In the prison beneath, on a level with the Guadalquivir, the noble Theodofredo, father of Roderich, languishes, deprived of sight by red-hot irons held before the eyes, a favourite mode of torture, borrowed, like all that is degraded, from the Byzantines. Now Witica, who commanded this savage act, has taken his place in the same prison, and is to be judged by Theodofredo’s son. Wiser would it be, and more merciful, if Roderich should forego this vengeance. But with power have come the savage instincts of his race. The indulgence of his life has already begun to tell on his once generous nature. Little by little, he has fallen from the high position of regenerator of Spain, and, led on by evil counsel and a natural weakness inherent in his nature, has adopted the same false and cruel principles of government which he was called to the throne to reform. * * * * * Within a broad vaulted hall, the high roof supported by carved rafters, the walls hung with tapestry woven with silver thread--in which the stories of Gothic victories are rudely depicted--Roderich sits on a low silver throne. It is shaped like a shield, in remembrance of the early custom of the nomad chiefs, his ancestors, who, when invested with military command, were three times, standing upon a shield, carried round the camp, on the shoulders of stalwart Goths. A rich mantle of purple brocade covers a lightly wrought cuirass inlaid with gold. The Gothic crown, which has, in the altered manners of the time, come to be not of iron but of gold, set with resplendent jewels, rests upon his head, almost concealed by luxuriant masses of hair, falling on neck and shoulders, in beard and love-locks. His buskins are red, like the Eastern emperors’, and his feet, shod with pearled sandals, rest on an inlaid footstool. The sceptre lies beside him with his sword, and over his head is a raised canopy of cloth of gold, decorated with inscriptions in Runic characters and quaint devices, come down from early times. Around are the chiefs and nobles of the nation, gathered from all quarters of Spain--to judge him who lately was their king. All are men of war, habited in the superb but cumbrous armour of the time, before the delicate handling of the Moor turned metal into thin plates of steel, made swords as fine and piercing as needles, and armory a science. Nearest to Roderich stands Ataulfo, next in succession to the throne, a generous-hearted youth, full of the old virtues of his nation. With much of the ruddy countenance of the king, he shows his Northern origin in the chestnut locks which escape from his burnished cap, and a certain blond fairness in spite of exposure to a southern sun. [Illustration: THE CLOISTERS, TOLEDO.]