Alboin had no idea of the thoughts that filled his wife’s heart. Intent on conquest, he crossed the Alps into Italy at the head of his own people, of those Gepidæ who had followed the fortunes of their princess, and of other adventurers who had joined his train. This he did in response to an invitation from the Roman general Narses, victor over the Ostrogoths, who feeling himself slighted by the imperial court, had determined on vengeance. Alboin carried all before him, and destroyed every town and fortress that did not at once open its gates to receive him. Pavia alone offered a long resistance. During his three years’ siege of that city, the Langobardian king made raids into the neighbouring country and brought it under his rule. One warrior alone was equal to him in prowess, and that was Peredeus, a giant, who was said to possess the strength of twelve ordinary men. At last the gates of Pavia opened, and Alboin, who had sworn to put the inhabitants to fire and sword, rode in under the archway. Just then his horse stumbled, and a priest exclaimed that this was an omen that he should die a violent death if he kept his word. The king believed the warning, forgave, and spared the city. [Illustration: ALBOIN FORCES ROSAMUND TO DRINK OUT OF HER FATHER’S SKULL.] THE REGICIDE. Alboin gave a great feast to his warriors, at which much of the fiery wine of the south was consumed. The talk of the guests was of the great deeds of Wodan, the god of battles, and how he and Frigga had led their fathers to victory; then they spoke of their own conquest of the Gepidæ and their victories in Italy. In the midst of this, Alboin, intoxicated with wine and pride, commanded that the goblet made out of Künemund’s skull should be brought, and turning to queen Rosamund desired her to pledge him it. She hesitated. “Why,” he cried, “know you not, Rosamund, that I love you more than aught in the world besides? Show me now your love and obedience by doing what I bid you.” She looked at him in silent entreaty, but her hesitation aroused his anger. He raised his hand to strike her—and then—she lifted her murdered father’s skull to her lips. None could tell whether she drank or not, for, flinging the goblet on the table so violently that the wine ran out, she said, “I have obeyed you, but you have lost your wife.” Having uttered these words, she rose and left the room. A hoarse murmur of indignation passed from mouth to mouth, for no one approved of what the king had done. And he, suddenly sobered by his wife’s words and action, got up and left the hall.