But even if you require bloodshed, that is not wanting either, and I am not unstained with blood; on the contrary, I have done a great and valiant deed in that I slew a young man in the fullness of his strength, terrible to all, through whom that other was unassailed by plots, on whom alone he relied, who sufficed him instead of many guardsmen. Then am I not deserving of a reward, man? Am I to be devoid of honours for such deeds? What if I had killed a bodyguard, or some henchman of the tyrant, or a valued slave? Would not even this have seemed a great thing, to go up and slay one of the tyrant’s friends in the midst of the citadel, in the midst of arms? But as it is, look at the slain man himself! He was a tyrant’s son, nay more, a harsher tyrant, an inexorable despot, a more cruel chastiser, a more violent oppressor; what is most important, he was heir and successor to everything, and capable of prolonging vastly the duration of our misery.
Suppose, if you will, that this was my sole achievement—that the tyrant has made his escape and is still alive. Well and good, I demand a guerdon for this. What do you all say? Will you not vouchsafe it? Did you not view the son, too, with concern? Was he notadespot? Was he not cruel, unendurable?
As it is, however, think of the crowning feat itself.
What this man requires of me I accomplished in the
best possible way. I killed the tyrant by killing
someone else, not directly nor at a single blow, which
would have been his fondest prayer after misdeeds
so monstrous. No, first I tortured him with profound
grief, displayed full in his view. all that was dearest