Great and wide-spread was the consternation which seized the Goths after the rout of the Guadalete. The entire resources of the kingdom had been staked and lost. The sovereign had mysteriously disappeared. In the carnage of the field, and in that which had accompanied the still more disastrous retreat, the nobility had suffered so greatly that few, if any, of its members who were eligible to the throne had survived or remained at liberty. The sacred profession of the priesthood, which had encouraged by its presence and exhortations the flagging spirits of the soldiery, had not been able to protect them from the edge of the Moorish scimetar. The hatred and fanaticism of the invaders were aroused to frenzy by the sight of the vestments and insignia of the Church, and even the most venerable prelates were massacred; for the ferocious Moslem gave no quarter to the ministers of Christianity, and disdained even the menial services of those who had denounced to eternal perdition the followers of the Prophet. The accumulated wealth of generations, which the vanity and ostentation of the palatines had exhibited at the court, on the march, and in the camp, had been swept into the coffers of the victor. The fugitives who were so fortunate as to escape took refuge in the neighboring cities; whither they were soon followed by the peasantry, who beheld with dismay the sight of their burning homes and desolated fields. In one engagement, and virtually in a single day, one of the most populous and opulent countries of Europe had succumbed to the impetuous but desultory attack of an unknown foe. For the space of two centuries, and under far less favorable circumstances, the Carthaginian and Iberian provinces of the Peninsula had successfully defied the resources and the prestige of the Roman arms. For three centuries longer, the Visigoths, relying upon the traditions and military fame of their ancestors, had protected, without difficulty, their possessions wrested from the feeble hands of the Cæsars, and had repeatedly rolled back the tide of Frankish invasion from the slopes of the Pyrenees. With the advent of overwhelming national misfortune, there fell upon the terror-stricken people the apathy of despair. The public wretchedness was augmented by the censures of the clergy, who, with characteristic effrontery, declared the invasion to be a divine punishment for the crimes of the wicked; crimes in which they themselves had not only participated, but by their shameless conduct had obtained an infamous pre-eminence in an age of unprecedented corruption.