The day of their victory dawned, and the martyrs went from the prison to the amphitheatre as if they were on their way to heaven. Their faces were radiant; they were beautiful. They were moved, not by fear but by joy. Perpetua followed at a gentle pace, as a great lady of Christ, as the darling of God; the power of her gaze forced the spectators to lower their eyes. Felicitas follwed her, rejoicing that she had given birth in safety so that she might fight the beasts, from blood to blood, from midwife to gladiator, to find in her second baptism her purification from childbirth.

After being stripped and enclosed in nets they were brought into the arena. The people were horrified, seeing that one was a tender girl, the other a woman fresh from childbirth, with milk dripping from her breasts…Perpetua was tossed first and fell on her loins. As soon as she could sit up, she noticed her tunic was torn at the side; immediately she pulled it together to cover her thighs, more mindful of her modesty than of her suffering. Then she looked for a pin and fastened her disordered hair. For it was not seemly for a martyr to suffer with her hair disheveled, lest she should seem to mourn in the hour of her glory.

Acts of Perpetua and Felicitas, Christian Martyrs

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