The sun had risen by the time the midwife came out and closed the door quietly behind her. Her face was pinched and serious.

Xanthippus had called for a bowl and cloths to clean his hands and face. The slaves of the house had brought everything he needed to where he stood in the corridor, so that he didn’t have to leave that spot. He turned to her, desperate for news.

‘Be at peace, Master Xanthippus. Your wife is safe. The bleeding has stopped.’

‘Was it … a woman’s problem? Part of her monthly bleeding?’

He hoped for a nod, but the midwife merely looked away into the distance, weighing how to respond. He considered grabbing her by the arm. His grip had been strengthened by spear and sword and he knew he could make the old bitch cry out. She began to speak before he moved, perhaps sensing his impatience.

‘She took a draught. A mixture of herbs that interfere with the natural order of the body.’

Xanthippus felt like he’d been struck, the air rushing out of him.

‘Like hemlock? A poison? Did she try to …’

‘Nothing like that … She wanted to be sure she was not pregnant. I would not have recommended such a dose, nor the amount she claims to have drunk, which was surely too much. Pennyroyal and tansy, made into a tea, by her description. It brings on the monthly bleeding – even if … if there is a child growing. It ends the pregnancy, but it is dangerous. Sometimes the bleeding does not stop.’

‘I see,’ Xanthippus said. He nodded to the slave who still stood with towel and copper bowl. ‘Find two silver drachms in payment. No, make it four. You have my thanks. Are you able to take payment yourself?’

It was a way of asking if she was a slave or a free woman. She bore no visible brand and her manner was of one used to authority, but it was not always easy to tell.

‘I am a free woman, master. But I was not finished. Your wife will need …’

‘You are dismissed,’ Xanthippus said.

Something of his anger shone in his eyes, though he held himself very still. The midwife pursed her lips and nodded once before gripping her bag under her arm like a shield and walking stiffly away. Xanthippus was left in the corridor, staring at his wife’s door. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear one of the children crying, either his daughter or Pericles. If he had not been woken with news of the fleet, he might never have known what Agariste was doing. He might even have found her cold and still in her bed, with weeping slaves all around. She had betrayed him, he realised, though not with a lover. With secrecy. Had she been pregnant? It was too much to take in. He thought he could hear sobbing through the door and he almost opened it. For an instant, he pressed his forehead against the wood and then turned and walked away, suddenly brisk. The sun had risen. He would be expected at the Pnyx, to welcome Miltiades home. He went faster and faster through the house, though the noise of sobbing seemed to follow him.