‘In recognition of my father’s service to this city, we ask for imprisonment for three months and a fine … a fine of fifty talents.’

Xanthippus felt his throat close in shock at the amount. A single talent of silver was worth six thousand drachms, the wage of a working man for almost ten years. Fifty talents was a sum to shock the jury and make them reconsider. It was said that there were ten thousand houses in Athens. Each household would receive two weeks’ wages for such a fine! Xanthippus felt his heart sink. Or it would buy ships to replace some of those Miltiades had lost. Either way, it seemed the family still had wealth. With a short time in prison to satisfy the harshest critics, the offer was well judged. Xanthippus did not need Epikleos’ glance back at him to know Miltiades would live.

The second vote was over quickly. The jurors accepted the fine and time in prison. The magistrate in particular seemed desperately relieved and beamed around at them. With little ceremony, the trial was over. Each jury member was handed a token to be redeemed against five obol coins for the day’s service.

The events on the rock of Ares that day had been payment enough, Xanthippus thought. They would go home and tell their wives and friends every detail. He saw Epikleos look up sharply and turned to see Miltiades’ son had come to stand by him. Xanthippus understood in the moment of stillness that he had made more than one enemy. Epikleos casually took a position where he could block an attack, but neither of them was afraid of a beardless young man, no matter how wide across the shoulders Cimon was.

‘Fifty talents,’ Xanthippus said. ‘There are not many families in Athens that could pay such a sum.’

Cimon shrugged, his mouth turning up on one side. He held his hands almost as fists, low down on his hips, as he stood and confronted Xanthippus. More than a few watched the little scene, wondering whether there would be violence or further insult. Such things were not unknown. Epikleos raised a finger to summon one of the Scythian archers standing nearby.

‘For my father’s life?’ Cimon said. ‘It was part of my inheritance, but I would pay it again.’

‘The trial is at an end,’ Epikleos said to him. ‘Your father will recover in his cell. By the time he is free, he will be well and strong. Good day to you now, Cimon. Tend to Miltiades.’

‘Don’t tell me my duty,’ Cimon growled at him.

Xanthippus thought the young man might erupt and braced himself to straight-arm a rush. The Scythians were suddenly there in their armour, stepping between them, roughly ordering everyone off the rock and back to their lives. The moment of tension vanished in the noise and clatter. Xanthippus watched as Miltiades was helped down, step by step, his arm draped over his son.

‘How touching, to see such devotion,’ Epikleos said. ‘Well, you won fifty talents for the city, Xan. If it’s not what you wanted, it is justice of a sort.’