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? LAVINIA. You will find your real faith in the hour of trial. FERROVIUS. That is what I fear. I know that I am a fighter. How can I feel sure that I am a Christian? ANDROCLES. Throw away the sword, brother. FERROVIUS. I cannot. It cleaves to my hand. I could as easily throw a woman I loved from my arms. (_Starting_) Who spoke that blasphemy? Not I. LAVINIA. I can’t help you, friend. I can’t tell you not to save your own life. Something wilful in me wants to see you fight your way into heaven. FERROVIUS. Ha! ANDROCLES. But if you are going to give up our faith, brother, why not do it without hurting anybody? Don’t fight them. Burn the incense. FERROVIUS. Burn the incense! Never. LAVINIA. That is only pride, Ferrovius. FERROVIUS. ONLY pride! What is nobler than pride? (_Conscience stricken_) Oh, I’m steeped in sin. I’m proud of my pride. LAVINIA. They say we Christians are the proudest devils on earth—that only the weak are meek. Oh, I am worse than you. I ought to send you to death; and I am tempting you. ANDROCLES. Brother, brother: let them rage and kill: let us be brave and suffer. You must go as a lamb to the slaughter. FERROVIUS. Aye, aye: that is right. Not as a lamb is slain by the butcher; but as a butcher might let himself be slain by a (_looking at the Editor_) by a silly ram whose head he could fetch off in one twist. _Before the Editor can retort, the Call Boy rushes up through the passage; and the Captain comes from the Emperor’s box and descends the steps._ THE CALL BOY. In with you: into the arena. The stage is waiting. THE CAPTAIN. The Emperor is waiting. (_To the Editor_) What are you dreaming of, man? Send your men in at once. THE EDITOR. Yes, Sir: it’s these Christians hanging back. FERROVIUS. (_in a voice of thunder_) Liar! THE EDITOR. (_not heeding him_) March. (_The gladiators told off to fight with the Christians march down the passage_) Follow up there, you.