Plato, Republic When the guards struck off the shackles, I thought I’d died. I felt weightless without them, as if my soul had been separated from my body. Though if I’d actually started to float away, I’m sure the guards would have stopped me. They took me out of the chamber, down corridors, and across a wide open courtyard. It was the first time I’d seen the stars since I was captured. On the far side, another door led into a barracks block, up a flight of stairs, and into a small, unpainted room with a bed and a window. As soon as the guards had left me, I sat down on the wooden bed and put my head in my hands. Violent shivers ripped through me; the sea seemed to pour through the window and roar in my ears. I didn’t hear the door open. ‘I knew you’d come here.’ The triumph in his voice was out of place. So was the voice itself, though I didn’t know why. It sounded off, the wrong string plucked on a lyre so that even the tone-deaf notice. Euphemus stood in the doorway, wearing a gold-trimmed robe and a smug smile that vanished as he saw the welts on my neck, the bruises, the ragged tunic and the dirt caking me.
