Calpurnius: Gleva, you cannot conquer Rome. (He speaks gently. She stands stubbornly.) How shall I prove it to you--you who know only one wild corner of Britain! (Thinks.) There is that road where the soldiers march. You know--how much of it?--a few miles where it passes through the forest. That's all. But it runs to the Wall in the north.
Gleva (scornfully): Is there a Wall?
Calpurnius: Is there a Wall? Ye gods! I kept my watch upon it through a winter under the coldest stars that ever made a night unfriendly. I freeze now when I think of it. Yes, there's a Wall in the north, and that road runs to it; and in the south, it does not end at Regnum.
Gleva: Doesn't it? Wonderful road!
Calpurnius: Yes, wonderful road. For on the other side at the very edge of the sea in Gaul it lives again--yes, that's the word--the great road lives and runs straight as a ruled line to Rome. For forty days you drive, inns by the road-side, post horses ready and a cloud of traffic, merchants on business, governors on leave, pedlars, musicians and actors for the fairs, students for the universities, Jews, explorers, soldiers, pack-horses and waggons, gigs and litters. Oh, if I could make you see it--always on each side the shade of trees, until on its seven hills springs Rome. Nor does the road end there.
Gleva: This same road? (Her scorn has gone. She speaks doubtfully.)
Calpurnius: This same road which runs by the brook down here in the forest. (Pointing L.) It crosses Rome and goes straight to the sea again--again beyond the sea it turns and strikes to Jerusalem four thousand miles from where we stand to-night, Rome made it. Rome guards it, and where it runs Rome rules. You cannot conquer Rome--until the road's destroyed.
Gleva: I will destroy it.
Calpurnius: Only Rome can destroy it. (A pause.) Gleva, let what I say sink deep into your heart. A minute ago I sneered at the road. I blasphemed. The roads are my people's work. While it builds roads, it's Rome, it's the Unconquerable. But when there are no new roads in the making and the weeds sprout between the pavements of the old ones, then your moment's coming. When the slabs are broken and no company marches down from the hill to mend them, it has come. Launch your chariots then, Gleva! Rome's day is over, her hand tired. She has grown easy and forgotten. But while Rome does Rome's appointed work, beware of her! Not while the road runs straight from Regnum to the Wall, shall you or any of you prevail.
Gleva (looking inscrutably.) No, I cannot conquer Rome.