At night Antioch glittered with thousands of lights, especially along the Syngon, which ran through the city for a distance of twenty-six stadia, with porticoes and colonnades thronged with shops throughout its length. In the crowd, pleasantries about the Emperor ran from mouth to mouth. Street boys rushed about from group to group shouting satirical ditties. An old woman caught one of the little vagabonds, and, lifting his shirt, administered sound correction with the sole of her sandal. "Take that! and that! to teach you to sing such disgraceful things!" The urchin uttered piercing squeals. Another, clambering on the back of a comrade, drew on the white wall with a piece of coal a long-bearded goat, crowned with the Imperial diadem, while a third wrote underneath in big letters, "This is the impious Julian!" and trying to make his voice formidable yelled-- "The butcher comes With a big, big knife!" An old man in the long black ecclesiastical habit passing by, halted, listened to the boy, and cast up his eyes to heaven-- "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings proceedeth wisdom! Were we not better off under Cappa and Khi?" "What do you mean by Cappa and Khi?" "Don't you understand? The Greek letter Cappa (_K_) begins the name of Constantius, and Khi (_X_) is the initial of 'Christ.' I mean by that, that Constantius and Christ did no harm to the inhabitants of Antioch while the philosophers...." "True, true! One was better off under Cappa and Khi!" A drunken man, overhearing this colloquy, hawked the saying about the streets, and the pleasantry circulated through Antioch, and being manifestly absurd tickled the popular fancy. A scene of still greater animation might have been witnessed in the tavern situated opposite the baths. This tavern belonged to the Armenian Syrax, who had long ago transferred his commercial undertakings from Cæsarea to Antioch. From bulging wine-skins and enormous jars, wine was pouring freely into tin cups. Here, as everywhere, the conversation turned on the Emperor's doings. The little Syrian soldier Strombix, the same who had taken part in Julian's campaign against the barbarians in Gaul, was distinguishing himself by special eloquence. By his side lolled the faithful giant, his friend, the Sarmatian, Aragaris. Strombix felt as happy as a fish in water; he loved risings and rebellions better than anything in the world. He was preparing to make a speech. An old rag-picker had just brought in a sensational piece of news-- "We're all doomed!... The Lord's hand is heavy on us.... Yesterday a neighbour of mine told me something which at first I refused to believe!" "Tell us, good woman!" "Well, it was at Gaza. The Pagans seized a convent. They made the nuns come out. They tied them to gallows in the market-place, beat 'em to death, and after rolling their warm bodies, all hacked to pieces, in grains of barley, threw 'em to the swine!"