Evening.  The end of three converging roads to Rome.  Three triumphal arches span them where they debouch on a square at the gate of the city.  Looking north through the arches one can see the campagna threaded by the three long dusty tracks.  On the east and west sides of the square are long stone benches.  An old beggar sits on the east side of the square, his bowl at his feet.  Through the eastern arch a squad of Roman soldiers tramps along escorting a batch of Christian prisoners of both sexes and all ages, among them one Lavinia, a goodlooking resolute young woman, apparently of higher social standing than her fellow-prisoners.  A centurion, carrying his vinewood cudgel, trudges alongside the squad, on its right, in command of it.  All are tired and dusty; but the soldiers are dogged and indifferent, the Christians light-hearted and determined to treat their hardships as a joke and encourage one another.

A bugle is heard far behind on the road, where the rest of the cohort is following.

Centurion (stopping) Halt!  Orders from the Captain. (They halt and wait).  Now then, you Christians, none of your larks.  The captain’s coming.  Mind you behave yourselves.  No singing.  Look respectful.  Look serious, if you’re capable of it.  See that big building over there?  That’s the Coliseum.  That’s where you’ll be thrown to the lions or set to fight the gladiators presently.  Think of that; and it’ll help you to behave properly before the captain. (The Captain arrives).  Attention!  Salute! (The soldiers salute).

A Christian (cheerfully) God bless you, Captain.

The centurion (scandalised) Silence!

The Captain, a patrician, handsome, about thirty-five, very cold and distinguished, very superior and authoritative, steps up on a stone seat at the west side of the square, behind the centurion, so as to dominate the others more effectually.

The captain.  Centurion.

The centurion. (standing at attention and saluting) Sir?

The captain (speaking stiffly and officially) You will remind your men, Centurion, that we are now entering Rome.  You will instruct them that once inside the gates of Rome they are in the presence of the Emperor.  You will make them understand that the lax discipline of the march cannot be permitted here.  You will instruct them to shave every day, not every week.  You will impress on them particularly that there must be an end to the profanity and blasphemy of singing Christian hymns on the march.  I have to reprimand you, Centurion, for not only allowing this, but actually doing it yourself.

The centurion.  The men march better, Captain.

The captain.  No doubt.  For that reason an exception is made in the case of the march called Onward Christian Soldiers.  This may be sung, except when marching through the forum or within hearing of the Emperor’s palace; but the words must be altered to “Throw them to the Lions.”

The Christians burst into shrieks of uncontrollable laughter, to the great scandal of the Centurion.

Centurion.  Silence!  Silen-n-n-n-nce!  Where’s your behavior?  Is that the way to listen to an officer? (To the Captain) That’s what we have to put up with from these Christians every day, sir.  They’re always laughing and joking something scandalous.  They’ve no religion:  that’s how it is.

Lavinia.  But I think the Captain meant us to laugh, Centurion.  It was so funny.

Centurion.  You’ll find out how funny it is when you’re thrown to the lions to-morrow. (To the Captain, who looks displeased) Beg pardon, Sir. (To the Christians) Silennnnce!

The captain.  You are to instruct your men that all intimacy with Christian prisoners must now cease.  The men have fallen into habits of dependence upon the prisoners, especially the female prisoners, for cooking, repairs to uniforms, writing letters, and advice in their private affairs.  In a Roman soldier such dependence is inadmissible.  Let me see no more of it whilst we are in the city.  Further, your orders are that in addressing Christian prisoners, the manners and tone of your men must express abhorrence and contempt.  Any shortcoming in this respect will be regarded as a breach of discipline.(He turns to the prisoners) Prisoners.

Centurion (fiercely) Prisonerrrrrs!  Tention!  Silence!

The captain.  I call your attention, prisoners, to the fact that you may be called on to appear in the Imperial Circus at any time from tomorrow onwards according to the requirements of the managers.  I may inform you that as there is a shortage of Christians just now, you may expect to be called on very soon.

Lavinia.  What will they do to us, Captain?

Centurion.  Silence!

The captain.  The women will be conducted into the arena with the wild beasts of the Imperial Menagerie, and will suffer the consequences.  The men, if of an age to bear arms, will be given weapons to defend themselves, if they choose, against the Imperial Gladiators.

Lavinia.  Captain:  is there no hope that this cruel persecution ­

Centurion (shocked) Silence!  Hold your tongue, there. 
Persecution, indeed!

The captain (unmoved and somewhat sardonic) Persecution is not a term applicable to the acts of the Emperor.  The Emperor is the Defender of the Faith.  In throwing you to the lions he will be upholding the interests of religion in Rome.  If you were to throw him to the lions, that would no doubt be persecution.

The Christians again laugh heartily.

Centurion (horrified) Silence, I tell you!  Keep silence there. 
Did anyone ever hear the like of this?

Lavinia.  Captain:  there will be nobody to appreciate your jokes when we are gone.

The captain (unshaken in his official delivery) I call the attention of the female prisoner Lavinia to the fact that as the Emperor is a divine personage, her imputation of cruelty is not only treason, but sacrilege.  I point out to her further that there is no foundation for the charge, as the Emperor does not desire that any prisoner should suffer; nor can any Christian be harmed save through his or her own obstinacy.  All that is necessary is to sacrifice to the gods:  a simple and convenient ceremony effected by dropping a pinch of incense on the altar, after which the prisoner is at once set free.  Under such circumstances you have only your own perverse folly to blame if you suffer.  I suggest to you that if you cannot burn a morsel of incense as a matter of conviction, you might at least do so as a matter of good taste, to avoid shocking the religious convictions of your fellow citizens.  I am aware that these considerations do not weigh with Christians; but it is my duty to call your attention to them in order that you may have no ground for complaining of your treatment, or of accusing the Emperor of cruelty when he is showing you the most signal clemency.  Looked at from this point of view, every Christian who has perished in the arena has really committed suicide.

Lavinia.  Captain:  your jokes are too grim.  Do not think it is easy for us to die.  Our faith makes life far stronger and more wonderful in us than when we walked in darkness and had nothing to live for.  Death is harder for us than for you:  the martyr’s agony is as bitter as his triumph is glorious.

The captain (rather troubled, addressing her personally and gravely) A martyr, Lavinia, is a fool.  Your death will prove nothing.

Lavinia.  Then why kill me?

The captain.  I mean that truth, if there be any truth, needs no martyrs.

Lavinia.  No; but my faith, like your sword, needs testing.  Can you test your sword except by staking your life on it?

The captain (suddenly resuming his official tone) I call the attention of the female prisoner to the fact that Christians are not allowed to draw the Emperor’s officers into arguments and put questions to them for which the military regulations provide no answer. (The Christians titter).

Lavinia.  Captain:  how can you?

The captain.  I call the female prisoner’s attention specially to the fact that four comfortable homes have been offered her by officers of this regiment, of which she can have her choice the moment she chooses to sacrifice as all well-bred Roman ladies do.  I have no more to say to the prisoners.

Centurion.  Dismiss!  But stay where you are.

The captain.  Centurion:  you will remain here with your men in charge of the prisoners until the arrival of three Christian prisoners in the custody of a cohort of the tenth legion.  Among these prisoners you will particularly identify an armorer named Ferrovius, of dangerous character and great personal strength, and a Greek tailor reputed to be a sorcerer, by name Androcles.  You will add the three to your charge here and march them all to the Coliseum, where you will deliver them into the custody of the master of the gladiators and take his receipt, countersigned by the keeper of the beasts and the acting manager.  You understand your instructions?

Centurion.  Yes, Sir.

The captain.  Dismiss. (He throws off his air of parade, and descends down from the perch.  The Centurion seats on it and prepares for a nap, whilst his men stand at ease.  The Christians sit down on the west side of the square, glad to rest.  Lavinia alone remains standing to speak to the Captain).

Lavinia.  Captain:  is this man who is to join us the famous Ferrovius, who has made such wonderful conversions in the northern cities?

The captain.  Yes.  We are warned that he has the strength of an elephant and the temper of a mad bull.  Also that he is stark mad.  Not a model Christian, it would seem.

Lavinia.  You need not fear him if he is a Christian, Captain.

The captain (coldly) I shall not fear him in any case, Lavinia.

Lavinia (her eyes dancing) How brave of you, Captain!

The captain.  You are right:  it was silly thing to say. (In a lower tone, humane and urgent) Lavinia:  do Christians know how to love?

Lavinia (composedly) Yes, Captain:  they love even their enemies.

The captain.  Is that easy?

Lavinia.  Very easy, Captain, when their enemies are as handsome as you.

The captain.  Lavinia:  you are laughing at me.

Lavinia.  At you, Captain!  Impossible.

The captain.  Then you are flirting with me, which is worse.  Don’t be foolish.

Lavinia.  But such a very handsome captain.

The captain.  Incorrigible! (Urgently) Listen to me.  The men in that audience tomorrow will be the vilest of voluptuaries:  men in whom the only passion excited by a beautiful woman is a lust to see her tortured and torn shrieking limb from limb.  It is a crime to dignify that passion.  It is offering yourself for violation by the whole rabble of the streets and the riff-raff of the court at the same time.  Why will you not choose rather a kindly love and an honorable alliance?

Lavinia.  They cannot violate my soul.  I alone can do that by sacrificing to false gods.

The captain.  Sacrifice then to the true God.  What does his name matter?  We call him Jupiter.  The Greeks call him Zeus.  Call him what you will as you drop the incense on the altar flame:  He will understand.

Lavinia.  No.  I couldn’t.  That is the strange thing, Captain, that a little pinch of incense should make all that difference.  Religion is such a great thing that when I meet really religious people we are friends at once, no matter what name we give to the divine will that made us and moves us.  Oh, do you think that I, a woman, would quarrel with you for sacrificing to a woman god like Diana, if Diana meant to you what Christ means to me?  No:  we should kneel side by side before her altar like two children.  But when men who believe neither in my god nor in their own ­men who do not know the meaning of the word religion ­when these men drag me to the foot of an iron statue that has become the symbol of the terror and darkness through which they walk, of their cruelty and greed, of their hatred of God and their oppression of man ­when they ask me to pledge my soul before the people that this hideous idol is God, and that all this wickedness and falsehood is divine truth, I cannot do it, not if they could put a thousand cruel deaths on me.  I tell you, it is physically impossible.  Listen, Captain:  did you ever try to catch a mouse in your hand?  Once there was a dear little mouse that used to come out and play on my table as I was reading.  I wanted to take him in my hand and caress him; and sometimes he got among my books so that he could not escape me when I stretched out my hand.  And I did stretch out my hand; but it always came back in spite of me.  I was not afraid of him in my heart; but my hand refused:  it is not in the nature of my hand to touch a mouse.  Well, Captain, if I took a pinch of incense in my hand and stretched it out over the altar fire, my hand would come back.  My body would be true to my faith even if you could corrupt my mind.  And all the time I should believe more in Diana than my persecutors have ever believed in anything.  Can you understand that?

The captain (simply) Yes:  I understand that.  But my hand would not come back.  The hand that holds the sword has been trained not to come back from anything but victory.

Lavinia.  Not even from death?

The captain.  Least of all from death.

Lavinia.  Then I must not come back either.  A woman has to be braver than a soldier.

The captain.  Prouder, you mean.

Lavinia (startled) Prouder!  You call our courage pride!

The captain.  There is no such thing as courage:  there is only pride.  You Christians are the proudest devils on earth.

Lavinia (hurt) Pray God then my pride may never become a false pride. (She turns away as if she did not wish to continue the conversation, but softens and says to him with a smile) Thank you for trying to save me from death.

The captain.  I knew it was no use; but one tries in spite of one’s knowledge.

Lavinia.  Something stirs, even in the iron breast of a Roman soldier!

The captain.  It will soon be iron again.  I have seen many women die, and forgotten them in a week.

Lavinia.  Remember me for a fortnight, handsome Captain.  I shall be watching you, perhaps.

The captain.  From the skies?  Do not deceive yourself, Lavinia.  There is no future for you beyond the grave.

Lavinia.  What does that matter?  Do you think I am only running away from the terrors of life into the comfort of heaven?  If there were no future, or if the future were one of torment, I should have to go just the same.  The hand of God is upon me.

The captain.  Yes:  when all is said, we are both patricians, Lavinia, and must die for our beliefs.  Farewell. (He offers her his hand.  She takes it and presses it.  He walks away, trim and calm.  She looks after him for a moment, and cries a little as he disappears through the eastern arch.  A trumpet-call is heard from the road through the western arch).

Centurion (waking up and rising) Cohort of the tenth with prisoners.  Two file out with me to receive them. (He goes out through the western arch, followed by four soldiers in two files).

Lentulus and Metellus come into the square from the west side with a little retinue of servants.  Both are young courtiers, dressed in the extremity of fashion.  Lentulus is slender, fair-haired, epicene.  Metellus is manly, compactly built, olive skinned, not a talker.

Lentulus.  Christians, by Jove!  Let’s chaff them.

Metellus.  Awful brutes.  If you knew as much about them as I do you wouldn’t want to chaff them.  Leave them to the lions.

Lentulus (indicating Lavinia, who is still looking towards the arches after the captain).  That woman’s got a figure. (He walks past her, staring at her invitingly, but she is preoccupied and is not conscious of him).  Do you turn the other cheek when they kiss you?

Lavinia (starting) What?

LENTULus.  Do you turn the other cheek when they kiss you, fascinating Christian?

Lavinia.  Don’t be foolish. (To Metellus, who has remained on her right, so that she is between them) Please don’t let your friend behave like a cad before the soldiers.  How are they to respect and obey patricians if they see them behaving like street boys?  (Sharply to Lentulus) Pull yourself together, man.  Hold your head up.  Keep the corners of your mouth firm; and treat me respectfully.  What do you take me for?

Lentulus (irresolutely) Look here, you know:  I ­you ­I ­

Lavinia.  Stuff!  Go about your business. (She turns decisively away and sits down with her comrades, leaving him disconcerted).

Metellus.  You didn’t get much out of that.  I told you they were brutes.

Lentulus.  Plucky little filly!  I suppose she thinks I care. (With an air of indifference he strolls with Metellus to the east side of the square, where they stand watching the return of the Centurion through the western arch with his men, escorting three prisoners:  Ferrovius, Androcles, and Spintho.  Ferrovius is a powerful, choleric man in the prime of life, with large nostrils, staring eyes, and a thick neck:  a man whose sensibilities are keen and violent to the verge of madness.  Spintho is a debauchee, the wreck of a good-looking man gone hopelessly to the bad.  Androcles is overwhelmed with grief, and is restraining his tears with great difficulty).

The centurion (to Lavinia) Here are some pals for you.  This little bit is Ferrovius that you talk so much about. (Ferrovius turns on him threateningly.  The Centurion holds up his left forefinger in admonition).  Now remember that you’re a Christian, and that you’ve got to return good for evil. (Ferrovius controls himself convulsively; moves away from temptation to the east side near Lentulus; clasps his hands in silent prayer; and throws himself on his knees).  That’s the way to manage them, eh!  This fine fellow (indicating Androcles, who comes to his left, and makes Lavinia a heartbroken salutation) is a sorcerer.  A Greek tailor, he is.  A real sorcerer, too:  no mistake about it.  The tenth marches with a leopard at the head of the column.  He made a pet of the leopard; and now he’s crying at being parted from it.  (Androcles sniffs lamentably).  Ain’t you, old chap?  Well, cheer up, we march with a Billy goat (Androcles brightens up) that’s killed two leopards and ate a turkey-cock.  You can have him for a pet if you like. (Androcles, quite consoled, goes past the Centurion to Lavinia, and sits down contentedly on the ground on her left).  This dirty dog (collaring Spintho) is a real Christian.  He mobs the temples, he does (at each accusation he gives the neck of Spintho’s tunic a twist); he goes smashing things mad drunk, he does; he steals the gold vessels, he does; he assaults the priestesses, he does pah! (He flings Spintho into the middle of the group of prisoners).  You’re the sort that makes duty a pleasure, you are.

Spintho (gasping) That’s it:  strangle me.  Kick me.  Beat me.  Revile me.  Our Lord was beaten and reviled.  That’s my way to heaven.  Every martyr goes to heaven, no matter what he’s done.  That is so, isn’t it, brother?

Centurion.  Well, if you’re going to heaven, I don’t want to go there.  I wouldn’t be seen with you.

Lentulus.  Haw!  Good! (Indicating the kneeling Ferrovius).  Is this one of the turn-the-other-cheek gentlemen, Centurion?

Centurion.  Yes, sir.  Lucky for you too, sir, if you want to take any liberties with him.

Lentulus (to Ferrovius) You turn the other cheek when you’re struck, I’m told.

Ferrovius (slowly turning his great eyes on him) Yes, by the grace of God, I do, now.

Lentulus.  Not that you’re a coward, of course; but out of pure piety.

Ferrovius.  I fear God more than man; at least I try to.

Lentulus.  Let’s see. (He strikes him on the cheek.  Androcles makes a wild movement to rise and interfere; but Lavinia holds him down, watching Ferrovius intently.  Ferrovius, without flinching, turns the other cheek.  Lentulus, rather out of countenance, titters foolishly, and strikes him again feebly).  You know, I should feel ashamed if I let myself be struck like that, and took it lying down.  But then I’m not a Christian:  I’m a man. (Ferrovius rises impressively and towers over him.  Lentulus becomes white with terror; and a shade of green flickers in his cheek for a moment).

Ferrovius (with the calm of a steam hammer) I have not always been faithful.  The first man who struck me as you have just struck me was a stronger man than you:  he hit me harder than I expected.  I was tempted and fell; and it was then that I first tasted bitter shame.  I never had a happy moment after that until I had knelt and asked his forgiveness by his bedside in the hospital. (Putting his hands on Lentulus’s shoulders with paternal weight).  But now I have learnt to resist with a strength that is not my own.  I am not ashamed now, nor angry.

Lentulus (uneasily) Er ­good evening. (He tries to move away).

Ferrovius (gripping his shoulders) Oh, do not harden your heart, young man.  Come:  try for yourself whether our way is not better than yours.  I will now strike you on one cheek; and you will turn the other and learn how much better you will feel than if you gave way to the promptings of anger. (He holds him with one hand and clenches the other fist).

Lentulus.  Centurion:  I call on you to protect me.

Centurion.  You asked for it, sir.  It’s no business of ours.  You’ve had two whacks at him.  Better pay him a trifle and square it that way.

Lentulus.  Yes, of course. (To Ferrovius) It was only a bit of fun, I assure you:  I meant no harm.  Here. (He proffers a gold coin).

Ferrovius (taking it and throwing it to the old beggar, who snatches it up eagerly, and hobbles off to spend it) Give all thou hast to the poor.  Come, friend:  courage!  I may hurt your body for a moment; but your soul will rejoice in the victory of the spirit over the flesh. (He prepares to strike).

Androcles.  Easy, Ferrovius, easy:  you broke the last man’s jaw.

Lentulus, with a moan of terror, attempts to fly; but Ferrovius holds him ruthlessly.

Ferrovius.  Yes; but I saved his soul.  What matters a broken jaw?

Lentulus.  Don’t touch me, do you hear?  The law ­

Ferrovius.  The law will throw me to the lions tomorrow:  what worse could it do were I to slay you?  Pray for strength; and it shall be given to you.

Lentulus.  Let me go.  Your religion forbids you to strike me.

Ferrovius.  On the contrary, it commands me to strike you.  How can you turn the other cheek, if you are not first struck on the one cheek?

Lentulus (almost in tears) But I’m convinced already that what you said is quite right.  I apologize for striking you.

Ferrovius (greatly pleased) My son:  have I softened your heart?  Has the good seed fallen in a fruitful place?  Are your feet turning towards a better path?

Lentulus (abjectly) Yes, yes.  There’s a great deal in what you say.

Ferrovius (radiant) Join us.  Come to the lions.  Come to suffering and death.

Lentulus (falling on his knees and bursting into tears) Oh, help me.  Mother! mother!

Ferrovius.  These tears will water your soul and make it bring forth good fruit, my son.  God has greatly blessed my efforts at conversion.  Shall I tell you a miracle ­yes, a miracle ­wrought by me in Cappadocia?  A young man ­just such a one as you, with golden hair like yours ­scoffed at and struck me as you scoffed at and struck me.  I sat up all night with that youth wrestling for his soul; and in the morning not only was he a Christian, but his hair was as white as snow. (Lentulus falls in a dead faint).  There, there:  take him away.  The spirit has overwrought him, poor lad.  Carry him gently to his house; and leave the rest to heaven.

Centurion.  Take him home. (The servants, intimidated, hastily carry him out.  Metellus is about to follow when Ferrovius lays his hand on his shoulder).

Ferrovius.  You are his friend, young man.  You will see that he is taken safely home.

Metellus (with awestruck civility) Certainly, sir.  I shall do whatever you think best.  Most happy to have made your acquaintance, I’m sure.  You may depend on me.  Good evening, sir.

Ferrovius (with unction) The blessing of heaven upon you and him.

Metellus follows Lentulus.  The Centurion returns to his seat to resume his interrupted nap.  The deepest awe has settled on the spectators.  Ferrovius, with a long sigh of happiness, goes to Lavinia, and offers her his hand.

Lavinia (taking it) So that is how you convert people, Ferrovius.

Ferrovius.  Yes:  there has been a blessing on my work in spite of my unworthiness and my backslidings ­all through my wicked, devilish temper.  This man ­

Androcles (hastily) Don’t slap me on the back, brother.  She knows you mean me.

Ferrovius.  How I wish I were weak like our brother here! for then I should perhaps be meek and gentle like him.  And yet there seems to be a special providence that makes my trials less than his.  I hear tales of the crowd scoffing and casting stones and reviling the brethren; but when I come, all this stops:  my influence calms the passions of the mob:  they listen to me in silence; and infidels are often converted by a straight heart-to-heart talk with me.  Every day I feel happier, more confident.  Every day lightens the load of the great terror.

Lavinia.  The great terror?  What is that?

Ferrovius shakes his head and does not answer.  He sits down beside her on her left, and buries his face in his hands in gloomy meditation.

Androcles.  Well, you see, sister, he’s never quite sure of himself.  Suppose at the last moment in the arena, with the gladiators there to fight him, one of them was to say anything to annoy him, he might forget himself and lay that gladiator out.

Lavinia.  That would be splendid.

Ferrovius (springing up in horror) What!

Androcles.  Oh, sister!

Ferrovius.  Splendid to betray my master, like Peter!  Splendid to act like any common blackguard in the day of my proving!  Woman:  you are no Christian. (He moves away from her to the middle of the square, as if her neighborhood contaminated him).

Lavinia (laughing) You know, Ferrovius, I am not always a Christian.  I don’t think anybody is.  There are moments when I forget all about it, and something comes out quite naturally, as it did then.

Spintho.  What does it matter?  If you die in the arena, you’ll be a martyr; and all martyrs go to heaven, no matter what they have done.  That’s so, isn’t it, Ferrovius?

Ferrovius.  Yes:  that is so, if we are faithful to the end.

Lavinia.  I’m not so sure.

Spintho.  Don’t say that.  That’s blasphemy.  Don’t say that, I tell you.  We shall be saved, no matter what we do.

Lavinia.  Perhaps you men will all go into heaven bravely and in triumph, with your heads erect and golden trumpets sounding for you.  But I am sure I shall only be allowed to squeeze myself in through a little crack in the gate after a great deal of begging.  I am not good always:  I have moments only.

Spintho.  You’re talking nonsense, woman.  I tell you, martyrdom pays all scores.

Androcles.  Well, let us hope so, brother, for your sake.  You’ve had a gay time, haven’t you? with your raids on the temples.  I can’t help thinking that heaven will be very dull for a man of your temperament. (Spintho snarls).  Don’t be angry:  I say it only to console you in case you should die in your bed tonight in the natural way.  There’s a lot of plague about.

Spintho (rising and running about in abject terror) I never thought of that.  O Lord, spare me to be martyred.  Oh, what a thought to put into the mind of a brother!  Oh, let me be martyred today, now.  I shall die in the night and go to hell.  You’re a sorcerer:  you’ve put death into my mind.  Oh, curse you, curse you! (He tries to seize Androcles by the throat).

Ferrovius (holding him in a grip of iron) What’s this, brother?  Anger!  Violence!  Raising your hand to a brother Christian!

Spintho.  It’s easy for you.  You’re strong.  Your nerves are all right.  But I’m full of disease. (Ferrovius takes his hand from him with instinctive disgust).  I’ve drunk all my nerves away.  I shall have the horrors all night.

Androcles (sympathetic) Oh, don’t take on so, brother.  We’re all sinners.

Spintho (snivelling, trying to feel consoled).  Yes:  I daresay if the truth were known, you’re all as bad as I am.

Lavinia (contemptuously) Does that comfort you?

Ferrovius (sternly) Pray, man, pray.

Spintho.  What’s the good of praying?  If we’re martyred we shall go to heaven, shan’t we, whether we pray or not?

Ferrovius.  What’s that?  Not pray! (Seizing him again) Pray this instant, you dog, you rotten hound, you slimy snake, you beastly goat, or ­

Spintho.  Yes:  beat me:  kick me.  I forgive you:  mind that.

Ferrovius (spurning him with loathing) Yah! (Spintho reels away and falls in front of Ferrovius).

Androcles (reaching out and catching the skirt of Ferrovius’s tunic) Dear brother:  if you wouldn’t mind ­just for my sake ­

Ferrovius.  Well?

Androcles.  Don’t call him by the names of the animals.  We’ve no right to.  I’ve had such friends in dogs.  A pet snake is the best of company.  I was nursed on goat’s milk.  Is it fair to them to call the like of him a dog or a snake or a goat?

Ferrovius.  I only meant that they have no souls.

Androcles (anxiously protesting) Oh, believe me, they have.  Just the same as you and me.  I really don’t think I could consent to go to heaven if I thought there were to be no animals there.  Think of what they suffer here.

Ferrovius.  That’s true.  Yes:  that is just.  They will have their share in heaven.

Spintho (who has picked himself up and is sneaking past Ferrovius on his left, sneers derisively)!!

Ferrovius (turning on him fiercely) What’s that you say?

Spintho (cornering).  Nothing.

Ferrovius (clenching his fist) Do animals go to heaven or not?

Spintho.  I never said they didn’t.

Ferrovius (implacable) Do they or do they not?

Spintho.  They do:  they do. (Scrambling out of Ferrovius’s reach). 
Oh, curse you for frightening me!

A bugle call is heard.

Centurion (waking up) Tention!  Form as before.  Now then, prisoners, up with you and trot along spry. (The soldiers fall in.  The Christians rise).

A man with an ox goad comes running through the central arch.

The ox Driver.  Here, you soldiers! clear out of the way for the
Emperor.

The centurion.  Emperor!  Where’s the Emperor?  You ain’t the
Emperor, are you?

The ox Driver.  It’s the menagerie service.  My team of oxen is drawing the new lion to the Coliseum.  You clear the road.

Centurion.  What!  Go in after you in your dust, with half the town at the heels of you and your lion!  Not likely.  We go first.

The ox Driver.  The menagerie service is the Emperor’s personal retinue.  You clear out, I tell you.

Centurion.  You tell me, do you?  Well, I’ll tell you something.  If the lion is menagerie service, the lion’s dinner is menagerie service too.  This (pointing to the Christians) is the lion’s dinner.  So back with you to your bullocks double quick; and learn your place.  March. (The soldiers start).  Now then, you Christians, step out there.

Lavinia (marching) Come along, the rest of the dinner.  I shall be the olives and anchovies.

Another Christian (laughing) I shall be the soup.

Another.  I shall be the fish.

Another.  Ferrovius shall be the roast boar.

Ferrovius (heavily) I see the joke.  Yes, yes:  I shall be the roast boar.  Ha! ha! (He laughs conscientiously and marches out with them).

Androcles.  I shall be the mince pie. (Each announcement is received with a louder laugh by all the rest as the joke catches on).

Centurion (scandalised) Silence!  Have some sense of your situation.  Is this the way for martyrs to behave? (To Spintho, who is quaking and loitering) I know what you’ll be at that dinner.  You’ll be the emetic. (He shoves him rudely along).

Spintho.  It’s too dreadful:  I’m not fit to die.

Centurion.  Fitter than you are to live, you swine.

They pass from the square westward.  The oxen, drawing a waggon with a great wooden cage and the lion in it, arrive through the central arch.