The strong men bathed in horse urine to harden their muscles. Their only luxury consisted in weapons. They admired as priceless jewels the bronze swords brought from the north of the Peninsula, and those of steel made by the people of Bilbilis and tempered in the sands of their famous river. The flexible cuirasses, formed by several thicknesses of superposed linen, or those of leather, decorated with nails, were defensive arms which the Celtiberian never laid aside, not even when in bed. They slept dressed in the sagum, the metal greaves on their legs, and their weapons within reach of the hand, ready to fight the instant the slightest alarm might disturb their sleep.
After three days of travel the caravan entered the territory belonging to the tribes of Alorcus. The mountains separated on both sides of the Jalón, forming smiling valleys covered by tall grasses, through which ran herds of wild horses with curling manes and waving tails. The women came out of the villages to greet Alorcus, and the men, grasping lances, mounted their horses and joined the caravan. In the first village where they stopped an old man told Alorcus that his father, the powerful Endovellicus, was dying, and in the next through which they passed in a few hours, he heard that the great chieftain had died at daybreak.
All the warriors of the tribe, herders and farmers, followed them on horseback. When they reached the village where the kinglet had lived, the escort had grown to a small army.
In the doorway of the paternal house, a low structure of red stones roofed with logs, Alorcus saw his sisters in dresses made of flowers and wearing around their necks and over their heads cage-like collars from the bars of which hung mourning veils.
The sisters of Alorcus, as well as the women who accompanied them, the wives of the chief warriors of the tribe, hid their grief at the death of the chieftain, and smiled as if it were the eve of a festival. Old age was a disgrace among the Celtiberians, who held life in contempt, and fought for diversion when not engaged in war. To die in bed was deemed dishonorable, and the only thing which somewhat disturbed the serenity of the family of Endovellicus was that so famous a warrior, the terror of neighboring clans, should have died with white hair, his life flickering out like a wasted torch, after having galloped his steed through so many combats, hurling his sword like a thunderbolt upon the enemy.