Themistocles cleared his throat.

‘I have spoken to you, in groups and as individuals. I have shared the intelligence that found its way to Athens, on fishing boats, in messages from trusted merchants, from spies and friends on the Ionian coast. I think you know by now that the Assembly of Athens would never have sent this call unless we understood the threat to be grave and real … and immediate.’

Not even the chairs creaked as they listened, hanging on every word.

‘The fate of Greece will be decided in this room,’ Themistocles went on. ‘I wish it were an exaggeration, but we know the Persians are coming. The only reason they have not marched before was the time it took putting down the revolts. You know how King Xerxes responded to those. Thousands were butchered: in Egypt, in Libya, in the Ionian cities. The rebellion spread far and, for a moment, some of us thought Persia might even break apart.’ Themistocles shook his head. ‘It was not to be. He has bound them together, even more strongly than before. Xerxes is young – and as ruthless as his line. The examples he has made … are deliberately savage. Every report that reaches us says the same thing. Persia is at peace once again, while blood and tears dry.’

Someone leaned over to a friend and whispered a few words, resulting in a chuckle. Themistocles nodded and smiled.

‘Athenians, eh? Always talking. It is our way, though I fought at Marathon.’

He watched the Corinthian flush at being singled out, but nodded to him. At least he had come.

‘I have faced these same Persians on the field of war,’ Themistocles said. ‘For months afterwards, we kept finding jewels, or pieces of gold and silver. Even their dead carried fortunes. When we made a great fire to burn the bodies, we had boys sifting the ashes for droplets of gold for a month, bringing back their finds to the city.’

‘Were they brave?’ one of the Arcadian contingent called out.

There was a longing in that room for humour. Men needed it when the news was bad. Themistocles considered his response for a moment, then decided to tell the simple truth.

‘Brave enough.’ He watched the Arcadian’s smile fade. ‘They stood in good formation and they did not break – though the sea was at their backs and their king watched, or one of his lords. We never saw him. Perhaps they could not run. In the end, we had to kill them all.’

He saw the Spartans look up at that, watching him. Cleombrotus knew very well his people had not made it to Marathon in time. Themistocles and Aristides had gone out to meet them the following day, when they finally arrived, having force-marched for two days and nights without rest. The dust and sweat on the Spartans had stilled the quick humour in his throat that day, for which Themistocles was grateful. More, there had been a kind of madness in their eyes. They hated to fail. No barb he might have fashioned could have hurt them more than their own shame – but they would have remembered it even so. Themistocles shuddered to recall their expressions. The men who sat with Cleombrotus were the same breed, like mad dogs with the will and discipline of men. They were terrifying. He was pleased to have them under the same roof, with a common enemy.