He glared at me with contempt. “What are they to you, moron? Your city was sacked, they say. You hate the Argives and think these sons of Herakles”—he indicated the drilling Peers, spitting the final phrase with sarcastic loathing—“are their enemies. Wake up! What do you think they would have done had they sacked your city? The same and worse! As they did to my country, to Messenia and to me. Look at my face. Look at your own. You’ve fled slavery only to become lower than a slave yourself.”
