are. (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 w