The folk-song tells what was the matter with the old one "with wall of clay, straw-thatched and grim": The wall it was mouldy and foul and green, And rent with a crack full deep; Time gnaweth ever with sharper tooth, Leaves little to mend, I ween. Nothing was left to mend in the church of Fjenneslev, so she must build a new.
There followed a short and sharp struggle that ended on Grathe Heath with the utter rout of Svend's forces. He himself was killed, and Valdemar at last was King of all Denmark. From that time the three friends were inseparable as in the old days when they played about the fields of Fjenneslev.
But no such things troubled him while he battled in foreign lands all summer. It was autumn when he returned and saw from afar the swell behind which lay Fjenneslev and home. Impatiently he spurred his horse to the brow of the hill, for no news had come of Lady Inge those many months.
Fjenneslev is the name of the village, and Asker Ryg ruled there in the Twelfth Century, when the king summoned his men to the war. Bidding good-by to his wife, Sir Asker tells her to build a new church while he is away, for the old, "with wall of clay, straw-thatched and grim," is in ruins. And let it be worthy of the Master: "The roof let make of tiling red; Of stone thou build the wall;"
He laid the lifeless body down gently and left the hall. The murderers barred his way, but he brushed their swords and spears aside and strode forth unharmed. Valdemar had found a horse and made for Fjenneslev, twenty miles away, with all speed, and there Absalon met him and his brother Esbern in the morning.