.

Cimon saw Themistocles smile, almost to himself, relishing the victory as he held out his hands to be unwrapped. Two slaves moved quickly for one of the co-owners of the gymnasium. It was just moments before Themistocles stepped out of the ring to greet Cimon, presenting a hand still compressed and pale from being held closed for so long.

Cimon accepted the grip, though sweat poured from the other man. There were different kinds of tests.

‘I need to swim. You look tired, Cimon. I hope you took my advice to rest.’

‘I sleep for a few hours in the afternoons,’ Cimon replied as they began to walk. ‘I can live without it – as long as I get to sleep a whole night and morning every few weeks.’

Themistocles groaned.

‘By the gods, to be so young. I can barely remember it … when nothing hurt, when sleep could be banished with a word, when you could drink all night and run the next day!’

‘You seem fit enough …’ Cimon said.

Themistocles looked for mockery, but there was none. Neither was there understanding. Youth could not understand age and never had.