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.
Alboin did not see Rosamund again until the following day, when she went about her usual duties quietly. The insult seemed to be forgiven and forgotten. But Rosamund could neither forgive nor forget. She dreamed of vengeance. At last she persuaded Helmigis, the king’s shield-bearer, to murder his master; but when the moment for action came, he feared to do the deed. So the queen turned to Peredeus for help, and by means of flattery and sweet words brought him over to her side. One evening he slipt into the king’s room and slew him. Before Alboin’s death became known, the conspirators, of whom there were many, got possession of the royal treasure, and hid it away in a secret place. Soon after this, Rosamund announced her betrothal to Helmigis, and named him as Alboin’s successor in royal power.
The nobles assembled to debate this point, and, after much discussion, it was agreed by a large majority that the murderer of the great Alboin was the last man who ought to succeed him; that he should rather be punished for his crime. Hearing how matters were going on in the council, the conspirators fled.
The Retribution.
Guarded by her faithful Gepidæ, Rosamund and her accomplices reached Ravenna in safety with the treasure they had carried away with them. There they placed themselves under the protection of Longinus, exarch or viceroy of the Eastern emperor. They had not been there long when Longinus, having fallen desperately in love with the fair widow, or with the wealth of which she was possessed, asked Rosamund to marry him, and she at once consented on condition that the viceroy freed her from Helmigis, to whom she was already bound. Longinus gave her a cup of wine mixed with a deadly poison, telling her to give it to Helmigis the next time he complained of thirst. This she did. Her victim drained half the goblet at a draught. The poison was so strong that he immediately felt he was doomed, and drawing his sword, forced her to finish what he had left. Thus the murderers died, and their great treasure fell into the hands of the Roman viceroy. But the story tells us that wealth did not make him happy, and that it was the ultimate cause of his death.
We have still to learn what became of Peredeus, the giant. He was so used to deeds of violence that he thought the murder of Alboin a mere nothing. Placing himself at the head of a band of Gepidæ, he set out for Constantinople and offered his services to the emperor. His great strength gained him a high position at court, and raised him in his master’s favour. As time went on he became discontented with the treatment he received, thinking it hardly consistent with the gratitude he deserved for his manifold services. Some of his angry words were repeated to his master, who determined to make him powerless to hurt the throne. One night, when Peredeus was snoring off the effects of a drunken orgy, a number of men crept into his room, chained him hand and foot, and put out his eyes. His howls of pain were so terrible that they made all in the palace and neighbourhood tremble.
The blind giant showed himself quiet and obedient, so that his guards ceased to fear him, but still they never took off his chains until one evening he begged to be allowed to wrestle before the emperor, maintaining that his strength was unabated. He was led into the great hall, and there, amid the general applause, proved himself as mighty an athlete as he had ever been. Suddenly he heard the emperor’s voice, and dashing in that direction, plunged a knife he had concealed about his person into the hearts of two great officials of the court, whom he mistook for the emperor. A few minutes more and he had fallen under the spears of the body-guard.