Freed from the cares which had so long distracted him, the king again turned his eyes towards Livonia. His former successes in that region had not corresponded with his preparations: the bishop of Riga was persecuted alike by the pagan inhabitants and the Greek Christians: the glory of vindicating the true faith was no slight one in his estimation; but the ambition of reigning over the whole maritime coast of the Baltic, from Holstein to Livonia, was a still greater inducement for undertaking a new expedition. Never had Denmark equipped so great an armament as that which now left her ports. The Esthonians, against whom his attacks were chiefly directed, prepared to receive him, but they were defeated; a new city, Revel, was built, to awe the province; and a Christian bishop made it his metropolis. The advantages resulting from this conquest were almost neutralised by the hostility of the bishop of Riga, who regarded his new brother as an intruder on his own domain. He claimed the greater part of Esthonia as a part of his jurisdiction, and he sent his missionaries through it to reclaim it from idolatry. On the other hand, the archbishop of Lund, in behalf of his royal master, prohibited those missionaries from labouring in their vocation, and sent those of his own country and his own church to oppose them. It will scarcely be credited by modern readers—though the fact seems indisputable—that the Danes actually hung an Esthonian prince for no other crime than that he had received baptism at the hands of the bishop of Riga’s dependents. What were the motives—shrewd though pagan—to infer from this and similar facts other than this—that the god of the Danes was not the god of the Germans? The pope and the emperor declared for the Danish king, in opposition to the complaints, the remonstrances, of the bishop. At length Valdemar, of his own accord, abated much of his pretensions, and allowed a portion of the disputed territory to be ceded to the bishop, and to the Christian knights whom that bishop had taken into his service.
At this period Denmark was at the summit of her glory. Her descent was more rapid than her rise. There are few instances in all history where that descent is so remarkable. The occasion of this change was a man insignificant in himself, and in his influence. Among the vassals whom Valdemar had acquired by his successes over the count of Holstein, was Henry count of Schwerin. In granting to Henry the investiture of the lordship, Valdemar had demanded the hand of the count’s sister for his natural son Nicholas, whom he had created count of Upper Halland, and, as a dowry, one half of the castle of Schwerin with the dependencies. Whether this stipulation was sanctioned by the count, we know not; but we know that Valdemar had forcibly occupied a portion of the lordship, and conferred it on that son. This was an injustice, and deeply was it revenged. Count Henry repaired to the Danish court, showed great obsequiousness, won the confidence of the king, and one night while encamped in the wood after a hard day’s hunting, he caused both Valdemar and his eldest son to be surprised, carried on board a vessel, conveyed to the Mecklenburg coast, and confined in the strong castle of Schwerin! All Europe was in surprise at an event which resembled a tale of knight errantry more than a fact—that the obscure, the powerless count Henry should thus seize the greatest monarch of the North, and cast him like a common felon into a dungeon.