On the west side of this passage, on the right hand of anyone coming from the box and standing on the bridge, the martyrs are sitting on the steps. Lavinia is seated half-way up, thoughtfully trying to look death in the face. On her left Androcles consoles himself by nursing a cat. Ferrovious stands behind them, his eyes blazing, his figure stiff with intense resolution. At the foot of the steps crouches Spintho, with his head clutched in his hands, full of horror at the approach of martyrdom.
On the east side of the passage the gladiators are standing and sitting at ease, waiting, like the Christians, for their turn in the arena. One (Retiarius) is a nearly naked man with a net and trident. Another (Secutor) is in armour with a sword. He carries a helmet with a barred visor. The Editor of the gladiators sits on a chair a little apart from them.
The Call Boy enters from the passage.
The Call Boy. Number six. Retiarius versus Secutor.
The gladiator with the net picks it up. The gladiator with the helmet puts it on; and the two go into the arena, the net-thrower taking out a little brush and arranging his hair as he goes, the other tightening his straps and shaking his shoulders loose. Both look at themselves in the mirrors before they enter the passage.
Lavinia. Will they really kill one another?
Spintho. Yes, if the people turn down their thumbs.
The Editor. You know nothing about it. The people indeed! Do you suppose we would kill a man worth perhaps fifty talents to please the riff-raff? I should like to catch any of my men at it.
Spintho. I thought——
The Editor [contemptuously]. You thought! Who cares what you think? You’ll be killed all right enough.