He waved a hand as if to dismiss them all, his face twisting. It seemed their judgment was beneath his contempt. Xanthippus could hardly believe it when Miltiades returned to his seat, helped by his son. Had his illness so weakened him? His defence seemed to be at an end and he sat there, with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing while the scribes he had hired fussed and tried to gain his attention.

The magistrate too seemed to have expected more. There was no sign yet of water spilling from the lower urn. The man spread his hands in silent question, looking around. When no one replied, he leaned over to one of the court scribes and exchanged furiously whispered questions.

‘Strategos Miltiades?’ he said after a time. ‘Will you be bringing witnesses in your defence?’

There was no response from the man himself. Slowly his son stood. Cimon was a fine figure of a young man, though Xanthippus did not know him. He watched as the eighteen-year-old bent to kiss his father on both cheeks, then spoke to the jury. Xanthippus glanced at the water clock, willing time away.

‘My father has served Athens – in time and blood and silver – his entire life. On land and sea. He campaigned in Ionia on our behalf, so that he did not see his family for years. In his absence, we tended estates and crops that fed the people, gave them bread and wine. All while my father Miltiades risked his life against armies of Persia. Marathon was his greatest achievement, unsullied, untainted. After that, the sea and the gods and a determined enemy brought him a defeat. See the wound he has taken for us, that could kill him yet! Do you even know the laws? If you must punish my family, after our long service, make it a fine we can pay, not death, not exile! My father is a hero of Athens. We owe him everything.’

The young man sat down, red-faced and furious. Xanthippus thought the lashing tone had not done his father many favours with the jurors, but it was hard to be certain. Miltiades looked so ill by then, he might fall from the seat. The man lolled there, barely conscious. Nonetheless, he would have to endure. The vote had to be carried out.

Water spilled and the magistrate breathed in relief.

‘If the defence has nothing more to add, you may call your first witnesses, kurios,’ he said, back on solid ground.

Xanthippus nodded. Noon would end the session and he thought he would have a judgment by then.

17

Before the sun reached its greatest height, the last of the witnesses finished their description of the slaughter on Paros. Miltiades had refused the right to question them, which meant the statements of the captain and the hoplite went unchallenged. The defence seemed to rest on a balance, that the jury should not punish a man for one great loss after a lifetime of selfless labour and successes. It was a simple message and there were nodding heads when one of his scribes summed up their position. Xanthippus did not know if he had done enough for the victory. For the first time since making his accusation, he faced the possibility of failure and what that might mean.