Zeno

Of course I remember him. Who wouldn't? Growing up in Magna Graecia, there was no escaping that loudmouth, and I was "lucky" enough to live in his neighborhood. Anytime you'd bump into him along the road, he would start pontificating on how a cart in the agora could be both half-empty and half-full. Or asking that if it's a five-day journey to Athens by boat, where would five more days on the water take us? What about twenty days past that?

I finally said the moon to get him to shut up and go away, not that it worked on that Pythagorean ninny. "And how far is that? It doesn't look to be any bigger than your head, so it must be nearby, no?" There wasn't anyone he was unwilling to annoy. Just a pedantic Pisa-loving kòlos to the core.

So my friends and I formed a plot against the bearded bastard. Shove your show-offy contrarianism down our throats everyday, will you? Well, how about twenty snakes released into your abode in the dark of night? You should have heard the yeowling that nitpicking idiot made! He must have awoken half of Elea. We were all in hysterics from across the road, but then several men appeared and dragged Zeno away. The gag didn't seem quite as amusing after that.

Our understanding was that he was accused of conspiring against Nearchus, and was taken away to be tortured and presumably killed. Half of this empire's currency is gossip, so it's difficult to be sure, though the story seems plausible enough. Everyone hated Zeno, why would a tyrant be any different? Anyway, we haven't seen the hairsplitting huckster since that night. Maybe he's still alive, I don't know. But how can one exist yet remain unseen, Zeno may have asked. I suppose only he would know the answer to that riddle, but at least I don't have to hear about it.