ANDROCLES.
No, really: I can’t fight: I never could. I can’t bring myself to dislike anyone enough. I’m to be thrown to the lions with the lady.
THE EDITOR.
Then get out of the way and hold your noise. (Androcles steps aside with cheerful docility). Now then! Are you all ready there?
A trumpet is heard from the arena.
FERROVIUS.
(starting convulsively) Heaven give me strength!
THE EDITOR.
Aha! That frightens you, does it?
FERROVIUS.
Man: there is no terror like the terror of that sound to me. When I hear a trumpet or a drum or the clash of steel or the hum of the catapult as the great stone flies, fire runs through my veins: I feel my blood surge up hot behind my eyes: I must charge: I must strike: I must conquer: Caesar himself will not be safe in his imperial seat if once that spirit gets loose in me. Oh, brothers, pray! exhort me! remind me that if I raise my sword my honor falls and my Master is crucified afresh.
ANDROCLES.
Just keep thinking how cruelly you might hurt the poor gladiators.
FERROVIUS.
It does not hurt a man to kill him.
LAVINIA.
Nothing but faith can save you.
FERROVIUS.
Faith! Which faith? There are two faiths. There is our faith. And there is the warrior’s faith, the faith in fighting, the faith that sees God in the sword. How if that faith should overwhelm me?