‘Gentlemen,’ Themistocles said by way of greeting, taking his seat and arranging his scrolls. The satchel seemed to grow heavier every day. He would have to keep a slave with him to carry it. Should have summoned one this morning …

‘You are late, Themistocles,’ Archon Nicodemus said, his voice an old man’s fluting tone. It was his name that had been chosen for the year past, though that was coming to an end. Themistocles assumed they would choose Hypsichides for the next. He looked to that old fellow, more ancient still, with his neck in sinewy wires and his bald head freckled and stretched thin. The honour was less when so many of them had been sent to exile. A younger, more active council of archons would surely have replaced those lost. It seemed a symptom of their fading star that they had not. Or perhaps they feared the rise of Cimon’s people in the city. That young man was very much his father’s son. Cimon had the quality of a leader, as hard to define as always. If the drink did not destroy him before the age of thirty, he would be a name in Athens.

‘I have a report here, on the latest sea trials,’ Themistocles began.

The fleet was his greatest achievement. In the years since he had argued with Aristides over spending city silver on oars and keels, Athenian ships had sailed as far as the new city of Rome in the west, patrolling the islands of the Aegean and establishing an Athenian peace. Even the Spartans gave way when they saw Athenian galleys easing into view. That fleet would be his legacy, Themistocles was certain. He never tired of reporting on its successes.

He realised he was holding the wrong scroll as he unrolled the papyrus. He put that down and rummaged in his satchel while the archons looked at one another.

‘If you are not ready, it can probably wait,’ Nicodemus said. His tone was sour.

Themistocles looked up and wondered how difficult it would be to snap him in two.

‘No, I have it here,’ Themistocles replied.

To his surprise Nicodemus held up a hand.

‘We have more pressing news, Themistocles. From our friends.’

Themistocles stopped his search and closed the satchel flap, sitting back. He was tired and fed up, but they still watched him like hawks surrounding a rabbit. That was not an image he enjoyed, even as he saw it in their bright eyes.

‘The Great King has gathered his army on the coast of Ionia, Themistocles. One of our people brought news only this morning, two weeks old. They are coming, it seems, after years of preparation.’

Themistocles felt his stomach contract and he sat forward. A headache began over one eye. Somehow, he knew it would remain with him for the whole day.

‘There have been false alarms for years,’ he said. ‘How many ships? How many men? How close are they to marching?’

‘We lost a couple of boys trying to find out,’ Nicodemus said. ‘We have a few guesses and estimates, but they move and they march and their ships infest the coast like sea lice. Two of our merchant galleys were boarded by their officials not a month back – in waters where Persians have no right to be. They took nothing, but their confidence is growing. They would not have dared such an act even a year ago.’