Themistocles had the same strange confidence when it came to the rules of men. Xanthippus wondered if he even feared being ostracised – the ten-year exile that required just six thousand votes from the people of the city. It was designed to stop the rise of tyrants, but it would stop one like Themistocles just as easily.

‘Thank you, strategos,’ Xanthippus said, realising he had been staring in thought for too long.

‘You have the most experience of anyone, except perhaps Miltiades. You should be at his side, to advise him. That Callimachus will be no help at all.’

‘I serve in his wing,’ Xanthippus replied. ‘That is enough.’

Was the man trying to flatter him or just lead him into saying something that would be reported later? It helped that he did not trust Themistocles. Xanthippus took his manner from Aristides in that. He would not be tempted to smile or laugh, or be drawn into a rash opinion without considering it from all angles. His was a defensive style, but it stood as a wall against the quick mind of one who watched him with gleaming eyes.

‘Still, I am glad you have seen the backs of Persians,’ Themistocles said. He turned his head as he spoke, Xanthippus saw, including men of a dozen ranks as his audience. It was an interesting technique. ‘We will see such a thing again, perhaps before the sun sets today. You know, I was furious at first when I heard the Spartans were not going to march. To hear of them sitting there, waving their smoking myrtle branches, while we defend the coast? It was an insult! What festival could be more important than the mother of all cities? Will the Persians march by the Peloponnese because the Spartans are waiting for the new moon?’

Some of the men laughed, but Xanthippus frowned, uncomfortable at hearing the other strategos skirting what sounded almost like blasphemy. The gods were too easy to offend, as he knew very well.

‘But then,’ Themistocles went on, ‘I thought of what a pleasure it will be to have those Spartans come late to a battle we have already won!’

At that, Xanthippus looked to Epikleos. The younger man was grinning to hear his earlier sentiment echoed.

Themistocles chuckled and shook his head.

‘I have spent the morning thinking what I might say to them in such a circumstance! Can you imagine their faces? I tell you, I would rather fight with my brothers around me, the men of Athens, our hoplites …’ His voice had hardened subtly and grown louder, bringing more and more of them in. Xanthippus found his heart beating faster, despite his reservations. ‘… our victory. I would not trade my place in these lines for a palace in Sparta, or anywhere else in Greece today. I swear by Ares and Apollo, the victory will be ours – the glory will be ours! We won’t share any of it with Sparta, Thebes or Corinth, not today. Because we are one. We are Athens. One people, one language, one culture!’