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But Laius, so the report goes at least, was killed by strangers, thieves, at a place where three roads meet . . my son—he wasn’t three days old and the boy’s father fastened his ankles, had a henchman fling him away on a barren, trackless mountain.
So, if he still holds to the same number I cannot be the killer. One can’t equal many. But if he refers to one man, one alone, clearly the scales come down on me: I am guilty.
But if any man comes striding, high and mighty in all he says and does, no fear of justice, no reverence for the temples of the gods—let a rough doom tear him down, repay his pride, breakneck, ruinous pride!
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