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).