Xanthippus frowned. He had heard no rumours of Hippias in the battle, nor seen his banners, nor any Greek shields in the Persian lines. How could Miltiades have learned such a thing? There had been prisoners taken and interrogated, of course. They had suffered before being killed, some of them. Perhaps they had told Miltiades more than he had revealed the night before. Even so, suspicion flared.

‘Before the battle,’ Miltiades went on, ‘I had word Hippias would return from the palaces of Persia to accompany the Great King. A traitor to all Greece, to be aiding our enemies in such a way.’

Miltiades paused while a growl swept through the crowd. It was a sound of true anger, and if Hippias had stood before them then, Xanthippus thought they would surely have torn him apart.

‘Much of their fleet survives, with their cavalry and thousands of soldiers. They remain a threat to us – with Hippias among their number. So I ask no victor’s wreath from you for yesterday, not for me, nor for the men who held the line. We know what we did – and we know it was enough. All I ask is to be given a fleet, to hunt down the Persian survivors, to seek out Hippias wherever he has gone to ground. If the Assembly votes today, to allow me construction of ships and men to crew them – as well as the silver from our treasury to pay for their service – if you can do this, I will bring back a greater sum in Persian silver, and I will exact our vengeance on Hippias: long, long overdue.’

As the crowd erupted once again, Epikleos leaned in very close, so that his lips almost touched Xanthippus’ ear.

‘At least he will be away from Athens for a time,’ he said. ‘If the gods are willing, we may never see him again.’

Xanthippus nodded, watching as Miltiades was lifted once more onto the shoulders of his friends and supporters. The man had held back the wing to give the battle to the Persians, Xanthippus was certain. If he had succeeded, the people who cheered would have wept in chains that very day, bought and sold on the slave blocks. It did not matter that Miltiades had failed, only that he had not been punished for his attempt. There was an injustice there and it burned in his breast.

‘I am for home,’ Xanthippus said to Epikleos, repeating it more loudly when the man cupped a hand behind his ear and looked blank. ‘The house in Cholargos deme.’

Epikleos nodded. He knew his friend detested crowds. His duty had kept him there, to hear Miltiades and Themistocles speak. Yet the pressure of eyes wearied him.

Xanthippus and Epikleos waited only long enough to raise their hands in the public vote. Even then, Xanthippus might have kept his down. Epikleos tapped him on the elbow.

‘Never let the deer see your bow,’ he said into his ear.