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  (Quintus exits into the storm.)

  PHILIUS: We’re going to Sicily, Strabo? . . .

  STRABO (To Pelargon): Wake him up.

  PHILIUS: Because, if we are, I’m going to need some new clothes.

  PELARGON: What is our plan? . . .

  STRABO: It’s not a “plan,” Pelargon. It is known as a “plot.” Which, as we are taught, is based upon human motivation.

  PELARGON: And what is the motivation?

  STRABO: Greed. Tomorrow morning . . .

  PELARGON: Tomorrow morning, the landlord doesn’t get the rent, we go to debtor’s prison.

  STRABO: I shall give him something rather better than the rent.

  PELARGON: What?

  STRABO: “An unexpected windfall.” What man does not prize “an unexpected windfall”?

  PELARGON: What is the windfall?

  STRABO: We offer to buy his building. Ramus, this insanely wealthy gentleman from Sicily, offers to buy this pest-trap for some fabulous sum . . . (To Ramus) Wake up.

  PELARGON: And how do we pay for it?

  STRABO: For what?

  PELARGON: The building.

  STRABO: Negotiations for the building, listen and learn, “drag on for months,” this is called “buying time,” during which time . . . (To Ramus) Wake up.

  RAMUS (Waking): Trinkets, potions and news. I do not seek charity . . .

  STRABO: Ramus, we have a job for you.

  RAMUS: Make a small purchase. From an old soldier . . .

  STRABO: Raa . . .

  PELARGON: Buy something . . .

  PHILIUS: Buy a charm, buy a charm, Strabo.

  STRABO: Yes, yes, yes, Ramus. Oh, please. This charm, sell me this charm. (He points to a charm hanging on Ramus’s belt)

  RAMUS: A fine choice, sir, for that charm was a gift from Lupus Albus, the White Wolf of Sardinia, when we served in . . .

  STRABO

  AND

  RAMUS (Simultaneously): . . . the Tenth African Legion.

  RAMUS: Which charm is warranted to immediately reverse ill fortune.

  STRABO: Accept this small coin with my thanks. Ramus: tomorrow morning, we’re going to put on a little “play” . . . You will impersonate a Sicilian lord . . .

  PELARGON: How’re we going to pass him off as a Sicilian lord?

  STRABO (Stating the obvious): We’re going to show up with him drunk. As drunk as one after a night touring “Rome’s curious byways . . .” So drunk will he be that, in his drunkenness, he wants to buy this pest-hole for five times its worth.

  PELARGON: Why?

  (Pause.)

  STRABO: It reminds him of his aunt’s house in Sardinia.

  PHILIUS: You’re very smart, Strabo.

  STRABO: Study the Classics. —Now, Ramus . . .

  (A knocking is heard at the door. All turn. Philius goes to the door.)

  VOICE (Offstage): Open up!

  STRABO: Oh, no.

  PHILIUS: Who could be coming out in such a storm?

  PELARGON: The bailiffs.

  STRABO: The swine actually sent the bailiffs.

  VOICE (Offstage): Open up!

  STRABO: All right. Tell them . . . tell them, we’ve gone.

  PHILIUS: Where have we gone?

  STRABO: To the Sicilian Cork Festival.

  PELARGON: “Just when everything was going so well . . .”

  (Philius opens the door. A Messenger stands in the doorway.)

  MESSENGER: By the gods.

  PELARGON: Oh, all right.

  PHILIUS: Be welcome. To the Studio of Strabo. Sicily called them and they have responded, and, thus, are not here. (Pause) Belike they are elsewhere.

  (Pause.)

  MESSENGER: What did you say?

  STRABO: He said “the Studio of Strabo.”

  MESSENGER: Why does he talk like that?

  STRABO: He has a cold.

  MESSENGER: He said “the Studio of Strabo”?

  STRABO: Yes.

  MESSENGER: I seek the Studio of Strabo.

  STRABO: You found it, but they aren’t here.

  MESSENGER: I had difficulty locating your house in the storm.

  STRABO: A bailiff may not evict lawful tenants from their home between dusk and dawn.

  MESSENGER: I’m . . .

  STRABO: Tell him.

  PELARGON: Section Three of the Pandects of Justinian.

  (Pelargon shrugs: “I’m making it up, but who’s gonna check?”)

  MESSENGER: I’ve studied the Pandects of Justinian.

  STRABO: As who has not.

  MESSENGER: And I don’t seem to . . .

  STRABO: Get on with it.

  MESSENGER: I represent Marcus Rufus Cronax. Richest man in Rome.

  (Pause.)

  STRABO: Marcus Cronax. Richest man in Rome?

  MESSENGER: As I have said. Who had engaged an acting troupe. To perform this evening at his wife’s festivities. They are unable to perform, and he sends to ask you to appear in their stead.

  (Pause.)

  The fee is meager, but six hundred sesterces, however . . .

  STRABO: You wish us to perform tonight . . .

  MESSENGER: We had engaged the Company of Gaius Paulus . . .

  STRABO: You had engaged the Company of Gaius Paulus . . .

  MESSENGER: But they have been lost at sea.

  (Pause.)

  STRABO: Oh gods, oh gods of fate, how we, from one dark moment to the next, stumble, grope and curse that which, with trust in you is revealed as a clear, shining path.

  PELARGON: We’ll be there.

  MESSENGER: The loss of brother actors must come as a cruel shock . . .

  STRABO: Paulus? Drowned? Where may we seek for consolation? . . .

  MESSENGER: Paulus. Yes. And all his company . . .

  PELARGON: Incredible loss to the theatrical world.

  MESSENGER: . . . the favorite actors of Caesar . . .

  STRABO: After the engagement we will rend our flesh.

  MESSENGER: Here are a list of the topics, they were to have dealt with at tonight’s festivities . . . We have but the one question . . .

  STRABO: State it.

  MESSENGER: . . . Do you have time enough, to fashion a play, between now and sunset? . . .

  STRABO: Sir, I am Strabo, who once improvised a two-hour ode . . .

  MESSENGER: Oh. Where?

  (Pause.)

  PELARGON: At the Sicilian Cork Festival.

  STRABO (To Pelargon): Thank you.

  MESSENGER: Here is the list of suggested topics. Do you know the house?

  STRABO: Do I know the house?

  MESSENGER: It is right next to the armory.

  STRABO: Who does not know the house of Marcus Rufus Cronax!

  MESSENGER: We expect you at sunset.

  STRABO: Can the sand stop the tide? . . .

  MESSENGER: By the gods.

  STRABO: Let us praise them with all our being.

  (The Messenger exits.)

  (Does a “stop the music”) Oh, ye gods, full of compassion who mete out to man not by his deserts, but by your immutable weights of Justice. Oh, ye gods, who do exist . . .

  PHILIUS: But . . .

  STRABO: . . . grant that the Troupe of Gaius Paulus, now taken to you, expired in prolonged agony.

  PHILIUS: . . . but.

  STRABO: . . . in the raging sea. —What?

  PHILIUS: But are we going to Sicily, Strabo?

  STRABO: No, sweetheart, we’re going to stay here and get rich.

  Scene Two

  A street. Night. Rain. The Herald walks by.

  HERALD:

  The Tenth African Legion in ignominy shamed.

  Then the Troupe of Paulus drowned at sea.

  The gods bid Rome within its doors to keep.

  Whilst the skies visage clouds,

  And een the heavens weep, oh woe, oh woe.

  (The Herald passes by as the three actors take shelter beneath an overhang. Strabo is doing his vocal exercises.)


  STRABO (To the Herald): Oh, take it elsewhere.

  HERALD: Peloponnesian Syrup of Myrtle—Rectifies the humors. Patricians use it, you can use it, too! Peloponnesian Syrup of Myrtle—Ask for it by name.

  STRABO: Mee mee mma maaa, mo mo mooo moo . . .

  PELARGON (Reading from a list): Topics to be covered at tonight’s festivities.

  STRABO: Test me, I am prepared . . .

  PELARGON: Cronax: his opposition, in the Senate, to the African Campaign.

  STRABO: The Tenth African Legion, we see, has just suffered its first defeat, as predicted, predicted, mind you, in the Senate, by our host, Marcus Rufus Cronax, arch foe of the Tenth African Legion . . .

  PELARGON: . . . which brings us . . .

  STRABO: I’ve got it. I’ve got it . . .

  PHILIUS: What do I get to say, Strabo . . .

  STRABO: I’ve got it, which, naturally, takes me to . . . which is the house, now? . . .

  (All look around.)

  PELARGON: It’s around here somewhere . . .

  STRABO: Which brings us to . . . his “tastes” . . . our host, and his “curious tastes.”

  PELARGON: You’re cutting pretty close to the bone.

  STRABO: Cronax is famed, all right? For enjoying a bawdy joke at his own expense. He’s got a heart as big as the Coliseum, which is now under construction. (Pause) All right? Our host, who, as we know, has developed a “certain proclivity” . . . I’m not going to say that he “likes women,” but, it’s been noted that he goes to bed with people who are “lacking in exterior equipment . . .” Uh . . . “Tenth African Legion” . . . favorite of Caesar . . . likes “women” . . .

  PELARGON: I’m not sure you can say that and get away with it.

  STRABO: “Grasp fortune by the forelock, Pelargon, for she has no hair behind.”

  (A door opens before them and a Man peers out.)

  Ah. Here we are . . .

  (The actors enter a darkened room lit by torchlight.)

  By the gods.

  MAN: By the gods!

  STRABO: We have arrived.

  MAN: We feared the storm would hinder you.

  STRABO: I hope my troupe, sir, knows its duty.

  MAN: Bless you.

  STRABO: We live to serve.

  MAN: Shall I present you? . . .

  STRABO: No, no, why win them over twice? You leave the evening in my hands.

  (The Man leads them to a small dais, before which sits ten men. Strabo takes the stage.)

  PHILIUS: Strabo . . .

  STRABO: Not now. —Gentlemen. Sorry if we’re late. I’m not going to tell you that it’s wet, but I got a squid down my shirt.

  (Pause.)

  And I’d complain, except he was giving me a hickey . . .

  (Pause.)

  He was giving me a hickey. I, uh . . . I know, I’ve got to be careful, touching on personal matters. I know our host, for example, has, and god knows he’s entitled to them, “curious tastes” . . . I’m not saying he likes “women,” but . . . But we know some of the people he goes to bed with are noticeably lacking in exterior equipment. Or, as the soldiers say, “Perhaps they forgot to pack their tent pole.”

  (Deathly silence.)

  “. . . pack their tent pole . . .” We’re told he made the switch to women and on his wedding night uttered that timeless phrase: “I know it’s around here somewhere . . .” He’s had three wives—but that may be because he thought the clitoris was a building in Greece.

  (Pause.)

  PELARGON (Prompting): Tenth African Legion . . .

  PHILIUS: Strabo . . .

  STRABO: Speaking of which, I see where, “too bad,” the Tenth African Legion has suffered its first defeat. You know who they are. They’re the boys their spears come in three sizes: small, medium and “thank you for a lovely evening.”

  PHILIUS: Strabo.

  (Pause.)

  STRABO: I see they got their asses whomped and they’ve been brought home in shame. Well, what general planned that campaign? He must be one arch shy of an aqueduct . . .

  (Pause.)

  . . . one arch shy of an aqueduct . . .

  (The audience grumbles.)

  Well, they’ll have less heads, but we’ll have more helmets . . .

  PHILIUS: Strabo, we’re in the wrong house.

  (The audience grumbles.)

  Cronax lives across the street.

  AUDIENCE MEMBER: Kill them all!

  PHILIUS: This is the Armory of the Tenth African Legion . . .

  AUDIENCE: Kill them, kill them, kill them! . . .

  (Blackout. The Herald enters.

  The dungeon room of the Tenth African Legion. Night. Philius, Pelargon and Strabo are chained to a bench.)

  HERALD:

  O Wicked wicked world

  How you have wronged me

  For my love lies ’crost the

  Straits of Messina

  O, Fortunate, you pelicans and other wingèd birds

  Original verses—no two alike—

  Or will write-to-suit—

  You only pay for what you use—

  Original verses—

  We come to you—

  STRABO: Well, there’s some mistake.

  (Titus walks by.)

  Fellow.

  TITUS: What?

  STRABO: Fellow, there’s some mistake.

  TITUS: Well, no. I know that.

  STRABO: And I’d like to ask you, to bring down, someone in charge. So that we may correct this unfortunate misunderstanding. Who’s in charge here?

  TITUS: Lupus Albus.

  STRABO: Lupus Albus? The White Wolf of Sardinia? . . .

  TITUS: No. He’s long dead. This is his son. Lupus Albus Secundus, the White Wolf of Phrygia . . .

  STRABO: OK, whoever he’s the white wolf of, I’d like to ask him to come down, so I can explain what I’m sure he will join me in laughing at, as a regrettable but, amusing, error. You see: we were engaged to perform tonight at the home of Marcus Rufus Cronax, richest man in Rome.

  TITUS: Yes, his house is across the street . . .

  STRABO: As you so wisely note. And, in the rain, we, mistakenly, found ourselves here . . .

  TITUS: We were expecting another group, but they were delayed by the rain.

  STRABO: Delayed by the rain, were they.

  TITUS: But they’ve arrived now . . .

  STRABO: Another troupe of actors?

  TITUS: No. Of priests.

  STRABO: . . . Priests.

  TITUS: . . . Who are now conducting the funeral service.

  (Pause.)

  STRABO: The funeral service.

  TITUS: Yes. The most solemn last rites for lost Brothers in Arms of the Tenth African Legion.

  (Pause.)

  Which sacred rites you have profaned.

  (Titus exits.)

  STRABO: . . . All right . . . Pelargon . . .

  PELARGON: Don’t talk to me . . .

  PHILIUS: Strabo: are we going to Sicily?

  STRABO: All right: here’s my plan. Here is my plan: We are, are we not? The valued, the beloved friends of who? Pelargon? Of who?

  PHILIUS: Of who, Strabo . . . ?

  STRABO: Of Marcus Rufus Cronax, richest man in Rome, who, at this very minute—

  (Silence. At the entrance to the dungeon is Lupus Albus, the White Wolf of Phrygia, backed by Titus and two Centurions.)

  Sir, sir? We are the beloved friends of your neighbor: Marcus Rufus Cronax. Richest—

  LUPUS ALBUS: Centurion . . .

  TITUS: Quiet before Lupus Albus.

  (Titus exits. Pause.)

  LUPUS ALBUS: Were you sent by Cronax? Cronax do you say?

  STRABO: Yes, sir. Yes, sir. We are in the pay of Cronax.

  LUPUS ALBUS: Sent by him?

  STRABO: Yes!

  LUPUS ALBUS: Cronax, our staunchest foe. In the Senate . . . ?

  STRABO: He’s in the “Senate,” do you say?

  LUPUS ALBUS: As all the world knows—


  STRABO: All the world but us poor actors—ha ha ha, no—god forbid we get involved in politics . . .

  LUPUS ALBUS: Indeed?

  STRABO: Oh, please. We are as innocent of politics as the Babe Unborn.

  LUPUS ALBUS: Then, you say, you do not know of our disgrace . . .

  PHILIUS: I tried to tell you.

  STRABO: Your disgrace? No. No. I know nothing but your interminable Career of Martial Glory! Oh, Mighty Scourge of . . .

  PELARGON: Phrygia . . .

  STRABO: Oh, mighty Scourge of Phrygia.

  LUPUS ALBUS: And, you alone, in all Rome, are ignorant of our first defeat?

  STRABO: “First defeat”? No.

  PHILIUS: No, Strabo, you heard about that . . .

  STRABO: The Tenth African Legion fail?

  PHILIUS: Strabo, you know that . . .

  STRABO: The young child is insane, and “we keep him by us, as a reminder of the fragility of all things.”

  LUPUS ALBUS: You did not know, we had been recalled to Rome to suffer disgrace and decimation before Caesar . . .

  STRABO: May the gods decree otherwise . . . oh, sir . . .

  LUPUS ALBUS: . . . which disgrace was ordained by that swine, Cronax? . . .

  STRABO: . . . A curse upon his seed . . .

  LUPUS ALBUS: . . . who stood in the Senate and demanded that decimation . . . to which we go at sunrise?

  STRABO: May the sun, sir, which rises upon the disgrace of the Tenth African Legion live to rue the day.

  (Pause.)

  LUPUS ALBUS: Have you not uttered sufficient blasphemy.

  STRABO: “blasphemy” . . .

  LUPUS ALBUS: You have spewed your bawdy filth at the sacred observance of the Funeral Ode for Fallen Comrades.

  STRABO: I plead to spend the remainder of my life in expiation.

  (Titus enters. Men grumble offstage.)

  TITUS: Sir, the men, in their rage, are clamoring for the actors’ blood.

  LUPUS ALBUS: Clamoring for blood are they? . . . Let’s give them blood, then—to cleanse this vile blasphemy.

  STRABO: Uh . . .

  LUPUS ALBUS (To Titus): Kill them all . . .

  (Lupus Albus turns to go.)