"So, foul witch! You had a suggestion for me that I as king would not dare refuse. Let's hear it!" shouted Erik to the filthy woman who was bound and kneeling before him. And he smiled cheerfully at his men, reaping much merriment.

   "Well yes," the woman wheezed hoarsely, because a soldier was holding her around the neck, "I have a suggestion that a wise king would not wish to refuse."

   "I'm sure everyone would like to hear it, but you understand that the executioner isn't standing here for nothing, so what if I say no?" replied Erik, still just as cheerful.

   "Release me and let me stand up so that I may speak. If you say no to my proposal I'll go straight to your executioner," replied the woman, strong and confident.

   Erik gestured to the men to release her and then, just as cheerful as before, showed that he was prepared to listen. The men all around him were extremely amused by what was going on.

   The woman straightened her hair with dignity and cleared her throat before she spoke.

   "My proposal is as follows, King Erik. Let me read your palm and say who you are and what your future holds. If you find that I speak falsely about you, or if you don't believe what I say about what is to come, then you may send me at once to your executioner. If you believe what I have to say, I need a horse and wagon to take me back to where I was abducted."

   Erik immediately turned pensive, and the men's laughter quieted to a murmur. They all realized that a woman who was so sure of her soothsaying that she would wager her head on its truthfulness perhaps really could see into the future after all. But not everyone wanted to know their future, because it could turn bad the very next day: an arrow flying out of the woods where no one saw the archer, a lance cast in error at the end of a battle when there was no longer anything at stake. And if a pox would strike one's family, would a man really want to know something like that in advance? It took courage to look into the future.

   Erik assessed the matter in this way: he would be seen as showing cowardice if he merely sent the babbling witch off to the executioner. On the other hand, if he listened to her first and then had her beheaded, he would make a much better impression.

   "Very well," said Erik Jedvardsson. "I shall listen to your words. If I find them true, you have my word as king that you shall return home with a horse and wagon. If I think ill of your words, I shall let the executioner take care of you here and now. So let's hear what you have to say!"

   "Well." The witch shilly-shallied. "We must go into your tent so that you and only you hear my words."

   A murmur of astonishment spread among the men. To be alone with a witch might not be wise. Erik saw their fear, and he was just as enraged by it as by the witch's impudence.

   "And if I now say no to your proposal, if I tell you to give me your prophecy here and now!" he boomed in the gruff voice he used for giving commands.

   "Then you shall not know who you are or where you are bound, for your future belongs to you alone, and perhaps you would find it unwise for it to belong to everyone. Afterward you can always decide what you choose to tell of what you alone have heard," replied the woman with confidence, as if she knew that Erik would agree to her proposal.

   And he did. The woman was searched by the hands of unabashed soldiers to ensure that she had no sharp weapon on her. Erik turned and went into his tent, and the woman was shoved in roughly after him.

   Inside the tent she fell at once to her knees before the king and asked to be allowed to read one of his palms. She was given the royal hand and studied it in silence.

   "I see England . . ." she began hesitantly. "Someone in your lineage . . . your father came from England. I see Rome and the man called Pope . . . no, that line is broken here. You were on your way to Rome . . . barefoot . . . how can that be? Well, nothing will come of that journey . . . hmm, your future is indeed interesting."

   Erik Jedvardsson had turned quite cold inside when he heard the reference to his English origins and how he had almost traveled to see the Pope. He was now convinced.

   "So, woman! I know who I am, now tell me my future without more ado!" he ordered without his voice quavering too much.

   "I see . . . I see three royal crowns. A new realm with three crowns as the coat of arms, and these armorial bearings will still endure after a thousand years, everywhere in your kingdom. Generation after generation, king after king for all eternity, and your mark will remain. The three crowns mean three countries will be united into a mighty kingdom, and in a thousand years these your crowns will still be the emblem of the realm, everywhere, on all seals, on all documents."

   "And what will happen to that pope?" Erik Jedvardsson was so shaken that he almost whispered.

   "I see your picture everywhere . . ." the woman muttered low. "Everywhere pictures of you . . . as a saint, your head wreathed in gold against a blue sky. You began by doing evil against your god . . . there was that interrupted path to Rome . . . then you did good and thus your name shall live forever."

   "What do you have to say about my death?" asked Erik Jedvardsson, now reverently.

   "Your death . . . your death. Do you really want to know that? Few men do."

   "Yes, say something!"

   "I can't see very clearly . . ." muttered the woman, who suddenly seemed a bit afraid to say what she had seen with utter clarity. But then she mustered her courage and once again her voice sounded confident.

   "Your name will live on forever. No man born of woman in Svealand or the two lands of the Goths will be able to kill or even injure you," she said hastily, standing up.

   Erik Jedvardsson, who now was filled with the certainty that all his dreams would come true, and that not one of his foreseeable enemies would ever be able to kill him, strode out of the tent and in a mighty voice gave the order for a horse and wagon to be brought forth for the woman. No one was to touch her or speak to her indecorously; she was granted the protection of the king.

   Erik Jedvardsson returned home to Östra Aros, his mind alight with the glorious future he now felt would be his. For he had nothing to fear from any man in Svealand or Western Götaland or Eastern Götaland.

   Magnus Henriksen, however, was not a man born of woman in Svealand, Western Götaland, or Eastern Götaland. He was Danish.

   He was one of the many great men of Denmark that the winds of war had blown like chaff out across the world after Valdemar finally won the long Danish war of succession. Fleeing Denmark, Magnus sailed up the Eastern Sea, stopped for a time in Linköping, and had private discussions with King Karl Sverkersson. He then continued up the coast, into Lake Mälaren and up the Fyris River.