with all his might and knocked several of the brethren down.  Vestments were torn and scattered, and a mighty ruction arose, to which the laity, not to be outdone, added by striking up a hymn of their own.  Archbishop and King tried vainly to make peace; the clamor and battle only rose the higher.  Despite his struggles, Absalon was dragged to the high seat, but as they were about to force him into it, he asked leave to say a single word, and instantly appealed his case to the Pope.  So there was an end; but when the aged Eskild, on the plea of weakness, begged him to pronounce the benediction, he refused warily, because so he would be exercising archiepiscopal functions and would be de facto incumbent of the office.[4]

[Footnote 4:  That all this in no way affected the personal relations of the two men Saxo assures us in one of the little human touches with which his chronicle abounds.  When Eskild was going away to end his days as a monk in the monastery of Clairvaux, he rested awhile with Absalon at his castle Haffn, where he was received as a father.  The old man suffered greatly from cold feet, and Absalon made a box with many little holes in, and put a hot brick in it.  With this at his feet, Eskild was able to sleep, and he was very grateful to Absalon, both because of the comfort it gave him and “because that he perceived that filial piety rather than skill in the healer’s art” prompted the invention.]

Here, as always, Absalon thought less of himself than of his country, so the event showed.  For when the Pope heard his plea, though he decided against him, he allowed him to hold the bishopric of Roskilde together with the higher office, and so he was left at Valdemar’s side to help finish their work of building up Denmark within and without.  At Roskilde he spent, as a matter of fact, most of his time while Valdemar lived.  At Lund he would have been in a distant part of the country, parted from his friend and out of touch with the things that were the first concern of his life.

They were preparing to aim a decisive blow against the Pomeranian pagans when Valdemar died, on the very day set for the sailing.  The parting nearly killed Absalon.  Saxo draws a touching picture of him weeping bitterly as he said the requiem mass over his friend, and observes:  “Who can doubt that his tears, rising with the incense, gave forth a peculiar and agreeable savour in high heaven before God?” The plowmen left their fields and carried the bier, with sobs and lamentations, to the church in Ringsted, where the great King rests.  His sorrow laid Absalon on a long and grievous sick-bed, from which he rose only when Valdemar’s son needed and called him.