The Battle of Marathon
an excerpt

The day started out badly.

Alexander woke as the sun peeked through the small window into his bedroom. He was used to sleeping in, for half an hour or so after sunrise. But in recent days and weeks, that had not been possible. Not since the Persian fleet had arrived off the coast, threatening everyone in Miletus with death – or worse. Now, everyone was woken up by dawn’s rosy fingers, and they would be straight out of bed, on with a tunic, and out to see whether there was any sign of the invaders yet.

And so Alexander pushed himself up from the comfort of his warm blankets, and threw his favourite chiton over his head. It was made of thick wool, and kept the worst of the early morning chill off his body. He stepped out of his bedroom into the central courtyard of the house, and walked over to the washing area, where one of the slaves had already made ready a large bowl of water, and a sponge. He picked this up, ignoring the quiet words murmured in greeting by the slave, and vigorously rubbed his face and neck with the water. It was less about getting clean, more about trying to rub some energy and enthusiasm back into his head. He still felt tired, and he was sure that today was going to be no less boring than yesterday or the day before.

On that, he was very wrong.