“That proves your affection, but not his race,” said the judge in a stern voice. “Tell us the truth, and prevaricate no more.”
“He was the son of my sister.”
“And his father?”
“His father was Caranus of Pella.”
“A Macedonian, therefore.”
“Yes, a Macedonian.”
“Why then did you enter him as your son for the foot-race?”
“Because I had adopted him with all due formalities, and in the eye of the law he is my son.”
“But that did not make him a Greek of pure descent, such as by the immemorial custom of these games he is bound to be.”
A hum of approval went round the circle of spectators, whilst angry glances were cast at the Argive and his adopted son. Only the sanctity of the spot prevented a show of open violence, so hateful had the name of Macedonian become.