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‘Sir,’ she said, ‘please allow me to intercede. These men were just helping someone in urgent need. They deserve praise, not punishment. Besides, I believe that those fields where we passed near the stream were until lately the fields of Ctesias who kept a dwelling at their edge, and that many of the day labourers who now serve you were accustomed when they worked for him to act in that way. Pardon them, I pray you.’
Our host stood up. ‘Young woman,’ he said, ‘you are exceeding your station. We arrange our affairs for the best, and we do not ignore those in need. Meanwhile, you may leave now with your mentor,’ he glanced at me with a patrician and contemptuous look, ‘and a further visit will not be welcome. As for Ctesias, the poor man was just a peasant farmer, after all.’
Euanthē then stood up, small before the adversary, her eyes flaming and daring to hold his gaze: ‘How can you say that? He just died a horrible death, and you say “ just a peasant farmer”. And what are you?’
The patrician raised his hand and slapped Euanthē’s face. Straight away, Euanthē slapped him back.
There was a heavy pause. The Philippidæ scion bent his cold eyes upon her, and said quietly: ‘There was a time, not so long ago, when I could have had you imprisoned and whipped for that. Now, leave!’
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