When they awoke, and tried to follow, they found their ships
scuttled. The count's boat had been lying under sail all day, hidden
in a sheltered cove, awaiting his summons.
Germany at last had the lion and its whelp in her grasp. In chains
and fetters they were dragged from one dungeon to another. The
traitors dared not trust them long in any city, however strong. The
German Emperor shook his fist at Count Henrik, but secretly he was
glad. He would have liked nothing better than to have the precious
spoil in his own power. The Pope thundered in Rome and hurled his
ban at the thugs. But the Black Count's conscience was as swarthy as
his countenance; and besides, had he not just been to the Holy Land,
and thereby washed himself clean of all his sins, past and present?
Behind prison walls, comforted only by Dagmar's son, sat the King,
growing old and gray with anger and grief. Denmark lay prostrate
under the sudden blow, while her enemies rose on every side. Day by
day word came of outbreaks in the conquered provinces. The people
did not know which way to turn; the strong hand that held the helm
was gone, and the ship drifted, the prey of every ill wind. It was
as if all that had been won by sixty years of victories and
sacrifice fell away in one brief season.
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