Some of them cheered him, while others merely nodded, or stood in groups to discuss the idea. It took some time for the epistates to bring order and call for another speaker. A dozen hands rose, a few with friends willing to push them forward. Yet Aristides stood apart, surrounded by at least a hundred of his supporters. When he raised his hand and gathered in the folds of his cloak and robe, the others fell silent, allowing him to come forward. Themistocles descended to the ground as Aristides climbed the stone steps. Neither man looked at the other as they passed.

From the height of the stone, Aristides took a slow breath of warm, afternoon air, looking out over thousands of heads. The name ‘Pnyx’ meant ‘packed in’. It was certainly true that day. All of Athens seemed to be there, watching.

After the broad shoulders and gestures of Themistocles, Xanthippus thought Aristides seemed a slight figure in comparison, more a scholar or a teacher than a fiery orator. The man’s robe and cloak were worn, with the hem ragged and trailing threads that had darkened. His beard too was wild in places, though he looked healthy, both tanned and strong. As Aristides stood before the crowd, he raised one hand to his mouth and rubbed his second finger back and forth across his lips, his teeth showing. Whispers that had sprung up fell silent to hear him. Even those who agreed most strongly with Themistocles would not try to drown him out. It was a rare event for the epistates to have the Scythian archers step in to remove a speaker, for which Xanthippus was grateful. Beyond actual blasphemy, a man would always be heard.

‘Themistocles speaks well – and he is a noble man,’ Aristides began. ‘On another day, I might have expected to hear his voice calling for this new silver to be spent on a feast for all Athens, or a shining force of cavalry, or shields and swords for another ten thousand of our young men. Of course, if the money owned in common is paid out, the choice will lie with those who receive it.’

He paused to let that idea sink in before going on.

‘That is the only true freedom, I think. To spend what you have earned with the sweat of your brow, the ache of your back and the calluses of your hands. To spend your coins, or to bury them in a hole in the ground. To waste them on pleasure, gifts or alms for the poorest. Perhaps we would disagree which of those is foolish and which wise, it does not matter. If the money is in my hands, the choice of how to spend it is mine. If in your hands, the choice is yours – and you will have made a child of me.’

Aristides smiled gently, as if in reproof. He widened his stance and opened his arms to embrace all those who watched and listened.