The magistrate cleared his throat, then did it again and a third time, as if his nerves had overcome him and he could not begin. Just as Xanthippus considered rising in interruption, the man spoke.

‘On this trial day in the month of Skirophorion, the year of Aristides, I convene this court under the laws of Athens and the wisdom of Athena. Xanthippus of Acamantis tribe and Cholargos deme is the plaintiff and chief accuser of Miltiades, hero of Marathon.’

Xanthippus kept his head down, though he heard Epikleos’ intake of breath at such a cheap attempt to manipulate. It seemed the magistrate was not quite as uninvolved as he had seemed. Luck or the gods played a role in the selections, of course. That too was part of the process of judgment.

One of the Assembly scribes bent low to speak into the magistrate’s ear. He flushed at whatever was said to him, but nodded. On matters of law, he would no doubt need to be coached through the process by more experienced scribes. He examined his notes once more, though they clearly swam before his eyes.

When the preamble finished, Xanthippus missed his own name being called, so that Epikleos had to nudge him. He rose and nodded to the official who stood by two large urns, one sitting on a block above the other. With formality, the man removed a peg from the base of the uppermost. A thin trickle of water began to pour into the lower, slowly raising its level towards a hole in its side. No trial could be won by exhausting the defence through days of accusation. Each speaker would have no longer than it took for water to spill from the second urn. The sound was pleasant on the Areopagus, like a stream.

‘I stood with Miltiades at Marathon, in the left wing,’ Xanthippus said, beginning to pace back and forth. Every eye was on him and a breeze blew across the rock, ruffling his hair. He had not intended to start in such a way, but the magistrate had put the idea into his head and perhaps that sting needed to be removed before he could go on.

‘He was not rash then. He could have sent the left in with the centre and the right in one wild charge against the Persians. It might have won us victory, or seen us crushed. We cannot know. Instead, we held back and saw many of our friends killed.’

It was as far as he dared to go. Miltiades watched him with glittering eyes and the man’s son was frowning in puzzlement as if he had not heard this version of the tale. Xanthippus knew he could not make the accusation. Miltiades had said he would counter with the truth that Xanthippus had disobeyed in the heat of battle. It would destroy them both.

He ordered his thoughts, wishing for fluency as he went on.

‘We beat them, that day. We killed those who would have enslaved us, men who would have taken our women and children for their sport, who would have burned this city. We cut them down.’