he swept through the Strait of Gibraltar and along the coasts of Spain
and France, plundering as he went till he reached the harbor of Lucca,
Italy.

As to where and what Rome was, the unlettered heathen had but the
dimmest conception. Here before him lay what seemed a great and rich
city, strongly fortified and thickly peopled. This must be Rome, he told
himself; behind those lofty walls lay the wealth which he so earnestly
craved; but how could it be obtained? Assault on those strong
fortifications would waste time, and perhaps end in defeat. If the city
could be won by stratagem, so much the better for himself and his men.

The shrewd Norseman quickly devised a promising plan within the depths
of his astute brain. It was the Christmas season, and the inhabitants
were engaged in the celebration of the Christmas festival, though,
doubtless, sorely troubled in mind by that swarm of strange-shaped
vessels in their harbor, with their stalwart crews of blue-eyed
plunderers.

Word was sent to the authorities of the city that the fleet had come
thither from no hostile intent, and that all the mariners wished was to
obtain the favor of an honorable burial-place for their chieftain, who
had just died. If the citizens would grant them this, they would engage
to depart after the funeral without injury to their courteous and
benevolent friends. The message--probably not expressed in quite the
above phrase--was received in good faith by the unsuspecting Lombards,
who were glad enough to get rid of their dangerous visitors on such
cheap terms, and gratified to learn that these fierce pagans wished
Christian burial for their chief. Word was accordingly sent to the ships
that the authorities granted their request, and were pleased with the