“How do you know,” he began, “that our deliverance from the King of Persia was really a piece of good fortune? How do you know that Salamis was a happy day for Hellas? Has not our great Aeschylus lamented and sympathetically described the defeat of the Persians?
“‘Hateful to me is thy name, Salamis,
And with a sigh I think of thee, Athens!’”
“For shame, Sophist!” Alcibiades broke in.
But Protagoras whetted his beak and continued, “It is not I who say that the name of Salamis is hateful, but Aeschylus, and I, as everyone knows, am not Aeschylus. Neither have I maintained that it was a good thing to serve the Persian King. I have only questioned, and a questioner asserts nothing. Is it not so, Socrates?”
The master drew his fingers through his long beard, and answered.
“There are direct and indirect assertions; a question can be an indirect and mischievous assertion. Protagoras has made such a one by his question.”
“Good! Socrates!” exclaimed Alcibiades, who wished to kindle a flame.
Pericles spoke: “Protagoras, then, has asserted that you would be happier under the Persian King. What should be done with such a man?”
“Throw him backwards in the fountain,” cried Alcibiades.
“I appeal!” protested the Sophist.