They were awaked from slumber by an assault from unknown foes, and a sense of suffocation.
What had happened? The king could not move his arms; his head seemed enveloped in cloth. He could not see; his voice was stifled. He felt himself carried away.
Black Henry had entered the tent with his confidants, and had put the King of the North and his son into two bags, and tied them up, and was now hurrying away with them to the river.
Black Henry laid his two captives in the bottom of a boat like two logs, and hoisted sail; and Valdemar, whose kingdom was now only a bag, was blown away towards the German coast.
He was thrown into prison, and there lived in darkness and neglect. The Pope ordered his release, but it was not heeded. The Danes tried to rescue him, but were defeated.
He was at last set free on the agreement that he should pay a large ransom. He returned to his kingdom, but found his territory reduced to its old narrow limits. His glory was gone. His empire had been the North; it had also been a bag; and at last it was a coffin. Poor old man! His last years were peaceful, and in them he served Denmark well.