So bushy and matted is his hair--worn in the fashion of the Goths, in long loose curls--and so thick his beard, that the sunken features of the good old King are almost hidden. For twenty-three years Recesvinto has reigned in peace, and now he lies in honoured death, while gathered around him is such pomp as the nation possesses of golden crome and kingly insignia; ermine-lined robe, and silken vest, sandals and buskins laced with gold, the baton of command and the Gothic sceptre long borne in battle by their kings. The vaulted chamber in which he lies in the castle of Gerticos is lined with planks of shining pine, on which some rude embroidery is stretched. The hallowed roof is formed of thick beams and rafters, and huge fireplaces flank either end, filled now with strong-smelling herbs, rosemary and wild myrtle, lavender and thyme, loose sprigs of which, with yew and cypress, are strewn on the rudely worked counterpane which covers the corpse. Broadswords with huge hilts are crossed upon the walls, along with solidly embossed shields and heavily topped lances, the implements of the chase, and skins of wolves and deer, which have fallen by the prowess of those royal hands, now lying white and cold in death, crossed on his breast, clasping a crucifix! Saddles, too, and the silver trappings of his war-horse, are there, and Runic bracelets, collars, and buckles; all the paraphernalia of a Gothic chief, come down from Dacian ancestors, ranged on tables full in the crimson rays of the setting sun, streaming through the small bars of the uncurtained casements, and illuminating each detail in flickering patches as of flame. On an oaken bench an altar has been raised to receive his last confession, devoutly made, as he felt death approaching. The Eucharist is still present in a jewelled box, the cup, platter, and crucifix, while priests and acolytes, in stoles and copes, offer up silent prayers for his departed soul. Clouds of incense darken the room and mount into the lofty vaulting of the roof in huge shadowy masses, which to the superstitious mind might shape into the outlines of dead Gothic kings, hovering over the form of the royal brother who has joined them in the world beyond. Around the chamber are gathered the warriors and chiefs who have followed him in battle, habited in the full loose garments of peace, bound in with girdles and waistbands. Tall, strong men, with blue eyes and fair skins, who, by their dress, might be mistaken for Roman senators, save for the pervading colour of their abundant hair, passing from every tint of pale straw colour to a dull red, their bare arms circled with bracelets and amulets, on which, spite of Christian doctrine, charms and cabalistic signs are engraved.