It was a hard path for him to walk, almost impossible. Many of the lesser Greek states and cities had accepted his offer, out of fear or love, it did not matter. Yet when Xerxes heard Athens had put his envoy on trial and executed him, it had been with a sort of joy. Sparta had thrown theirs into a well. He had actually laughed at the news, he remembered. The high path was too much for him and it was truly a relief to be able to put it aside. His offer had not been made from weakness after all, but from strength.

Xerxes was young and strong and certain, with an army and fleet without equal. He was pleased they had scorned him, without honour. It would make what followed all the sweeter. In putting down rebellions in Egypt after the death of his father, he had discovered he did not enjoy the destruction of the weak, not particularly. He had slaughtered the populations of entire cities to make sure they understood a Great King still ruled, but not because it gave him any pleasure. A warrior’s pleasure came only from facing the strong – and destroying them so utterly they would never rise again. The moment when the cities of Athens and Sparta realised they would not be allowed to retreat, that they would be taken brick from brick and left as blood and dust, that would be his father’s legacy.

It was a glorious thought, an intoxicating one, as if he drank wine in the cool air that filled him with every breath. He could see other hills around Abydos and right across the channel, the lands there that would lead to the west. Perhaps one day he would see stone bridges across it, joining a new western empire to the greatness of Persepolis and Babylon. He was in the prime of his youth. He had time. He would stroll through the ruins of Athens then, and tell his son about Darius.

Hearing the creak of armour drew his attention back from the infinite and the years ahead, so that Xerxes looked down the steep slope to where General Mardonius was making his way up. When he reached the crest of the hill, Mardonius threw himself to the ground. Xerxes signalled two of his watchful spearmen to let the man approach.

The general wore a panelled coat and a sword on his waist. Though the sun beat on them both, Xerxes was pleased to see Mardonius breathing only lightly. The general insisted on high levels of fitness in his men, unlike some of the lesser commanders. Xerxes too demanded it in those who served him, saying they owed the strength of their bodies to the throne. He could not abide softness of flesh, in himself or in those around him.

‘Rise, Mardonius. See what a host I have brought to this place. Is it not magnificent?’

The two men stood side by side for a time before Mardonius replied. The view revealed an army like cities on the move, with a fleet of eight hundred ships in the strait and more coming in every day. This would be no tentative blow, as at Marathon. All the rebellions had been crushed. Xerxes was at last bringing the entire might of the empire to the western coast.