THE RETIARIUS. Perhaps that is why I did it, Caesar. He bet me ten sesterces that he would vanquish me. If I had had to kill him I should not have had the money. CAESAR. (_indulgent, laughing_) You rogues: there is no end to your tricks. I’ll dismiss you all and have elephants to fight. They fight fairly. (_He goes up to his box, and knocks at it. It is opened from within by the Captain, who stands as on parade to let him pass_). The Call Boy comes from the passage, followed by three attendants carrying respectively a bundle of swords, some helmets, and some breastplates and pieces of armor which they throw down in a heap. THE CALL BOY. By your leave, Caesar. Number eleven! Gladiators and Christians! _Ferrovius springs up, ready for martyrdom. The other Christians take the summons as best they can, some joyful and brave, some patient and dignified, some tearful and helpless, some embracing one another with emotion. The Call Boy goes back into the passage._ CAESAR. (_turning at the door of the box_) The hour has come, Ferrovius. I shall go into my box and see you killed, since you scorn the Pretorian Guard. (_He goes into the box. The Captain shuts the door, remaining inside with the Emperor. Metellus and the rest of the suite disperse to their seats. The Christians, led by Ferrovius, move towards the passage_). LAVINIA. (_to Ferrovius_) Farewell. THE EDITOR. Steady there. You Christians have got to fight. Here! arm yourselves. FERROVIUS. (_picking up a sword_) I’ll die sword in hand to show people that I could fight if it were my Master’s will, and that I could kill the man who kills me if I chose. THE EDITOR. Put on that armor. FERROVIUS. No armor. THE EDITOR. (_bullying him_) Do what you’re told. Put on that armor. FERROVIUS. (_gripping the sword and looking dangerous_) I said, No armor. THE EDITOR. And what am I to say when I am accused of sending a naked man in to fight my men in armor? FERROVIUS. Say your prayers, brother; and have no fear of the princes of this world. THE EDITOR. Tsha! You obstinate fool! (_He bites his lips irresolutely, not knowing exactly what to do_). ANDROCLES. (_to Ferrovius_) Farewell, brother, till we meet in the sweet by-and-by. THE EDITOR. (_to Androcles_) You are going too. Take a sword there; and put on any armor you can find to fit you. 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?