Xanthippus saw his daughter leap into the air with both hands stretched to the sky. He was smiling as she spun round and, for a moment, he was simply happy.

Her gaze slipped past him, a frown appearing. Xanthippus glanced over his shoulder as Pericles wheeled, lying flat on the pony’s shoulders and talking in a rush of excitement, patting the skin hard enough to raise clouds of dust.

Two men approached them. One was Manias, there to escort another not of the household. Xanthippus felt his good mood vanish at the bustling manner of the stranger. The moment with his children had been private and precious. He had no desire for other eyes to intrude. The gaze Xanthippus turned on Manias was not kind, so that the house slave dipped his head and flushed.

‘I’m sorry, kurios,’ Manias said. ‘This fellow is a messenger from the Assembly. He said it was urgent and could not be denied.’

‘Epikleos sent me,’ the young man said, giving a perfunctory bow.

He was breathing well but sweating, Xanthippus saw, with droplets running down his neck and making him shine. The sun was still rising. Xanthippus did not remember seeing him on the training runs.

‘Well?’ Xanthippus demanded, suddenly impatient. Dread filled him at the young man’s hesitation.

‘Epikleos sent me to say the Assembly is gathering to hear a vote of exile. They are breaking pots.’

‘Who for?’ Xanthippus said.

‘You, kurios. I am sorry. You should come. Now, if it is not already too late.’

Xanthippus felt his mouth open and close. Pericles reached them and leapt down, the reins wrapped around his fists. He had not heard and he was still beaming, looking for the praise he had surely earned. Slowly, his smile faded into confusion.

Eleni looked shocked, disbelieving.

‘Why would they do this?’ Eleni said.

Xanthippus clenched his jaw before he spoke.

‘For vengeance,’ he said. ‘But they will need six thousand votes to get rid of me. That is no small thing. It isn’t over yet.’

Without another word, Xanthippus broke into a run in the direction of the gate. Manias would inform Agariste, or the children would. The messenger fell into place alongside him, serious-faced. In just moments, they were out on the road, heading back to Athens, where cooking smoke hung in the air and ten thousand households would decide his fate.

24

The Pnyx was still filling with citizens in white chiton robes when Xanthippus arrived. Epikleos waited for him near the speaker’s stone, relief showing when he caught sight of his friend.

‘What news?’ Xanthippus said, with bitter humour. He tossed two silver drachms to the messenger and the man bowed and left.

‘Cimon called it last night at the council, for dawn. I sent someone out to you as soon as I heard.’

‘He still blames me for the death of his father,’ Xanthippus cursed.

Epikleos nodded and blew air out in a long sigh. News of Xanthippus being present was spreading and faces were turning to see him. Xanthippus returned the stares with a steady gaze, refusing to let them think he was afraid or ashamed. No speeches were allowed, not for an ostracising vote. Designed to rob a tyrant of power, they took place almost in silence. After all, some great orator might have won the crowd to his side and denied his fate. Xanthippus saw the Scythian archers were watching him, ready to bear him away to the cells if he tried to interfere with the process in any way.