10 greeted the beasts with an enthusiasm mixed with terror and excitement. Seated in the vestals’ box,1 next to the emperor’s, Octavia could not take her eyes off the little group in the center of the arena. Four men and two women. Two of them looked hardly older than herself, eighteen at the most. On the arrival of the lions, they barely moved. From where she was seated, one of the best seats in the stadium, she could see their faces perfectly: they looked strangely serene, and their lips never stopped moving. “What are they doing?” she asked, turning to her older friend. “They’re praying,” the woman tartly replied. “They must be asking their God to save them.” Octavia chose to overlook the vestal’s mocking tone of voice and watched with fascination the six Christians condemned to death. Their calmness was impressive; so impressive that the lions paid no attention to these victims offered up to them. The beasts slowly paced up and down the arena, now and then giving a great toss of their heads, shaking their manes. The lions were huge. Their muscles rippled under reddish fur. They sniffed the odd scent in the air. It smelled human, as strong as several humans even, mingled with the smell of sweat, strong perfume, and food. The beasts weren’t used to so much stimulation. They seemed confused. In the stands, the crowd was growing impatient. They had been promised a big show, but these wild animals seemed as harmless as kittens. A man whistled with annoyance. Soon another man joined him. Little by little, an angry rumble grew, electrifying the crowd, who began to shout and yell. In the 1. Assigned seating for the vestal virgins, the six priestesses of Vesta, the goddess of the hearth.
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