"We sleep to-night outside the gate of Bel. It is too late for admission to the city. The sun has set."
Charmides nodded an absent-minded acquiescence. His thoughts had been stunned by the first glimpse of this tremendous city, and the chaos in his mind was too great for him to pay attention to any trivial remark. Hitherto his measure of magnitude of buildings had been the new temple of Apollo at Selinous, with its length of four hundred feet, its width of two hundred, its columns more than fifty feet high: this for a temple, the third largest in the Greek world. Now he was confronted by a wall, a wall of defence, forty miles long, two hundred feet from base to summit,[4] and of such a thickness that upon its top two four-horse chariots could pass with ease. Watch-towers, in which guards lived, rose higher still from the great wall, that was open in a hundred places, each opening provided with a gate of wrought brass, which was closed from sunset to dawn.
As the caravan neared the inner and lesser wall and approached the gate of Bel, Charmides saw that before it was a square space, well paved and arranged with stalls and booths, in which a goodly number of people evidently purposed passing the night. Each of the hundred gates was provided with a sort of customs bureau, where all goods to be sold in the city were appraised and taxed according to a fixed tariff. From this petty fee cattle, grain, and fruits were not exempt; and, since the officer of taxes was off duty from sunset till sunrise, it frequently occurred that, on a market or festival day, each rébit, or square before a gate, was occupied through the night by those that wished to enter the city early in the morning.
As the line of weary camels came to a final halt, and the score of wearier men dismounted for the last time, there was one general, short cry of thanksgiving, in which Charmides joined as heartily as the rest; and then Hodo sought him and took him by the arm, drawing him along the square as he said:
"We will sup together, Charmides—yonder."
In a corner against the wall an enterprising merchant had set up a small restaurant of clever design, where hot wheaten cakes, roast goat's flesh, and cooked sesame, together with various fruits, flasks of fermented liquor, jars of beer, or flagons of goat's milk might be bought at a very reasonable price. Charmides rejoiced at the sight of food, for he was spent with the heat and the journey. And he offered to change one of his silver pieces for such of the food as Hodo and he desired. But this the little Babylonian would not have.
"This night is the last, my Greek. Eat with me. Many a use there will be for that silver of yours. On your first night within Nimitti-Bel you shall be my guest."
Then Charmides tried to thank his friend once more for all the voluntary and unlooked-for kindness that had been shown him since the caravan left Tyre. It was with difficulty, indeed, that the rhapsode found words fittingly sincere for his gratitude. But, long before he had finished, Hodo, with a little, deprecating gesture, stopped him.
"You shall not thank me, Charmides," he said, sadly. "Rather bless those gods that gave you a face so fair and a personality so gracious that he who comes in contact with you cannot but love you. Truly, youth, I am loath to part with you; and I hope that you will not rise so high that in after-time your eyes will be above the level of mine."
Charmides' reply to this was simply to press the other's hand to his brow. Then, the two having finished their meal, they wrapped up their cloaks for cushions and sat down, with their backs to the wall, to watch the sights in the square. Charmides held his bundle on his knees, and his lyre lay beside him on the ground. He was bareheaded, and, as he sat in the shadow of the wall, his face was indistinguishable to the passers-by. Hodo was silent, and Charmides felt no inclination to talk. His eyes wandered over the busy square, from which a clatter of talk was rising. To the Greek, looking on, it seemed as if a hundred nationalities were before him, so different were the faces, dress, and manners of the men and women passing on every side. Here a heavy-bearded, coarse-clad goatherd, with his flock around him, lay already asleep. There a company of market-girls, bare-headed, in loosely fluttering robes, stood gossiping together or laughing at the little date-merchant opposite. Before the gate were half a dozen soldiers with permits for entering the city after hours, quaffing beer, or the heavy liquor of the date-cabbage, from their helmets. Farther away a donkey-boy was beating a refractory member of his drove into submission; while, in the very centre of the square, the group of camels belonging to Hodo's caravan lay gazing loftily at the scene before them, their self-satisfied faces showing no trace of the fatigue that three long weeks upon the desert sands must surely have brought them. All these, and infinitely more, the rhapsode watched with increasing interest. New arrivals were frequent, and the square gradually became massed with people.