‘I saw the Persians fight, in Ionia,’ Xanthippus said. He spoke clearly, making his words carry. He had a good voice, so Agariste had told him. She had called it rich and dark and strong as a man’s voice should be. He used it then.

‘They favoured the sling and archers, bringing large numbers of those – and as many foot soldiers. Their lords and generals are both clean and brave; I have seen it. The rest, though … they are poorly trained. They run, when a battle goes badly. They break, like rotten wood. I have seen the backs of those we encountered in Ionia. I will see their backs again today.’

He paused and was rewarded with an appreciative chuckle from men around him. It was not ideal – who gave speeches on the march, actually while moving? The noise of tramping feet and creaking armour meant that only the closest ranks could hear him. Yet he continued, seeing the effect. He raised his voice further, making it carry.

‘All those who serve the Persian king are slaves. Beyond his family and a few chosen favourites, the rest mean nothing to him. He spends them like they are worthless. Remember that. We are free men, of Athens. We are bronze – we are gold and silver. The greatest warriors in Greece, descendants of Theseus, beloved of Athena, who brought us the olive. Against us, no untrained slaves can know victory. We are fitter, faster, stronger than anyone they can put in the field. Remember that, when you are asked to hold the line. They will grow weary, like panting dogs – and we will be there, still standing, fresh and ready.’

It was true of him, true of all the strategoi. He was not certain every one of the hoplites of Athens had put in the hours in the gymnasia they had sworn to. Still, they seemed pleased. Not more than two in ten that day had encountered Persians before. Some of them were twenty years younger than him, just beginning their two years of army training after eighteen. If the veteran strategos said they could be beaten, it strengthened their resolve.

‘Those are fine words,’ said a voice to one side.

Xanthippus looked across and blinked in surprise at the sight of Themistocles, walking along the edge of the marching rank. Of course the man had not considered himself bound to remain in one spot, as Xanthippus had. The rules did not apply to Themistocles! In that, he resembled Agariste, Xanthippus realised. Her uncle had created the underpinning structures of Athens, throwing out centuries of traditions as he did so. A man of vision, his structures had been welcomed as binding threads that drew new men into the Assembly, to serve on juries, to decide their own laws. There was nothing like Athenian democracy in the world – and yet in private, Xanthippus knew his wife considered her family above the laws, immune from the will of the people in a way he could hardly understand.