Chapter V: Part 5

And I think every true man must feel bitter wrath to see a priest
thus make mischief between us Birchlegs;—ay, Birchlegs, I say; for I
am every whit as good a Birchleg as the King or any of his men. I am
of the same stock, the stock of Sverre, the kingly stock—but you,
Priest, you have built up a wall of distrust around the King, and
shut me out from him; that has been your task this many a year.

PAUL FLIDA.

[_Enraged, to the bystanders._] Earl’s men. Shall we abide this
longer?

GREGORIUS JONSSON.

[_Steps forward._] No, we can and will no more abide it. ’Tis time
to say it plainly—none of the Earl’s men can serve the King in full
trust and love, so long as Ivar Bodde comes and goes in the palace,
and makes bad blood between us.

PAUL FLIDA.

Priest! I bid you look to life and limb, wheresoever I meet you—in
the field, on shipboard, or in any unconsecrated house.

MANY EARL’S MEN.

I too! I too! You are an outlaw to us!

IVAR BODDE.

God forbid that I should stand between the King and so many mighty
chieftains.—Håkon, my gracious lord, my soul bears me witness that I
have served you in all faithfulness. True, I have warned you against
the Earl; but if I have ever done him wrong, I pray God forgive me.
Now have I no more to do in the palace; here is your Seal; take it
into your own hands; there it should have rested long ago.

HÅKON.

[_Who has come down from the daïs._] You shall remain!

IVAR BODDE.

I cannot. If I did, my conscience would gnaw and rend me night and
day. Greater evil can no man do in these times than to hold the King
and the Earl asunder.

HÅKON.

Ivar Bodde, I command you to remain!

IVAR BODDE.

If the Holy King Olaf should rise from his silver shrine to bid me
stay, still I needs must go. [_Places the Seal in the_ KING’S
_hand._] Farewell, my noble master! God bless and prosper you in all
your work!

[_Goes out through the crowd, to the right._

HÅKON.

[_Gloomily, to the_ EARL _and his men._] There have I lost a trusty
friend for your sakes; what requital can you offer to make good that
loss?

EARL SKULE.

I offer myself and all my friends.

HÅKON.

I almost fear ’twill not suffice. Now must I gather round me all the
men I can fully trust. Dagfinn the Peasant, let a messenger set out
forthwith for Halogaland; Vegard Væradal must be recalled.

DAGFINN.

[_Who has been standing somewhat towards the back, in conversation
with a man in travelling dress who has entered the hall, approaches
and says with emotion:_] Vegard cannot come, my lord.

HÅKON.

How know you that?

DAGFINN.

I have even now had tidings of him.

HÅKON.

What tidings?

DAGFINN.

That Vegard Væradal is slain.

MANY VOICES.

Slain!

HÅKON.

Who slew him?

DAGFINN.

Andres Skialdarband, the Earl’s friend.

[_A short pause; uneasy whispers pass among the men._

HÅKON.

Where is the messenger?

DAGFINN.

[_Leading the man forward._] Here, my lord King.

HÅKON.

What caused the slaying?

THE MESSENGER.

That no man knows. The talk fell upon the Finnish tribute, and on a
sudden Andres sprang up and gave him his death-wound.

HÅKON.

Had there been quarrels between them before?

THE MESSENGER.

Ever and anon. Andres would often say that a wise councillor here in
the south had written to him that he should be as rock and flint
toward Vegard Væradal.

DAGFINN.

Strange! Ere Vegard set forth he told me that a wise councillor had
said he should be as rock and flint toward Andres Skialdarband.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Spitting._] Shame upon such councillors.

HÅKON.

We will not question more closely from what root this wrong has
grown. Two faithful souls have I lost this day. I could weep for
Vegard, but ’tis no time for weeping; it must be life for life. Sir
Earl, Andres Skialdarband is your sworn retainer; you offered me all
service in requital for Ivar Bodde. I take you at your word, and
look to you to see that this misdeed be avenged.

EARL SKULE.

Of a truth, bad angels are at work between us to-day. On any other
of my men, I would have suffered you to avenge the murder——

HÅKON.

[_Expectantly._] Well?

EARL SKULE.

But not on Andres Skialdarband.

HÅKON.

[_Flashing out._] Will you shield the murderer?

EARL SKULE.

_This_ murderer I _must_ shield.

HÅKON.

And the reason?

EARL SKULE.

That none but God in heaven may know.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Softly, to_ DAGFINN.] I know it.

DAGFINN.

And I suspect it.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Say nought, good Dagfinn!

HÅKON.

Earl, I will believe as long as I may, that you mean not in good
sooth what you have said to me——

EARL SKULE.

Were it my own father Andres Skialdarband had slain, he should still
go free. Ask me no more.

HÅKON.

Good. Then we ourselves must do justice in the matter!

EARL SKULE.

[_With an expression of alarm._] There will be bloodshed on both
sides, my lord King!

HÅKON.

So be it; none the less shall the deed be avenged.

EARL SKULE.

It shall _not_ be!—It _cannot_ be!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Nay, there the Earl is right.

HÅKON.

Say you so, my honoured lord?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Andres Skialdarband has taken the Cross.

HÅKON AND EARL SKULE.

Taken the Cross!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

And has already sailed from the land.

EARL SKULE.

’Tis well for all of us!

HÅKON.

The day wanes; the bridal-feast must now be at an end. I thank you,
Sir Earl, for all the honour that has been shown me in these
days.—You are bound for Nidaros, as I think?

EARL SKULE.

That is my intent.

HÅKON.

And I for Viken.—If you, Margrete, choose rather to abide in Bergen,
then do so.

MARGRETE.

Whither you go, I go, until you forbid.

HÅKON.

Good; then come with me.

SIGRID.

Now is our kindred spread far abroad. [_Kneels to_ HÅKON.] Grant me
a grace, my lord King.

HÅKON.

Rise, Lady Sigrid; whatever you crave shall be granted.

SIGRID.

I cannot go with the Earl to Nidaros. The nunnery at Rein will soon
be consecrated; write to the Archbishop—take order that I be made
Abbess.

EARL SKULE.

You, my sister?

HÅKON.

You will enter a nunnery!

SIGRID.

[_Rising._] Since my wedding-night of blood, when the Baglers came
and hewed down my bridegroom, and many hundreds with him, and fired
Nidaros town at all its corners—since then, it has been as though
the blood and flames had dulled and deadened my sight for the world
around me. But power was given me to catch glimpses of that which
other eyes see not—and one thing I see now: a time of great dread
hanging over this land!

EARL SKULE.

[_Vehemently._] She is sick! Heed her not!

SIGRID.

A plenteous harvest is ripening for him that reaps in the darkness.
Every woman in Norway will have but one task now—to kneel in church
and cloister, and pray both day and night.

HÅKON.

[_Shaken._] Is it prophecy or soul-sickness that speaks thus?

SIGRID.

Farewell, my brother—we shall meet once more.

EARL SKULE.

[_Involuntarily._] When?

SIGRID.

[_Softly._] When you take the crown; in the hour of danger,—when you
are fain of me in your direst need.

[_Goes out to the right, with_ MARGRETE, LADY RAGNHILD, _and
the women._

HÅKON.

[_After a short pause, draws his sword, and says with quiet
determination._] All the Earl’s men shall take the oath of fealty.

EARL SKULE.

[_Vehemently._] Is this your settled purpose? [_Almost
imploringly._] King Håkon, do not so!

HÅKON.

No Earl’s man shall leave Bergen ere he has sworn fealty to the
King.

[_Goes out with his Guard. All except the_ EARL _and the_
BISHOP _follow him._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He has dealt hardly with you to-day!

[EARL SKULE _is silent, and looks out after the_ KING, _as though
struck dumb._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_More loudly._] And mayhap not king-born after all.

EARL SKULE.

[_Turns suddenly, in strong excitement, and seizes the_ BISHOP _by
the arm._] Trond the Priest’s confession—where is it?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He sent it to me from England ere he died; I know not by whom—and it
never reached me.

EARL SKULE.

But it must be found!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I doubt not but it may.

EARL SKULE.

And if you find it, you will give it into my hands?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

That I promise.

EARL SKULE.

You swear it by your soul’s salvation?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I swear it by my soul’s salvation!

EARL SKULE.

Good; till that time I will work against Håkon, wherever it can be
done secretly and unnoted. He must be hindered from growing mightier
than I, ere the struggle begins.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

But should it prove that he is in truth king-born—what then?

EARL SKULE.

Then I must try to pray—to pray for humbleness, that I may serve him
with all my might, as a faithful chieftain.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

And if he be not the rightful king?

EARL SKULE.

Then shall he give place to me! The kingly title and the kingly
throne, host and guard, fleet and tribute, towns and strongholds,
all shall be mine!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He will betake him to Viken——

EARL SKULE.

I will drive him out of Viken!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He will establish himself in Nidaros.

EARL SKULE.

I will storm Nidaros!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He will shut himself up in Olaf’s holy church——

EARL SKULE.

I will force the sanctuary——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He will fly to the high altar, and cling to Olaf’s shrine——

EARL SKULE.

I will drag him down from the altar, though I drag the shrine along
with him——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

But the crown will still be on his head, Earl Skule!

EARL SKULE.

I will strike off the crown with my sword!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

But if it sits too tight——?

EARL SKULE.

Then, in God’s name or Satan’s—I will strike off the head along with
it!

[_Goes out to the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Looks out after him, nods slowly, and says:_] Ay—ay—’tis in this
mood I like the Earl!

ACT THIRD.

_A room in the Bishop’s Palace at Oslo._[33] _On the right is the
entrance door. In the back, a small door, standing open, leads
into the Chapel, which is lighted up. A curtained door in the
left wall leads into the Bishop’s sleeping room. In front, on
the same side, stands a cushioned couch. Opposite, on the
right, is a writing-table, with letters, documents, and a
lighted lamp._

_At first the room is empty; behind the curtain on the left, the
singing of monks is heard. Presently_ PAUL FLIDA, _in
travelling dress, enters from the right, stops by the door,
waits, looks around, and then knocks three times with his
staff upon the floor._

SIRA VILIAM.

[_Comes out from the left, and exclaims in a hushed voice._] Paul
Flida! God be praised;—then the Earl is not far off.

PAUL FLIDA.

The ships are already at Hoved-isle; I came on ahead. And how goes
it with the Bishop?

SIRA VILIAM.

He is even now receiving the Extreme Unction.

PAUL FLIDA.

Then there is great danger.

SIRA VILIAM.

Master Sigard of Brabant has said that he cannot outlive the night.

PAUL FLIDA.

Then meseems he has summoned us too late.

SIRA VILIAM.

Nay, nay,—he has his full senses and some strength to boot; every
moment he asks if the Earl comes not soon.

PAUL FLIDA.

You still call him Earl; know you not that the King has granted him
the title of Duke?

SIRA VILIAM.

Ay, ay, we know it; ’tis but old custom. Hist!

[_He and_ PAUL FLIDA _cross themselves and bow their heads.
From the_ BISHOP’S _door issue two acolytes with
candles, then two more with censers; then priests
bearing chalice, paten, and crucifix, and a church
banner; behind them a file of priests and monks;
acolytes with candles and censers close the procession,
which passes slowly into the chapel. The door is shut
behind them._

PAUL FLIDA.

So now the old lord has made up his account with the world.

SIRA VILIAM.

I can tell him that Duke Skule comes so soon as may be?

PAUL FLIDA.

He comes straight from the wharf up here to the Palace. Farewell!

[_Goes._

[_Several priests, among them_ PETER, _with some of the_
BISHOP’S _servants, come out from the left with rugs,
cushions, and a large brazier._

SIRA VILIAM.

Why do you this?

A PRIEST.

[_Arranging the couch._] The Bishop wills to lie out here.

SIRA VILIAM.

But is it prudent?

THE PRIEST.

Master Sigard thinks we may humour him. Here he is.

BISHOP NICHOLAS _enters, supported by_ MASTER SIGARD _and a priest.
He is in his canonicals, but without crozier and mitre._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Light more candles. [_He is led to a seat upon the couch, near the
brazier, and is covered with rugs._] Viliam! Now have I been granted
forgiveness for all my sins! They took them all away with
them;—meseems I am so light now.

SIRA VILIAM.

The Duke sends you greeting, my lord; he has already passed
Hoved-isle!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

’Tis well, very well. Belike the King, too, will soon be here. I
have been a sinful hound in my day, Viliam; I have grievously
trespassed against the King. The priests in there averred that all
my sins should be forgiven me;—well well, it may be so; but ’tis
easy for them to promise; ’tis not against _them_ that I have
trespassed. No no; it is safest to have it from the King’s own
mouth. [_Exclaims impatiently._] Light, I say! ’tis so dark in here.

SIRA VILIAM.

The candles are lighted——

MASTER SIGARD.

[_Stops him by a sign, and approaches the_ BISHOP.] How goes it with
you, my lord?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

So-so—so-so; my hands and feet are cold.

MASTER SIGARD.

[_Half aloud, as he moves the brazier nearer._] Ha—’tis the
beginning of the end.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Apprehensively, to_ VILIAM.] I have commanded that eight monks
shall chant and pray for me in the chapel to-night. Have an eye to
them; there are idle fellows among them.

[SIRA VILIAM _points silently towards the chapel, whence
singing is heard, which continues during what follows._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

So much still undone, and to go and leave it all! So much undone,
Viliam!

SIRA VILIAM.

My lord, think of heavenly things!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I have time before me;—till well on in the morning, Master Sigard
thinks——

SIRA VILIAM.

My lord, my lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Give me mitre and crozier!—’Tis very well for you to say that I
should think——[_A priest brings them._] So, set the cap there, ’tis
too heavy for me; give me the crozier in my hand; there, now am I in
my armour. A bishop!——The Evil One dare not grapple with me now!

SIRA VILIAM.

Desire you aught beside?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

No. Stay—tell me:—Peter, Andres Skialdarband’s son,—all speak well
of him——

SIRA VILIAM.

In truth, his is a blameless soul.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Peter, you shall watch beside me until the King or the Duke shall
come. Leave us, meanwhile, ye others, but be at hand.

[_All except_ PETER _go out on the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_After a short pause._] Peter!

PETER.

[_Approaches._] My lord?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Hast ever seen old men die?

PETER.

No.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

They are all afeard; that I dare swear. There on the table lies a
large letter with seals to it; give it to me. [PETER _brings the
letter._] ’Tis to your mother.

PETER.

To my mother?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

You must get you northward with it to Halogaland. I have written to
her touching a great and weighty matter; tidings have come from your
father.

PETER.

He is fighting as a soldier of God in the Holy Land. Should he fall
there, he falls on hallowed ground; for there every foot’s-breadth
of earth is sacred. I commend him to God in all my prayers.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Is Andres Skialdarband dear to you?

PETER.

He is an honourable man; but there lives another man whose greatness
my mother, as it were, fostered and nourished me withal.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Hurriedly and eagerly._] Is that Duke Skule?

PETER.

Ay, the Duke—Skule Bårdsson. My mother knew him in younger days. The
Duke must sure be the greatest man in the land!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

There is the letter; get you northward with it forthwith!—Are they
not singing in there?

PETER.

They are, my lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Eight lusty fellows with throats like trumpets, they must surely
help somewhat, methinks.

PETER.

My lord, my lord! Why not pray yourself!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I have too much still undone, Peter. Life is all too short;—besides,
the King will surely forgive me when he comes——[Gives a start in
pain.

PETER.

You are suffering?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I suffer not; but there is a ringing in mine ears, a twinkling and
flickering before mine eyes——

PETER.

’Tis the heavenly bells ringing you home, and the twinkling of the
altar-lights God’s angels have lit for you.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ay, sure ’tis so;—there is no danger if only they lag not with their
prayers in there——Farewell; set forth at once with the letter.

PETER.

Shall I not first——?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Nay, go; I fear not to be alone.

PETER.

Well met again, then, what time the heavenly bells shall sound for
me too.

[_Goes out on the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

The heavenly bells,—ay, ’tis easy talking when you still have two
stout legs to stand upon.—So much undone! But much will live after
me, notwithstanding. I promised the Duke by my soul’s salvation to
give him Trond the Priest’s confession if it came into my hand;—’tis
well I have not got it. Had he certainty, he would conquer or fall;
and then one of the twain would be the mightiest man that ever lived
in Norway. No no,—what _I_ could not reach none other shall reach.
Uncertainty serves best; so long as the Duke is burdened with that,
they two will waste each other’s strength, wheresoever they may;
towns will be burnt, dales will be harried,—neither will gain by the
other’s loss—[_Terrified._] Mercy, pity! It is I who bear the
guilt—I, who set it all agoing! [_Calming himself._] Well, well,
well! but now the King is coming—’tis he that suffers most—he will
forgive me—prayers and masses shall be said; there is no danger;—I
am a bishop, and I have never slain any man with mine own hand.—’Tis
well that Trond the Priest’s confession came not; the saints are
with me, they will not tempt me to break my promise.—Who knocks at
the door? It must be the Duke! [_Rubs his hands with glee._] He will
implore me for proofs as to the kingship,—and I have no proofs to
give him!

INGA OF VARTEIG _enters; she is dressed in
black, with a cloak and hood._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Starts._] Who is that?

INGA.

A woman from Varteig in Borgasyssel, my honoured lord.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

The King’s mother!

INGA.

So was I called once.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Go, go! ’Twas not I counselled Håkon to send you away.

INGA.

What the King does is well done; ’tis not therefore I come.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Wherefore then?

INGA.

Gunnulf, my brother, is come home from England——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

From England——!

INGA.

He has been away these many years, as you know, and has roamed far
and wide; now has he brought home a letter——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Breathlessly._] A letter——?

INGA.

From Trond the Priest. ’Tis for you, my lord.

[_Hands it to him._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ah, truly;—and _you_ bring it?

INGA.

It was Trond’s wish. I owe him great thanks since the time he
fostered Håkon. It was told me that you were sick; therefore I set
forth at once; I have come hither on foot——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

There was no such haste, Inga!

DAGFINN THE PEASANT _enters from the right._

DAGFINN.

God’s peace, my honoured lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Comes the King?

DAGFINN.

He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the
King-child and a great following.

INGA.

[_Rushes up to_ DAGFINN.] The King,—the King! Comes _he_ hither?

DAGFINN.

Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!

INGA.

She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.

DAGFINN.

Now will his hard heart be melted.

INGA.

Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell
me,—comes he hither?

DAGFINN.

Ay, presently.

INGA.

And it is dark evening. The King will be lighted on his way with
torches?

DAGFINN.

Yes.

INGA.

Then will I hide me in a gateway as he goes by;—and then home to
Varteig. But first will I into Hallvard’s church; the lights are
burning there to-night; there will I call down blessings on the
King, on my fair son.

[_Goes out to the right._

DAGFINN.

I have fulfilled mine errand; I go to meet the King.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Bear him most loving greeting, good Dagfinn!

DAGFINN.

[_As he goes out to the right._] _I_ would not be Bishop Nicholas
to-morrow.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Trond the Priest’s confession——! So it has come after all—here I
hold it in my hand. [_Muses with a fixed gaze._] A man should never
promise aught by his soul’s salvation, when he is as old as I. Had I
years before me, I could always wriggle free from such a promise;
but this evening, this last evening—no, that were imprudent.—But can
I keep it? Is it not to endanger all that I have worked for, my
whole life through? [_Whispering._] Oh, could I but cheat the Evil
One, only this one more time! [_Listens._] What was _that_?
[_Calls._] Viliam, Viliam!

SIRA VILIAM _enters from the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

What is it that whistles and howls so grimly?

SIRA VILIAM.

’Tis the storm; it grows fiercer.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

The storm grows fiercer! Ay truly, I will keep my promise! The
storm, say you——? Are they singing in there?

SIRA VILIAM.

Yes, my lord.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Bid them bestir themselves, and chiefly brother Aslak; he always
makes such scant prayers; he shirks whenever he can; he skips, the
hound! [_Strikes the floor with his crozier._] Go in and say to him
’tis the last night I have left; he shall bestir himself, else will
I haunt him from the dead!

SIRA VILIAM.

My lord, shall I not fetch Master Sigard?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Go in, I say! [VILIAM _goes into the chapel._] It must doubtless be
heaven’s will that I should reconcile the King and the Duke, since
it sends me Trond’s letter now. This is a hard thing, Nicholas; to
tear down at a single wrench what you have spent your life in
building up. But there is no other way; I must e’en do the will of
heaven this time.—If I could only read what is written in the
letter! But I cannot see a word! Mists drive before my eyes; they
sparkle and flicker; and I dare let none other read it for me! To
make such a promise——! Is human cunning, then, so poor a thing that
it cannot govern the outcome of its contrivances in the second and
third degree? I spoke so long and so earnestly to Vegard Væradal
about making the King send Inga from him, that at length it came to
pass. That was wise in the first degree; but had I not counselled
thus, then Inga had not now been at Varteig, the letter had not come
into my hands in time, and I had not had any promise to
keep—therefore ’twas unwise in the second degree. Had I yet time
before me——! but only the space of one night, and scarce even that.
I must, I will live longer! [_Knocks with his crozier; a priest
enters from the right._] Bid Master Sigard come! [_The priest goes;
the_ BISHOP _crushes the letter in his hands._] Here, under this
thin seal, lies Norway’s saga for a hundred years! It lies and
dreams, like the birdling in the egg! Oh, that I had more souls than
_one_—or else _none_! [_Presses the letter wildly to his breast._]
Oh, were not the end so close upon me,—and judgment and doom I would
hatch you out into a hawk that should cast the dreadful shadow of
his wings overall the land, and strike his sharp talons into every
heart! [_With a sudden shudder._] But the last hour is at hand!
[_Shrieking._] No, no! You shall become a swan, a white swan!
[_Throws the letter far from, him, on to the floor, and calls:_]
Master Sigard, Master Sigard!

MASTER SIGARD.

[_From the right._] How goes it, honoured lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Master Sigard—sell me three days’ life!

MASTER SIGARD.

I have told you——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Yes, yes; but that was in jest; ’twas a little revenge on me. I have
been a tedious master to you; therefore you thought to scare me.
Fie, that was evil,—nay, nay—’twas no more than I deserved! But, now
be good and kind! I will pay you well;—three days’ life, Master
Sigard, only three days’ life!

MASTER SIGARD.

Though I myself were to die in the same hour as you, yet could I not
add three days to your span.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

_One_ day, then, only _one_ day! Let it be light, let the sun shine
when my soul sets forth! Listen, Sigard! [_Beckons him over, and
drags him down upon the couch._] I have given well-nigh all my gold
and silver to the Church, to have high masses sung for me. I will
take it back again; you shall have it all! How now, Sigard, shall we
two fool them in there? He-he-he! You will be rich, Sigard, and can
depart the country; I shall have time to cast about me a little, and
make shift with fewer prayers. Come, Sigard, shall we——! [SIGARD
_feels his pulse; the_ BISHOP _exclaims anxiously:_] How now, why
answer you not?

MASTER SIGARD.

[_Rising._] I have no time, my lord. I must prepare you a draught
that may ease you somewhat at the last.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Nay, wait with that! Wait,—and answer me!

MASTER SIGARD.

I have no time; the draught must be ready within an hour.

[_Goes out to the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Within an hour! [_Knocks wildly._] Viliam! Viliam!

[SIRA VILIAM _comes out from the chapel._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Call more to help in there! The eight are not enough!

SIRA VILIAM.

My lord——?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

More to help, I say! Brother Kolbein has lain sick these five
weeks,—he cannot have sinned much in that time——

SIRA VILIAM.

He was at shrift yesterday.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Eagerly._] Ay, _he_ must be good; call him! [VILIAM _goes into the
chapel again._] Within an hour! [_Dries the sweat off his brow._]
Pah—how hot it is here!—The miserable hound—what boots all his
learning, when he cannot add an hour to my life? There sits he in
his closet day by day, piecing together his cunning wheels and
weights and levers; he thinks to fashion a machine that shall go and
go and never stop—_perpetuum mobile_ he calls it. Why not rather
turn his art and his skill to making man such a _perpetuum mobile_?
[_Stops and thinks; his eyes light up._] _Perpetuum mobile_,—I am
not strong in Latin—but it means somewhat that has power to work
eternally, through all the ages. If I myself, now, could but——?
_That_ were a deed to end my life withal! That were to do my
greatest deed in my latest hour! To set wheel and weight and lever
at work in the King’s soul and the Duke’s; to set them a-going so
that no power on earth can stop them; if I can but do that, then
shall I live indeed, live in my work—and, when I think of it, mayhap
’tis _that_ which is called immortality.—Comfortable, soothing
thoughts, how ye do the old man good! [_Draws a deep breath, and
stretches himself comfortably upon the couch._] Diabolus has pressed
me hard to-night. That comes of lying idle; _olium est
pulvis—pulveris_—pooh, no matter for the Latin——Diabolus shall no
longer have power over me; I will be busy to the last; I will——; how
they bellow in yonder——[_Knocks;_ VILIAM _comes out._] Tell them to
hold their peace; they disturb me. The King and the Duke will soon
be here; I have weighty matters to ponder.

SIRA VILIAM.

My lord, shall I then——?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Bid them hold awhile, that I may think in peace. Look you, take up
yonder letter that lies upon the floor.—Good. Reach me the papers
here——

SIRA VILIAM.

[_Goes to the writing-table._] Which, my lord?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

It matters not——; the sealed ones; those that lie uppermost—So; go
now in and bid them be silent. [VILIAM _goes._] To die, and yet rule
in Norway! To die, and yet so contrive things that no man may come
to raise his head above the rest. A thousand ways may lead towards
that goal; yet can there be but _one_ that will reach it;—and now to
find that one—to find it and follow it——Ha! The way lies so close,
so close at hand! Ay, so it must be. I will keep my promise; the
Duke shall have the letter in his hands;—but the King—he shall have
the thorn of doubt in his heart. Håkon is upright, as they call it;
many things will go to wreck in his soul along with the faith in
himself and in his right. Both of them shall doubt and believe by
turns, still swaying to and fro, and finding no firm ground beneath
their feet—_perpetuum mobile!_—But will Håkon believe what I say?
Ay, that will he; am I not a dying man?—And to prepare the way I
will feed him up with truths.—My strength fails, but fresh life
fills my soul;—I no longer lie on a sick-bed, I sit in my workroom;
I will work the last night through, work—till the light goes out——

DUKE SKULE.

[_Enters from the right and advances towards the_ BISHOP.] Peace and
greeting, my honoured lord! I hear it goes ill with you.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

I am a corpse in the bud, good Duke; this night shall I break into
bloom; to-morrow you may scent my perfume.

DUKE SKULE.

Already to-night, say you?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Master Sigard says: within an hour.

DUKE SKULE.

And Trond the Priest’s letter——?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Think you still upon that?

DUKE SKULE.

’Tis never out of my thoughts.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

The King has made you Duke; before you, no man in Norway has borne
that title.

DUKE SKULE.

’Tis not enough. If Håkon be not the rightful king, then must I have
all!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ha, ’tis cold in here; the blood runs icy through my limbs.

DUKE SKULE.

Trond the Priest’s letter, my lord! For Almighty God’s sake,—have
you it?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

At least, I know where it may be found.

DUKE SKULE.

Tell me then, tell me!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Wait——

DUKE SKULE.

Nay, nay—lose not your time; I see it draws to an end;—and ’tis said
the King comes hither.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ay, the King comes; thereby you may best see that I am mindful of
your cause, even now.

DUKE SKULE.

What is your purpose?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Mind you, at the King’s bridal—you said that Håkon’s strength lay in
his steadfast faith in himself?

DUKE SKULE.

Well?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

If I confess, and raise a doubt in his mind, then his faith will
fall, and his strength with it.

DUKE SKULE.

My lord, this is sinful, sinful, if he be the rightful king.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

’Twill be in your power to restore his faith. Ere I depart hence, I
will tell you where Trond the Priest’s letter may be found.

SIRA VILIAM.

[_From the right._] The King is now coming up the street, with
torch-bearers and attendants.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

He shall be welcome. [VILIAM _goes._] Duke, I beg of you one last
service: do you carry on my feuds against all mine enemies. [_Takes
out a letter._] Here I have written them down. Those whose names
stand first I would fain have hanged, if it could be so ordered.

DUKE SKULE.

Think not upon vengeance now; you have but little time left——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Not on vengeance, but on punishment. Promise me to wield the sword
of punishment over all mine enemies when I am gone. They are your
foemen no less than mine; when you are King you must chastise them;
do you promise me that?

DUKE SKULE.

I promise and swear it; but Trond’s letter——!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

You shall learn where it is;—but see—the King comes; hide the list
of our foemen!

[_The_ DUKE _hides the paper; at the same moment_ HÅKON
_enters from the right._

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Well met at the grave-feast, my lord King.

HÅKON.

You have ever withstood me stubbornly; but that shall be forgiven
and forgotten now; death wipes out even the heaviest reckoning.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

That lightened my soul! Oh how marvellous is the King’s clemency! My
lord, what you have done for an old sinner this night shall be
tenfold——

HÅKON.

No more of that; but I must tell you that I greatly marvel you
should summon me hither to obtain my forgiveness, and yet prepare
for me such a meeting as this.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Meeting, my lord?

DUKE SKULE.

’Tis of me the King speaks. Will you, my lord Bishop, assure King
Håkon, by my faith and honour, that I knew nought of his coming, ere
I landed at Oslo wharf?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Alas, alas! The blame is all mine! I have been sickly and bedridden
all the last year; I have learnt little or nought of the affairs of
the kingdom; I thought all was now well between the princely
kinsmen!

HÅKON.

I have marked that the friendship between the Duke and myself
thrives best when we hold aloof from one another; therefore
farewell, Bishop Nicholas, and God be with you where you are now to
go.

[_Goes towards the door._

DUKE SKULE.

[_Softly and uneasily._] Bishop, Bishop, he is going!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Suddenly and with wild energy._] Stay, King Håkon!

HÅKON.

[_Stops._] What now?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

You shall not leave this room until old Bishop Nicholas has spoken
his last word!

HÅKON.

[_Instinctively lays his hand upon his sword._] Mayhap you have come
well attended to Viken, Duke.

DUKE SKULE.

I have no part in this.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

’Tis by force of words that I will hold you. Where there is a burial
in the house, the dead man ever rules the roost; he can do and let
alone as he will—so far as his power may reach. Therefore will I now
speak my own funeral-speech; in days gone by, I was ever sore afraid
lest King Sverre should come to speak it——

HÅKON.

Talk not so wildly, my lord!

DUKE SKULE.

You shorten the precious hour still left to you!

HÅKON.

Your eyes are already dim.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ay, my sight is dim; I scarce can see you where you stand; but
before my inward eye, my life is moving in a blaze of light. _There_
I see sights——; hear and learn, O King!—My race was the mightiest in
the land; many great chieftains had sprung from it; _I_ longed to be
the greatest of them all. I was yet but a boy when I began to thirst
after great deeds; meseemed I could by no means wait till I were
grown. Kings arose who had less right than I,—Magnus Erlingsson,
Sverre the Priest——; I also would be king; but I must needs be a
chieftain first. Then came the battle at Ilevoldene; ’twas the first
time I went out to war. The sun went up, and glittering lightnings
flashed from a thousand burnished blades. Magnus and all his men
advanced as to a game; I alone felt a tightness at my heart.
Fiercely our host swept forward; but I could not follow—I was
afraid! All Magnus’s other chieftains fought manfully, and many fell
in the fight; but I fled up over the mountain, and ran and ran, and
stayed not until I came down to the fiord again, far away. Many a
man had to wash his bloody clothes in Trondheim-fiord that night;—I
had to wash mine too, but not from blood. Ay, King, I was
afraid;—born to be a chieftain—and afraid! It fell upon me as a
thunderbolt; from that hour I hated all men. I prayed secretly in
the churches, I wept and knelt before the altars, I gave rich gifts,
made sacred promises; I tried and tried in battle after battle, at
Saltösund, at Jonsvoldene that summer the Baglers lay in Bergen,—but
ever in vain. Sverre it was who first noted it; he proclaimed it
loudly and with mockery, and from that day forth, not a man in the
host but laughed when Nicholas Arnesson was seen in war-weed. A
coward, a coward—and yet was I filled with longing to be a chief, to
be a king; nay, I felt I was born to be King. I could have furthered
God’s kingdom upon earth; but ’twas the saints themselves that
barred the way for me.

HÅKON.

Accuse not heaven, Bishop Nicholas! You have hated much.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Ay, I have hated much; hated every head in this land that raised
itself above the crowd. But I hated because I could not love. Fair
women,—oh, I could devour them even now with glistening eyes! I have
lived eighty years, and yet do I yearn to kill men and clasp
women;—but my lot in love was as my lot in war: nought but an
itching will, my strength sapped from my birth; dowered with
seething desire—and yet a weakling! So I became a priest: king or
priest must that man be who would have all might in his hands.
[_Laughs._] I a priest! I a churchman! Yes, for _one_ clerkly office
Heaven had notably fitted me—for taking the high notes—for singing
with a woman’s voice at the great church-festivals. And yet they up
yonder claim of me—the half-man—what they have a right to claim only
of those whom they have in all things fitted for their life-work!
There have been times when I fancied such a claim might be just; I
have lain here on my sick-bed crushed by the dread of doom and
punishment. Now it is over; my soul has fresh marrow in its bones;
_I_ have not sinned; it is _I_ that have suffered wrong; _I_ am the
accuser!

DUKE SKULE.

[_Softly._] My lord—the letter! You have little time left.

HÅKON.

Think of your soul, and humble you!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

A man’s life-work is his soul, and my life-work still shall live
upon the earth. But you, King Håkon, you should beware; for as
Heaven has stood against _me_, and reaped harm for its reward, so
are you standing against the man who holds the country’s welfare in
his hand——

HÅKON.

Ha—Duke, Duke! Now I see the bent of this meeting!

DUKE SKULE.

[_Vehemently, to the_ BISHOP.] Not a word more of this!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_To_ HÅKON.] He will stand against you so long as his head sits
fast on his shoulders. Share with him! I will have no peace in my
coffin, I will rise again, if you two share not the kingdom! Neither
of you shall add the other’s height to his own stature. If that
befell, there would be a giant in the land, and here shall no giant
be; for I was never a giant!

[_Sinks back exhausted on the couch._

DUKE SKULE.

[_Falls on his knees beside the couch and cries to_ HÅKON.] Summon
help! For God’s pity’s sake; the Bishop must not die yet!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

How it waxes dusk before my eyes!—King, for the last time—will you
share with the Duke?

HÅKON.

Not a shred will I let slip of that which God gave me.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Well and good. [_Softly._] Your faith, at least, you shall let slip.
[_Calls._] Viliam!

DUKE SKULE.

[_Softly._] The letter! The letter!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Not listening to him._] Viliam! [VILIAM _enters; the_ BISHOP
_draws him close down to him and whispers._] When I received the
Extreme Unction, all my sins were forgiven me?

SIRA VILIAM.

All your sins from your birth, till the moment you received the
Unction.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

No longer? Not until the very end?

SIRA VILIAM.

You will not sin to-night, my lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Who can tell——? Take the golden goblet Bishop Absalon left me—give
it to the Church— and say seven high masses more.

SIRA VILIAM.

God will be gracious to you, my lord!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Seven more masses, I say—for sins I may commit to-night! Go, go!
[VILIAM _goes; the_ BISHOP _turns to_ SKULE.] Duke, if you should
come to read Trond the Priest’s letter, and it should mayhap prove
that Håkon is the rightful king—what would you do then?

DUKE SKULE.

In God’s name—king he should remain.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Bethink you; much is at stake. Search every fold of your heart;
answer as though you stood before your Judge! What will you do, if
he be the rightful king?

DUKE SKULE.

Bow my head and serve him.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Mumbles._] So, so: then bide the issue. [_To_ SKULE.] Duke, I am
weak and weary; a mild and charitable mood comes over me——

DUKE SKULE.

It is death! Trond the Priest’s letter! Where is it?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

First another matter;—I gave you the list of my enemies——

DUKE SKULE.

[_Impatiently._] Yes, yes; I will take full revenge upon them——

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

No, my soul is filled with mildness; I will forgive, as the
Scripture commands. As you would forgo might, I will forgo revenge.
Burn the list!

DUKE SKULE.

Ay, ay; as you will.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

Here, in the brazier; so that I may see it——

DUKE SKULE.

[_Throws the paper into the fire._] There, then; see, it burns. And
now, speak, speak. You risk thousands of lives if you speak not now!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_With sparkling eyes._] Thousands of lives. [_Shrieks._] Light!
Air!

HÅKON.

[_Rushes to the door and cries._] Help! The Bishop is dying!

SIRA VILIAM _and several of the_ BISHOP’S _men enter._

DUKE SKULE.

[_Shakes the_ BISHOP’S _arm._] You risk Norway’s happiness through
hundreds of years, mayhap its greatness to all eternity!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

To all eternity! [_Triumphantly._] _Perpetuum mobile!_

DUKE SKULE.

By your soul’s salvation,—where is Trond the Priest’s letter?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Calls._] Seven more masses, Viliam!

DUKE SKULE.

[_Beside himself._] The letter! The letter!

BISHOP NICHOLAS.

[_Smiling in his death-agony._] ’Twas it you burned, good Duke!

[_Falls back on the couch and dies._

DUKE SKULE.

[_With an involuntary cry, starts backwards and covers his face with
his hands._] Almighty God!

THE MONKS.

[_Rushing in flight from the chapel._] Save you, all who can!

SOME VOICES.

The powers of evil have broken loose!

OTHER VOICES.

There rang a loud laugh from the corner!—A voice cried: “We have
him!”——All the lights went out!

HÅKON.

Bishop Nicholas is even now dead.

THE MONKS.

[_Fleeing to the right._] Pater noster—Pater noster

HÅKON.

[_Approaches_ SKULE, _and says in a low voice._] Duke, I will not
question what secret counsel you were hatching with the Bishop ere
he died;—but from to-morrow must you give up your powers and
dignities into my hands; I see clearly now that we two cannot go
forward together.

DUKE SKULE.

[_Looks at him absently._] Go forward together——?

HÅKON.

To-morrow I hold an Assembly in the Palace; then must all things be
made clear between us.

[_Goes out to the right._

DUKE SKULE.

The Bishop dead and the letter burnt! A life full of doubt and
strife and dread! Oh, could I but pray!—No—I must act; this evening
must the stride be taken, once for all! [_To_ VILIAM.] Whither went
the King?

SIRA VILIAM.

[_Terrified._] Christ save me,—what would you with him?

DUKE SKULE.

Think you I would slay him to-night?

[_Goes out to the right._

SIRA VILIAM.

[_Looks after him, shaking his head, while the house-folk bear the
body out to the left._] Seven more masses, the Bishop said; I think
’twere safest we should say fourteen.

[_Follows the others._

--------------

_A room in the Palace. In the back is the entrance door; in each of
the side walls a smaller door; in front, on the right, a
window. Hung from the roof, a lamp is burning. Close to the
door on the left stands a bench, and further back a cradle, in
which the King-child is sleeping; MARGRETE is kneeling beside
the child._

MARGRETE.
[_Rocks the cradle and sings._]

Now roof and rafters blend with
the starry vault on high;
now flieth little Håkon
on dream-wings through the sky.

There mounts a mighty stairway
from earth to God’s own land;
there Håkon with the angels
goes climbing, hand in hand.

God’s angel-babes are watching
thy cot, the still night through;
God bless thee, little Håkon,
thy mother watcheth too.

_A short pause._ DUKE SKULE _enters from the back._

MARGRETE.

[_Starts up with a cry of joy and rushes to meet him._] My
father!—Oh, how I have sighed and yearned for this meeting!

DUKE SKULE.

God’s peace be with you, Margrete! Where is the King?

MARGRETE.

With Bishop Nicholas.

DUKE SKULE.

Ha,—then must he soon be here.

MARGRETE.

And you will talk together and be at one, be friends again, as in
the old days?

DUKE SKULE.

That would I gladly.

MARGRETE.

’Twould rejoice Håkon no less; and I pray to God every day that so
it may be. Oh, but come hither and see——

[_Takes his hand and leads him to the cradle._

DUKE SKULE.

Your child!

MARGRETE.

Ay, that lovely babe is mine;—is it not marvellous? He is called
Håkon, like the King! See, his eyes—nay, you cannot see them now he
is sleeping—but he has great blue eyes; and he can laugh, and reach
forth his hands to take hold of me.—and he knows me already.

[_Smoothes out the bed-clothes tenderly._

DUKE SKULE.

Håkon will have sons, the Bishop foretold.

MARGRETE.

To me this little child is a thousand times dearer than all Norway’s
land—and to Håkon too. Meseems I cannot rightly believe my
happiness; I have the cradle standing by my bedside; every night, as
often as I waken, I look to see if it be there—I am fearful lest it
should prove to be all a dream——

DUKE SKULE.

[_Listens and goes to the window._] Is not that the King?

MARGRETE.

Ay; he is going up the other stair; I will bring him. [_Takes her
father’s hand and leads him playfully up to the cradle._] Duke
Skule! Keep watch over the King-child the while—for he is a
King-child too—though I can never remember it! Should he wake, then
bow deeply before him, and hail him as men hail kings! Now will I
bring Håkon. Oh, God, God! now at last come light and peace over our
house. [_Goes out to the right._

DUKE SKULE.

[_After a short and gloomy silence._] Håkon has a son. His race
shall live after him. If he die, he leaves an heir who stands nearer
the throne than all others. All things thrive with Håkon. Mayhap he
is not the rightful king; but his faith in himself stands firm as
ever; the Bishop would have shaken it, but Death gave him not time,
God gave him not leave. God watches over Håkon, and suffers him to
keep the girdle of strength. Were I to tell him now? Were I to make
oath to what the Bishop told me? What would it avail? None would
believe me, neither Håkon nor the others. He would have believed the
Bishop in the hour of death; the doubt would have rankled
poisonously in him; but it was not to be. And deep-rooted as is
Håkon’s faith, so is my doubt deep-rooted; what man on earth can
weed it out? None, none. The ordeal has been endured, God has
spoken, and still Håkon may not be the rightful king, while my life
goes to waste. [_Seats himself broodingly beside a table on the
right._] And if, now, I won the kingdom, would not the doubt dwell
with me none the less, gnawing and wearing and wasting me away, with
its ceaseless icy drip, drip.—Aye; but ’tis better to sit doubting
on the throne than to stand down in the crowd, doubting of him who
sits there in your stead.—There must be an end between me and Håkon!
An end? But how? [_Rises._] Almighty, thou who hast thus bestead me,
thou must bear the guilt of the issue! [_Goes to and fro, stops and
reflects._] I must break down all bridges, hold only _one_, and
there conquer or fall—as the Bishop said at the bridal-feast at
Bergen. That is now nigh upon three years since, and through all
that time have I split up and spilt my strength in trying to guard
all the bridges. [_With energy._] Now must I follow the Bishop’s
counsel; now or never! Here are we both in Oslo; this time I have
more men than Håkon; why not seize the advantage—’tis so seldom on
my side. [_Vacillating._] But to-night——? At once——? No, no! Not
to-night! Ha-ha-ha—there again!—pondering, wavering! Håkon knows not
what that means; he goes straight forward, and so he conquers!
[_Going up the room, stops suddenly beside the cradle._] The
King-child!—How fair a brow! He is dreaming. [_Smoothes out the
bed-clothes; and looks long at the child._] Such an one as thou can
save many things in a man’s soul. I have no son. [_Bends over the
cradle._] He is like Håkon——[_Shrinks suddenly backwards._] The
King-child, said the Queen! Bow low before him and hail him as men
hail kings! Should Håkon die before me, this child will be raised to
the throne; and I—I shall stand humbly before him, and bow low and
hail him as king! [_In rising agitation._] This child, Håkon’s son,
shall sit on high, on the seat that should in right, mayhap, be
mine—and I shall stand before his footstool, white-haired and bowed
with age, and see my whole life-work lying undone—die without having
been king!—I have more men than Håkon—there blows a storm to-night,
and the wind sweeps down the fiord——! If I took the King-child? I am
safe with the Trönders.[34] What would Håkon dare attempt, were his
child in my power? My men will follow me, fight for me and conquer.
Their reward shall be kingly, and they know it.—So shall it be! I
will take the stride; I will leap the abyss, for the first time!
Could I but see if thou hast Sverre’s eyes—or Håkon Sverresson’s——!
He sleeps. I cannot see them. [_A pause._] Sleep is as a shield.
Sleep in peace, thou little Pretender! [_Goes over to the table._]
Håkon shall decide; once again will I speak with him.

MARGRETE.

[_Enters, with the_ KING, _from the room on the right._] The Bishop
dead! Oh, trust me, all strife dies with him.

HÅKON.

To bed, Margrete! You must be weary after the journey.

MARGRETE.

Yes, yes. [_To the_ DUKE.] Father, be kind and yielding—Håkon has
promised to be the like! A thousand good-nights, to both of you!

[_Makes a gesture of farewell at the door on the left, and
goes out; two women carry out the cradle._

DUKE SKULE.

King Håkon, this time we must not part as foes. All evil will
follow; there will fall a time of dread upon the land.

HÅKON.

The land has known nought else through many generations; but, see
you, God is with me; every foeman falls that would stand against me.
There are no more Baglers, no Slittungs, no Ribbungs; Earl Jon is
slain, Guthorm Ingesson is dead, Sigurd Ribbung likewise—all claims
that were put forth at the folkmote at Bergen have fallen
powerless—from whom, then, should the time of dread come now?

DUKE SKULE.

Håkon, I fear me it might come from me!

HÅKON.

When I came to the throne, I gave you the third part of the
kingdom——

DUKE SKULE.

But kept two-thirds yourself!

HÅKON.

You ever thirsted after more; I eked out your share until now you
hold half the kingdom.

DUKE SKULE.

There lack ten ship-wards.[35]

HÅKON.

I made you Duke; that has no man been in Norway before you.

DUKE SKULE.

But you are king! I must have no king over me! I was not born to
serve you; I must rule in my own right!

HÅKON.

[_Looks at him for a moment, and says coldly:_] Heaven guard your
understanding, my lord. Good night.

[_Going._

DUKE SKULE.

[_Blocking the way._] You shall not go from me thus! Beware, or I
will forswear all faith with you; you can no longer be my overlord;
we two must share!

HÅKON.

You dare to say this to me!

DUKE SKULE.

I have more men than you in Oslo, Håkon Håkonsson.

HÅKON.

Mayhap you think to——

DUKE SKULE.

Hearken to me! Think of the Bishop’s words! Let us share; give me
the ten ship-wards; let me hold my share as a free kingdom, without
tax or tribute. Norway has ere this been parted into two
kingdoms;—we will hold firmly together——

HÅKON.

Duke, you must be soul-sick, that you can crave such a thing.

DUKE SKULE.

Ay, I am soul-sick, and there is no other healing for me. We two
must be equals; there must be no man over me!

HÅKON.

Every treeless skerry is a stone in the building which Harald
Hårfager and the sainted King Olaf reared; would you have me break
in twain what they have mortised together? Never!

DUKE SKULE.