“From whence do you get your religion, the knowledge of your gods?”
“From Homer, I believe.”
“You do not believe that Zeus is the supreme ruler of the world?”
“Yes, I do certainly.”
“But he was a false swearer and a lecher.”
“Yes! But how can that be helped?”
Tissaphernes rose. “Listen, my guest; we cannot share any common undertaking, for we do not serve the same gods. You call us barbarians. I, on my part, know no term of reproach strong enough for people who honour such gods. But the Athenians are as rotten as you, for they have pardoned you. Outside there stands an envoy from Athens come to beg you to return. Go to Athens; that is your place.”
“To Athens? Never! I do not trust them.”
“Nor they, you! That is appropriate. Go to Athens, and tell your countrymen—the Persian does not want them. The vine tendrils seek the sound elm, but turn away from the rotten cabbage-top.”
Alcibiades had begun to walk up and down the room. That meant that he was irresolute.