‘Are you armed, Manias?’ Xanthippus said.

The man’s eyebrows rose sharply.

‘I have a knife, but I can fetch my sword. Is there a threat to the family, master?’

‘None that I know. I have a … feeling, a premonition. No more than foolishness, perhaps, but I would be happier to know you were with my children, ready to defend them.’

Manias didn’t hesitate, as Xanthippus had known he would not. The older man bowed and rushed away, ready to give his life for the little ones. Xanthippus stared after him. There had been something odd about his reaction before. It was still dark outside – the light had barely begun to change. If Miltiades had truly returned, he would not be back in port until later that morning. He would not reach the Pnyx by the Agora for another hour after that! There was time.

In silence, Xanthippus made his way down the corridor that separated Agariste’s bedroom from his own. His feet were light on the floor and he padded along, listening, knowing he made almost no sound.

He had never slept well with another in the bed alongside him. Agariste was the same, so she said. The heat of his body kept her awake. The very poorest men kept the same bed as their wives, but Xanthippus found he slept better alone, as befitted his class. He had the rooms, after all.

When he heard a groan, Xanthippus sprinted the last few steps. He forced himself to stop at her door, straining to hear. There was no honour in that, either, so he knocked and entered, dreading what he would see.

The window was open, with the night’s breeze making the room cool. Agariste sat up in bed, a sheet crumpled and drawn up around her knees. She pulled it tighter as he came into the room, suspicion suddenly sour in him as if he had swallowed sulphur.

‘What is it, Xan?’ she said. ‘Why do you look so terrible? Are the children all right? Xan! Are the children safe?’

Her concern for them broke through the madness that consumed him, so that he blinked. Only moonlight lit her, but she looked pale in it, like white marble. Shadows gathered around her thighs and one of her feet peeped from under the rumpled sheet.

‘They are perfectly well,’ he said, his voice grating. Was it warm enough to have the window stand so wide?

‘What, then? Is it an invasion?’

It seemed Manias had not brought his news to the mistress of the house. Perhaps he would have gone to her if Xanthippus had not sent him to guard the children. To Xanthippus’ eye, Agariste seemed genuinely confused and afraid – and something else, something wrong in her manner. He went to sit on the hard edge of the bed and she drew back a little.

‘Why are you so angry?’ she said.

Her eyes were dark and wide, her hair spilling in thick curls to her shoulders. She seemed to rock slightly back and forth as she watched him. He could feel her fear and yet he was not certain of the source. If it was guilt, he knew it would be the struggle of his life not to kill her.