CENTURION: Has what, sir?
PILATE: Spiwit.
CENTURION: Yes. He did, sir.
PILATE: No, no. Spiwit, siw. Um, bwavado. A touch of dewwing-do.
CENTURION: Oh. Ahh, about eleven, sir.
PILATE: So, you dare to waid us.
BRIAN: To what, sir?
PILATE: Stwike him, Centuwion, vewy woughly!
slap