‘Mishar, you have a new task, from today. Rise now and accept it from my hand.’

The eunuch rose smoothly, standing with eyes downcast as father and son regarded him. His silks had not fared well on the dusty ground and Xerxes grimaced at patches of sweat. There was no excuse for poor standards, not when there were slaves to bathe and change a man’s robes, as many times a day as he could desire. If Mishar was even a man. Xerxes had made the guards hold him down once, so that he could examine the old injury and the shrunken little sack there, dark as a bruise. Mishar had wept like a woman then. It was odd that a slave might understand his life was not his own, yet expect to keep some semblance of dignity – a part owned as surely as the labour of his hands! Xerxes thought his father allowed some of the servants too many liberties, perhaps through long association. He would not make the same mistake when his turn came. He smiled at the thought.

‘Mishar,’ the king went on, ‘you are to approach me each evening, as I sit for dinner. You will interrupt me, without fear of punishment. You will say this: “Master, remember the Greeks.” Do you understand what I have said to you?’

The wine slave tried to nod, though he trembled so violently Xerxes thought he might be ill. Mishar too had noted the black ruins of Sardis. He had not known how the king would react. A trickle of sweat showed as a bright line on his forehead, slipping into the creases by his painted mouth.

‘I … I do … I understand, Majesty. It will be as you say.’

‘It will indeed, Mishar. If you forget, I will have that fine tongue I own torn out. Now leave us – and find fresh silks. Those you are wearing are fit only for the fire.’

The eunuch bowed and dipped away. Xerxes watched his father in anticipation, seeing the wolf in him, the destroyer of nations.

‘So,’ the king said, ‘I will not forget the debt I owe the Greeks, my son. Not until it is paid a thousand times over. They are a small and scattered people. I will purchase ships from the Phoenicians and march some of my lazy western garrisons to this place. There are too many palace officers here, Xerxes, men fat and soft, living lives of ease. A little campaign would do them good, I think. Perhaps I will see how my Immortals fare on the open sea. It would amuse me to watch men like General Datis heaving their breakfast over the side!’

The king laughed at the thought, his grim mood vanishing. He turned to his son and Xerxes managed not to flinch.

‘Now, have your horse brought up. I would see you ride out with the scouts as we reach the plain.’

‘I would prefer …’

‘It would please me, Xerxes,’ his father said softly.