“For a month past I have called myself Outis. If I have ever borne another, older name it does not please me to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“It does not please me to tell you why, Son of a Dog.”
Parrhasius became maddened with anger. The seller of the slaves, alarmed, advanced with suppliant arms.
“Do not listen to him, my lord. He speaks as one who has lost his senses. It is pure malice on his part, for he has more brain-power than I have. He is a physician. For science and cleverness he had not his equal in all Olynthus. I say what all the world would repeat, for he was celebrated even in Macedon. People have told me that during thirty years he has cured more Olynthians than we were able to kill when we took their city. This will be a precious slave when he is chained and has felt the rod. He plays the insolent, but he will change his tone, as all the others will or have done. Then, if you lead him away with you, Death will not come to you till your hundredth winter! Give me thirty drachmas, and this Nicostratus will be your thing for ever.”
“Nicostratus,” repeated Parrhasius to me; “as a poet I know one of that name. My indifference is total towards the science of medicine.”
Turning towards the seller he ordered—
“Remove his clothes.”
Nicostratus let this be done, powerless and yet disdainful. Parrhasius continued to command that the captive take up first one position and then another. At last the bargain was struck. Parrhasius then said, “Superb!”