of a noble knight and royal hero, and his first queen, Margrete of

Bohemia, was called by the people "Dagmar," or "Day's Maiden," from their

admiration of her gentleness and beauty. In many of their national songs

she is represented as a fair, fragile, golden-haired princess, mild and

pure as a saint, the only sin she could think of to confess on her

death-bed being that she had put on her best dress and plaited her hair

with bright ribbons before going to mass. While the Danes thus regard the

memory of Queen Dagmar, they have no words too bad to use in speaking of

Valdemar's second queen, the black-haired Berangaria, whose name became

with them a by-word for a vile woman.



But Valdemar's tale is largely one of sorrow and suffering and rarely has

monarch had to bear so cruel a fate as was his during many unhappy years

of his life.



Valdemar was the son of Valdemar I., and brother of King Knud, for whom

as a prince he fought bravely, putting down the Sleswick rebels, who had

been stirred to rebellion by the German emperor, and conquering his

enemy, Count Adolf of Holstein. Succeeding his brother Knud in 1202, his

first exploit was the conquest of Pomerania, which Knud had won before

him. This was now added to the Danish dominions, and in 1217 the German

emperor of that date granted to him and the future kings of Denmark all

the territories north of the Elbe and the Elde. Thus Valdemar was made

master of a great part of northern Germany and ruled over a wider

dominion to the south than any Danish king before or after.



His success in the south led him to attempt the conquest of the north,

and armies were sent to Norway and Sweden with the hope of winning these

kingdoms for the Danish crown. In this effort he failed, but in 1219 his

zeal for the Church and love of adventure led him to undertake a great

expedition, a crusade against the heathens of Esthonia.



Gathering an army of sixty thousand men and a fleet of fourteen hundred

ships, a mighty force even for the small craft of that day, he quickly

made himself master of that stronghold of paganism, great numbers of the

people consenting to be baptized. But here he found a new and unexpected

enemy and had to fight fiercely for the privilege of carrying the cross

of Christ to the heathen Esthonians.



His new enemies were the Knights of the Sword, of Livonia, who declared

that the duty of converting the pagans in that region belonged to them,

and that no other Christians had the right to interfere. And from this

ensued a war in which fierce battles were fought and much blood was shed,

for the purpose of deciding who should have the privilege of converting

the heathen. It is doubtful if ever before or since a war has been fought

for such a purpose, and the heathens themselves must have looked on with

grim satisfaction to see their enemies cutting each other's throats to

settle the question as to who had the best right to baptize them.



In one of the battles with the heathens, while Bishop Andreas, the

successor to Bishop Absolon, was praying on a high hill with uplifted

hands for victory, there suddenly fell down from heaven the Danneborg,

the national standard of Denmark. At least, that is what legend tells us

of its appearance.



It is held to be much more probable that this banner, bearing a white

cross on a blood-red field, was sent by the Pope to Valdemar as a token

of his favor and support, and that its sudden appearance, when the Danes

were beginning to waver before the pagan assaults, gave them the spirit

that led to victory. The result, in those days of superstition, naturally

gave rise to the legend.



When Valdemar returned a victor from Esthonia, having beaten alike the

pagans and the Livonian knights, and bearing with him the victorious

Danneborg, he was at the height of his glory, and none dreamed of the

terrible disaster that awaited him. He had made enemies among the German

princes, and they conspired against him, but they were forced to submit

to his rule. Some of those whose lands he had seized did not hesitate to

express openly their hatred for him; but others, while secretly plotting

against him, pretended to be his friends, shared in his wars and his

courtly ceremonies, and were glad to accept favors from his hands.



One of those who hated him most bitterly, yet who seemed most attached to

him, was the Count-Duke of Schwerin, a man who, alike from his dark

complexion and his evil disposition, was known in his own country as

"Black Henry." The king had often been warned to beware of this man, but,

frank and open by nature and slow to suspect guile, he disregarded these

warnings and went on treating him as a trusty friend.



This enabled Count Henry to make himself familiar with Valdemar's habits

and mode of life. He secretly aided certain traitors who cherished evil

designs against the king; but when he found that all these plots failed

he devised one of his own which the king's trust in him aided him in

carrying out.



In the spring of the year 1233 Valdemar invited his seeming friend to a

two days' hunt which he proposed to enjoy in the woods of Lyoe, but the

count sent word that he regretted his inability to join him, as he had

been hurt by a fall and could not leave his bed.



His bed just then was his horse's saddle. The opportunity which he

awaited had come, and he spent the night scouring the country in search

of aid for the plot he had in view, which was no less than to seize and

hold prisoner his trusting royal friend. He knew the island well, and

when his spies told him that the king and his son Valdemar had landed at

Lyoe with a small following of huntsmen and servants, Black Henry prepared

to carry out his plot.



The king's first day's hunt was a hard one and he and his son slept

soundly that night in the rude hut that had been put up for their use. No

one thought of any need of guarding it and the few attendants of the king

were scattered about, sleeping under the shelter of rocks and trees.



Late that night Count Henry and his men landed and made their way

silently and cautiously through the tired sleepers to the royal hut,

which he well knew where to find. Quietly entering, they deftly gagged

the king and prince before they could awake, and before either of them

could raise a hand in resistance sacks of wool and straw were drawn over

their heads, so closely as nearly to choke them, and strong bonds were

tied round their legs and arms.



Thus thoroughly disabled, the strong king and his youthful son were

carried through the midst of their own people to the strand and laid

helplessly in the bottom of the waiting boat, which was rowed away with

muffled oars, gliding across the narrow sound to the shore of Fyen. Here

waited a fast-sailing yacht to which the captives were transferred, sail

being set before a favoring wind for the German coast.



The next morning, when the king's attendants were searching for the

missing king, he and his son, still bound and gagged, were landed on a

lonely part of the sea-shore, placed on awaiting horses, and tightly

secured to the saddles, after which they were hurried on at full gallop,

stopping only at intervals to change the armed escort, until the castle

of Danneberg, in Hanover, was reached.



This castle had been loaned by its owner to Count Henry, he having no

stronghold of his own deemed secure enough to hold such important

captives. So roughly had they been treated that when the bonds were

removed from Prince Valdemar, who resembled his mother Dagmar alike in

his beauty and her feebleness, the blood flowed from every part of his

body. Yet, without regard to his youth and sufferings, the cruel captor

shut up him and his royal father in a cold and dark dungeon, where they

were left without a change of clothing and fed on the poorest and

coarsest food.



This, many might say, was a just retribution on King Valdemar, for years

before, when as a prince he had put down the rebellion in Sleswick, he

had seized its chief leader, his namesake Bishop Valdemar, and kept him

for many years in chains and close confinement in the dungeon of Soeborg

Castle, and had later subjected Count Adolf of Holstein to the same fate.

Bishop Valdemar had been released after fourteen years' imprisonment at

the entreaty of Queen Dagmar, and was ever after one of the most bitter

enemies of the Danish king.



But though a bishop and count might be thus held captive, it is difficult

to conceive of a powerful monarch being kept prisoner by a minor noble

for three long years, despite all that could be done for his release.

Nothing could give a clearer idea of the lawless state of those times.

King Valdemar and his son lay wearing the bonds of felons and suffering

from cold and hunger while the emperor and the Pope sought in vain for

their release, threatening Black Henry with all the penalties decreed by

empire and church for those who raised their hands against a prince.



The shrewd captor readily promised all that was asked of him. He would

release his captives without delay. Yet he had no intention to keep his

word, for he knew that Rome and Ratisbon were too far from Danneberg to

give him serious cause for alarm, especially as the other nobles of

northern Germany were prepared to help him in keeping their common enemy

in prison.



As for Denmark itself, the people were infuriated and eagerly demanded to

be led to the rescue of their beloved king; yet Valdemar's sons were

still young, all the kinsmen of the royal family had been banished or

were dead, and there was no one with the power and right to take control

of public affairs.



For some time, indeed, the fate of the king remained unknown to the

people. Valdemar's nephew Albert, Count of Orlamunde, was on his way to

Rome when the news of the king's capture reached him. He immediately

turned back, collected an army, and gave battle to the German princes who

were helping Count Henry to defend Danneberg. But his hasty levies were

defeated and he taken prisoner, to be thrown into the same dungeon as the

royal captive.



Finally King Valdemar, seeing no other hope of release, agreed to the

terms offered by Black Henry, which were that he should pay a ransom of

45,000 silver marks, give him all the jewels of the late Queen Berangaria

not already bestowed on churches and monasteries, and send him a hundred

men-at-arms, with horses and arms for their use. For assurance of this he

was to send his three younger sons to Danneberg to be kept in prison with

Count Albert until the money was paid.



These terms agreed to, the king and prince were set free. Valdemar at

once hastened to Denmark, which he found in a fearful state from its

having been three years without a head. Humbled and crushed in spirit,

finding all his dominions in Germany set free from their allegiance and

all the kingdoms won by his valor lost to Denmark, he scarcely knew what

steps to take. The ransom demanded he was unable to pay and he grieved at

the thought of subjecting his young sons to the fate from which he had

escaped. In his misery he wrote to the Pope, asking to be released from

the oath which had been exacted from him to let his children go into

captivity.



The Pope, full of pity for him, sent a bishop to Count Henry, telling him

that if he tried to enforce the demand exacted under durance from the

king of Denmark, he should be deprived of the services of religion and be

heavily fined by the papal power for his cruel and unrighteous act. Thus

called to account for his treachery and wickedness, Black Henry was

forced to forego the final cruel exaction of his traitor soul.



Misfortune, however, pursued Valdemar. When in 1227 the peasants of

Ditmarsh refused to pay the tribute they had long paid the Danish crown,

the insult to his weakness was more than the king could endure. He

marched an army into their lands, but only to find himself defeated and

four thousand of his men killed by the rebels, who were strongly aided by

the German princes of Holstein, and especially by Count Adolf, his former

captive. He himself was wounded in the eye by an arrow which struck him

to the ground, and would have been captured a second time but for the aid

of a friendly German knight.



This foeman had been formerly in Valdemar's service, and when he saw his

old royal master helpless and bleeding, he lifted him to his saddle and

carried him to Kiel, where his wounds were healed, means being then found

to send him back to his kingdom.



Valdemar remained on the throne for fourteen years afterwards, but these

were years of peace. War no longer had charms for him and he devoted

himself to the duties of government and to preparing codes of law for the

provinces of his kingdom. In that age there were no general laws for the

whole country.



The laws of Valdemar continued in force for four hundred and fifty years,

and in 1687, when Christian V. framed a new code of laws, some of the old

ones of Valdemar were retained. In them the old custom of the ordeal was

set aside, being replaced by the system of the jury, one form of which

consisted of "eight good men and true" chosen by the king, and another of

twelve men chosen by the people. The laws were lenient, for most crimes

could be atoned for by money or other fines. Three days after the last of

these codes was approved Valdemar died, at the age of seventy-one,

leaving three sons all of whom in turn ruled after him. His son Valdemar,

who shared his imprisonment, had died long before.