The senior Spartan spoke softly, but the whispers died away as the others realised who it was. His voice was warm and low, like a growl. He tapped Eurybiades on the arm and rose to his feet, as if they had agreed it was his turn. The Spartan’s mouth twitched as he found the rest of them literally looking up to him.

‘Themistocles has spoken much of ships, though wars are never won at sea. We will face the invaders on land – and we will prevail.’

To Themistocles’ astonishment, the brother of the king of Sparta sat down as abruptly as he had risen, as if he had finished and said all he wanted to say. They were infuriating, almost as if they understood exactly what would annoy an Athenian and then plucked that note, over and over. Themistocles rose again, this time with half a dozen others wanting to speak. To his pleasure, they gave way when they saw he was on his feet. In truth, they were less hostile than the Assembly.

‘Athens stands – with our wooden walls at sea, with all our hoplites committed to war. When they come, we will accept Spartan command on the field. Shall I put it to the vote?’

Cleombrotus rose once again. To Themistocles’ irritation, he shrugged.

‘If you wish. You know we will command. We do not accept orders from other Greeks, Themistocles, even those of Athens.’

The gathered men groaned or grumbled at that. Cleombrotus waited for the sound to die down, his gaze turning back and forth as he looked for opposition. He would not let them blow air and roll their eyes to keep their dignity. There were two great powers in that room and two alone. Cleombrotus challenged them with his flat stare, forcing them to accept what they knew to be true. One by one, Themistocles saw them look away or dip their heads. They were like dogs with a lead wolf, accepting him. It was astonishing. He wondered if it would work on the Pnyx.

‘You have my oath,’ Cleombrotus said, looking across the room to Themistocles. ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it? I speak for my brother, King Leonidas. If the Persians come, we will march to meet them on the field. Five thousand Spartiate warriors, five thousand lesser men … and our helots. It will be a good day.’

Themistocles opened his mouth to speak, but the Spartan rose and left, his three companions trooping out behind him. The brother of King Leonidas glanced only once at Themistocles, a quirk of his lips indicating at least some humour.

When they had gone, a subtle tension left the room. Themistocles wiped sweat from his forehead. His return to Athens was already days overdue. The Assembly would be demanding his report with increasing urgency, and the fleet was hardly ready to fight a mock battle, never mind a real one. He had wanted this, he reminded himself. He had wanted to lead. He had just not expected it to be quite so much work.