They walked up the Calle de la Feria. The sloping street, with its tall, white houses bathed in the moonlight, presented a fantastic appearance; the two lines of roofs were outlined against the blue of the sky, broken here and there by the azoteas on some of the houses.
“Oh, yes,” continued the archæologist, “this wall used to extend from the Cruz del Rastro, to the Cuesta de Luján; then it stretched on through the Calle de la Zapatería and the Cuesta del Bailío, until it reached the tower on the Puerta del Rincón, where it ended.”
“So it cut the town in two, and one could not go from one side to the other? That was nice!”
“No. What nonsense! There were gates to go through. Up there near the Arquillo de Calceteros, was the Puerta de la Almadina, which in the time of the Romans, was called Piscatoria, or Fish Gate. The Portillo did not exist, and when they built against the wall, in the place it now occupies, there stood a house which the city bought in 1496 from its owner, Francisco Sánchez Torquemada, in order to open up an arch in the wall. This data,” added Don Gil confidentially, “comes from an original manuscript which is preserved in the City Hall. It’s curious, isn’t it?”
“Most curious.”
They climbed the Cuesta de Luján. The neighbouring streets were deserted; within some of the houses they could hear the vague sound of guitars; lovers whispered to each other at the grated windows.
“See?” said Don Gil, looking toward the lower end of the Calle de la Feria, “the fosses of the wall followed the line the moon makes in the street.”
“Very interesting,” murmured Quentin.
“Have you noticed how high the houses are in this street?”
“Yes, indeed; why is that?”