Miltiades leaned on his crutch as he stood before the jury that would decide his fate. There would be no striding back and forth for him, that much was obvious. Instead, he cleared his throat and began. Xanthippus sat forward, determined to hear every word. He noted the man’s son glaring at him, trying to pin him with sheer hatred in his gaze. Xanthippus had no time for a stripling’s spite.

‘I stood at Marathon, yes, as you have heard. I stood with the same Xanthippus who makes this accusation …’

Miltiades paused and Xanthippus heard a faint sound from the hand that held the scroll as papyrus cracked under his tightening grip. If Miltiades claimed he had disobeyed an order in battle, he would rise and accuse the man of being a traitor. There would be chaos and tumult, but Miltiades would not survive it.

‘He fought well on that day, against terrible odds. As did Themistocles and Aristides, who kept the centre. As did Callimachus, who held the right wing before his death. We stood as Athenians with men of Plataea. We stood against arrows and spears and swords – many more than I care to recall. I have sprung panting out of dreams a few times since then, remembering them! Did our victory evoke pride in me? Of course it did. Was it hubris for me to ask for a fleet to pursue our enemies? I do not think it was. Unless you would have left the Persians to settle and once again grow strong. Yes, I lost a battle on the island of Paros. I landed our men there, though I had been told the island had sworn loyalty to the Persians. I do not claim to have been without flaw, only that in the moment, when decisions have to be made, mistakes are made too, amidst the victories. Men go before they have received orders, or hold back when they should go forward. If they are men of honour, they come to regret their failings, as I do.’

When he looked over to Xanthippus, his eyes were terrible, sore and red as if a fever raged in him.

‘Yet as you sit here, on cool stone, to judge my decisions while the waves crashed and my officers looked to me for orders, you cannot know what it was like to be there. You think to punish me for my loss? I am punished every day by the thoughts of the men who drowned, by friends I saw cut down as I fought for my life. Yes, I was rash …’

He caught himself, aware that he had crossed a line in his own admission. A whisper went around the jury and those gathered to watch.

‘… I went forward, with all the knowledge I had at that moment. And I lost. At Marathon, I won; at Paros, I lost. That is the life of a strategos and an archon – a leader. In the end, all you can ask is for more victories than defeats. That is all I can offer.’