He licked his lips where they had grown dry and cracked. His son rose once again with the cup, but Miltiades waved him away. He went on as if he could not hold back the words any longer.

‘I do not know who fired the ships – whether it was one of mine or one of theirs. All the wood was dry and there was … screaming from those left within, unable to escape. The fire took hold on ours as well as theirs, spreading along the beach. Some of our crews got out to heave their hulls back into the water. Those who have returned with me to the Piraeus are the ones who were successful. The rest were cut down as they struggled to get afloat, or killed on the sand.’

He closed his eyes for an instant, honouring the dead.

‘Our hoplites fought like heroes, every one. They were superb, but they were crushed and overwhelmed by men with clubs and knives, men who fought like they were possessed, with teeth and nails and savagery. We could not recover shields and helmets. I will make amends for that loss, to the families of the fallen. I can replace them, if they come to me, if there are sons to carry a shield and spear and helmet they would have inherited from their fathers. I can do that much.’

‘You can do more,’ Xanthippus said suddenly.

The gaze of thousands turned on him then and he found himself staring directly up at Miltiades. The man looked ill, too sick almost to stand. He swayed as he recognised Xanthippus, and perhaps there was a sort of resignation there in the twist of his mouth.

‘You will have your chance to question Strategos Miltiades, Xanthippus,’ the epistates said.

His tone was one of reproof and Xanthippus felt Epikleos touch his hip in warning. He felt his anger surge, driving him on.

‘I will, epistates. And I will have justice,’ Xanthippus said. He ignored the intake of breath around the Pnyx. ‘I accuse this man. He has failed Athens. I accuse him on behalf of the dead, for the blood and silver he has cost us. I call …’

‘Please, k-kurios,’ the epistates stammered, shocked into using a term of address for a superior. He had been made leader of Athens the night before and he was far out of his depth, unsure of both rules and precedents. The laws of Cleisthenes were barely twenty years old, but Xanthippus knew them well. ‘Please reconsider! You are both Marathonomachoi!’

‘Yes,’ Xanthippus replied. ‘Yes we are.’ He held Miltiades’ gaze for a long moment, until the other man was certain what would come. ‘I speak because we are. I hold Miltiades to a high standard and I say he has failed. I call a trial.’ He spoke only to Miltiades then, ill and stunned before him.

‘How can this be fair?’ Cimon shouted. ‘My father is wounded, anyone can see it. How can he be brought to trial when he can hardly stand?’