He had finally succeeded in killing both his rivals, Knut and Svend, and before the decisive battle he had vowed that if God granted him victory he would establish a Cistercian monastery. Archbishop Eskil in Lund was well aware of this promise, having been forced to bless the war before the decisive battle. Archbishop Eskil was an old personal friend of no less than Holy Saint Bernard himself. It was when visiting Saint Bernard in Clairvaux that he had also become friends with Father Henri.

   When the two now met in Roskilde, just as the Danish church convened for a synod, they were overjoyed to see each other again. But beyond that they were also taken by how wisely God could steer people's paths down to the smallest detail.

   All the pieces fit together with miraculous precision. Here came a Cistercian prior just at the moment when the new king was about to honor, or forget, his promise to God to build a new monastery. Instead of entering into a correspondence for many years with Cîteaux, everything could be arranged at once, since both an archbishop and a prior were present.

   King Valdemar himself could also clearly feel the power of God's will when his archbishop informed him that his sacred vow to God could actually be fulfilled immediately, since God had arranged it so.

   King Valdemar set aside a portion of his inherited property, a peninsula named Vitskøl on the shores of the Limfjord in Jutland, as the site of the new monastery. The synod, which handily enough had already been convened at Roskilde, blessed the matter, and Father Henri could then resume his journey at once, as if he had merely stopped to rest in Roskilde. But he was now heading toward a completely different destination from his two home monasteries of Clairvaux and Cîteaux.

   With regard to the question of Varnhem and the excommunication of Kristina and Erik Jedvardsson, what had occurred did not involve any change of principle, of course. Rather, it entailed a practical change, since the matter now had to be handled by correspondence and would therefore require somewhat more time. This meant that Father Henri had a number of important letters to write before setting off on the journey to Vitskøl, but it was quickly done. He wrote to Varnhem and instructed twenty-two of his monks to pack up plenty of the monastery's possessions, in particular all the books, and take them along to the new monastery in Vitskøl. However, five men should stay behind in Varnhem with the ominous task of trying to protect the buildings against pillaging and destruction. At the same time they were to tell one and all about the coming excommunication of Fru Kristina and Erik Jedvardsson, to whatever effect that might have.

   Next, Father Henri addressed two letters to the general chapter of the Cistercians and to the Holy Father Hadrianus IV, in which he described the immoral and drunken Erik Jedvardsson, who wanted to call himself king despite the fact that he had allowed his wife to desecrate a monastery. Then he was ready to leave for Vitskøl, which was where the Lord without a doubt was now leading his steps.

And where the Lord led Father Henri, there too he led Arn.

Erik Jedvardsson was soon to feel the power of the church. Now that he had captured one of the three royal crowns he had been striving for, he sent negotiators to the lawspeakers in both Western and Eastern Götaland. But the replies he received were disheartening. In those regions Varnhem had functioned as a smoldering and smoking pit of rumors, and the smoke had spread over both landscapes: Erik Jedvardsson and his wife Kristina were going to be excommunicated. Nobody wanted an excommunicated king.

   Fortunately the Swedes didn't know what was being said, or else they didn't understand what excommunication meant. Erik was still sitting securely as the king of the Swedes.

   Two things had to be done, one easy and one difficult. The easy task was to send a group of negotiators to that French monk who was now staying somewhere in Denmark. The king would have to humble himself in writing, rescind his demands, and beg the monks to come back to Varnhem, assuring them of the king's support. He would ask to be allowed to have Varnhem as the burial place for his lineage, and vouchsafe that the monks would be given more land for Varnhem, and whatever else he could think of to offer. His bishop Henrik, who was a practical man of God, assured him that the alternative would be far worse. For then it would become necessary to walk on foot to Rome, dressed in sackcloth and ashes for the last bit of the journey. Barefoot, he would have to prostrate himself at the feet of the Holy Father. This would not only be difficult and time-consuming; there was no guarantee that such tactics would placate the Pope. And wouldn't it be exceedingly vexing to have made all those efforts in vain?

   So much easier to placate the monks, since it could be done with a few letters, a few pleasant words, and some land that was only a very small part of the king's vast holdings. This was the easy task.

   The difficult task had to do with washing away the widespread gossip about the ungodly king. Erik's old idea about a crusade to Finland was reconsidered, and Bishop Henrik found it appealing. A king who was also God's own warrior for the good faith would come to be honored by all. The path to the two remaining crowns therefore must pass through Finland.

   The Swedes, who were a warlike people and who had not been able to demonstrate that quality to themselves or others for a long time, gladly joined in the new king's plans for a plundering campaign against Finland. There were wrongs to avenge, besides everything else, since the Finns and the Estonians had conducted vicious raids along the coasts of Svealand.

   The war went well for two years. The Swedes took rich booty. The raven flew to fresh wounds.

   Of course the first Finns they encountered were already Christian, but making them choose between the sword and being baptized anew by a Swedish bishop could never hurt. But occasional heathens were found farther inland, in the second year of the war.

   One day when Erik's soldiers left the army's column to find peasants they could plunder for food they encountered an old witch. The strange thing about the woman was that she spoke almost the same language as in Svealand, and she was not all afraid when she was taken captive. Instead she pluckily asked to be taken to the commander, since she had a suggestion to make which he would be hard pressed to refuse. If the soldiers did not obey her she would cast a spell that would bring them eternal misfortune.

   The soldiers did as she said, more out of curiosity at what the witch might suggest to Erik Jedvardsson that he could not refuse than out of fear of her sorcery.

   When Erik Jedvardsson heard about what had happened, he thought it might provide an amusing interlude that night, and so he let the witch accompany him until they made camp toward evening.

   Then he had his executioner called to the royal tent, with his block and axe prepared. His closest men in the army gathered expectantly for the amusing game, and then they brought in the witch and forced her to her knees before the king.