Xanthippus watched sourly as Miltiades continued to grill the scout walking at his side, as if they had all the time in the world. Did the older man have any idea how the rest of his column yearned to know what was happening? Not that they showed any sign of it, he realised. Discipline was good in the men of Athens. They had all left their homes that morning, just as he had. They wore the same bronze and carried the same spear and sword. Perhaps they understood the stakes just as well. It was a fine thought and it comforted him.

Men like Themistocles and Aristides were in the midpoint of the marching column, where they could turn and form the centre of a battle line. They could not hear reports faster than Miltiades. When Xanthippus glanced back, he thought he saw Themistocles glaring at him, the man’s big frame and lighter hair drawing his attention amongst all the others. Again, Xanthippus did not smile. There was just no room on the march for the petty rivalries of the Assembly. Themistocles was a braggart, but he was a born leader of men in a way Xanthippus found difficult to understand. They responded to something in the big man, as he laughed and confided in them and gripped them by the shoulder. It should have made them contemptuous of him, as the officer trainers sometimes warned of leaders who courted favour with their men. They were all old soldiers, made of gristle and oak and impressed by nothing. Yet they had smiled like boys when Themistocles inspected them; Xanthippus had seen it. It was a mystery. Men needed to see strength, distance, a stern demeanour. Not to be sent staggering by a strategos who carried a wineskin and laughed until the stuff came out of his nose.

Xanthippus shook his head at the thought. Enemies of Themistocles liked to portray him as a buffoon, too often given to levity. The truth was more subtle, Xanthippus believed. His ambition was there to be seen. There was both callousness and amusement in Themistocles, as if nothing in the world had to be taken quite seriously. It was hard to know what to make of such a man. Xanthippus was pleased they would not fight directly alongside one another. Themistocles was a stone dropped into still water. Yet with Miltiades in overall command, the responsibility of the ten strategoi was to obey, to stand and to crush the enemy.

Xanthippus found his throat had dried once again and called for water. The boy who looked around and raced back to him had been close by Miltiades. It seemed natural enough to ask ‘What news?’ as men did when they met in the Agora. The boy flushed with pride as he handed over his waterskin, already flatter than it should be. Water was precious, with so little of it to be found in the land. They would all be gasping like crows by the end of the day. Xanthippus had seen it before.