Xanthippus threw him a sharp glance at that, but Themistocles was once more watching the wrestling. After a while in silence, he spoke again, his voice less urgent and a smile ready on his lips.

‘Now, I am for a dip in the pool, then a little food – perhaps a different kind of wrestling at the brothel inside the wall. There are new women there, I’m told, fresh off the boat from some strange place where they have never known the touch of men. It won’t be true, of course, but it would be amusing to see them act the role, would it not? Every night, a virgin remade. Will you accompany me, Xanthippus? I find I have an appetite.’

It was all perfectly judged. Xanthippus felt overwhelmed, threatened and flattered by the trust and torrent of words, all while the evening sun shone warm on them both and white stone columns edged where they lay.

‘That is enough now, thank you,’ he said to the slaves around him.

Having felt the implied threat from them, Xanthippus realised he could no longer lie down and let strong hands knead away swelling. Pain, after all, reminded him he was alive. He stood up from the benches and tested the knee. It was much improved. He took a silver drachm from his cheek and tossed it to the one who had worked the joint. It was half a day’s wage and the man beamed and bowed as he left.

‘You say we walked a different path to get here, to this place,’ Xanthippus began. ‘Though neither you nor I chose the steps we would follow. Perhaps Aristides is the most honest, as he has chosen poverty as a noble attribute – a life lived without waste or extravagance. I admire him for his certainty. You, though, Themistocles. What to make of you?’

He leaned against the bench once again, crossing his legs at the ankles, one hand across his chest and the other upright, supporting his chin on the palm. He regarded Themistocles as if he were a puzzle to be solved.

‘Nothing at all,’ Themistocles said. ‘I have made myself all I am. Time, the favour of the gods and my own efforts. I need no other sculptors at this late stage.’

‘Agreed. We’ll make our free choices as men – as Aristides does, as we could not when we were young. I did not choose my tutors, nor the skills they taught me. Like you, I made the most of what I was given. I am what I have made of myself, with all the advantages my father could win for me – and all the influence that comes from wealth. Has my path brought me your way with people? Your golden touch? I do not believe it has. You and I are not the same. Yet I am a man of Athens and I see honour in you, just as I see it in Aristides. As I hope you see in me.’