He could have escaped Greece during that holy period, but decided to stay - against all his friends' advice - to live out the life he had spent so much time examining in the market place and 'corrupting the youth of Athens', for which crime he was sentenced to death.
The above portrait is taken from a bronze which no longer exists, commissioned by the guilt-ridden citizens, a few years too late in recognising his value and the benign influence of his rhetoric.
All we know about Socrates is due to Plato, who was in attendance when his teacher drank the hemlock. Everyone was in tears as the great man lay covered in a white sheet, the effects of the tea rising from his toes to his chest until it reached his heart. His heart.
We are all citizens of that Athens - and beneficiaries of his good, honest, common sense - and I for one actually miss him as much as if I had been there at the time. It is a rare thing that such a brutal act of execution can be so unavoidably carried out by the State, and yet so universally regretted even as judgement had been passed, and before sentence was carried out.
It seems like like yesterday to me.