THE PRETENDERS (1863) (continued 2)

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 219fitted 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 220as 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.

221Bishop 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 222Skule.] 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!

223Sira 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 224voice 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?

225Duke 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.

226A 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 227can 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 228himself 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. 229[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.

230Margrete.

[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——

231Duke 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.

232Håkon.

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.

Well, then let us reign by turns; let each bear sway for three years! You have reigned long; now my turn has come. Depart from the land for three years;—I will be king the while; I will even out your paths for you against your home-coming; I will guide all things for the best;—it wears and blunts the senses to sit ever on the watch. Håkon, hear me—three years each; let us wear the crown by turns!

Håkon.

Think you my crown would fit well on your brow?

233Duke Skule.

No crown is too wide for me!

Håkon.

It needs a God-sent right and a God-sent calling to wear the crown.

Duke Skule.

And know you so surely that you have a God-sent right?

Håkon.

I have God’s own word for it.

Duke Skule.

Rest not too surely on that. Had the Bishop had time to speak—but that were bootless now; you would not believe me. Ay, truly you have mighty allies on high; but I defy you none the less! You will not reign by turns with me? Well—then must we try the last resort;—Håkon, let us two fight for it, man to man, with heavy weapons, for life or death!

Håkon.

Speak you in jest, my lord?

Duke Skule.

I speak for my life-work and for my soul’s salvation!

Håkon.

Then is there small hope for the saving of your soul.

Duke Skule.

You will not fight with me? You shall, you shall!

234Håkon.

Oh blinded man! I cannot but pity you. You think ’tis the Lord’s calling that draws you toward the throne; you see not that ’tis nought but pride of heart. What is it that allures you? The royal circlet, the purple-bordered mantle, the right to be seated three steps above the floor;—pitiful, pitiful: Were that kingship, I would cast it into your hat, as I cast a groat to a beggar.

Duke Skule.

You have known me since your childhood, and you judge me thus!

Håkon.

You have wisdom and courage and all noble gifts of the mind; you are born to stand nearest a king, but not to be a king yourself.

Duke Skule.

That will we now put to the proof!

Håkon.

Name me a single king’s-task you achieved in all the years you were regent for me! Were the Baglers or the Ribbungs ever mightier than then? You were in ripe manhood, yet the land was harried by rebellious factions; did you quell a single one of them? I was young and untried when I came to the helm—look at me—all fell before me when I became king; there are no Baglers, no Ribbungs left!

Duke Skule.

Beware how you boast of that; for there lies the greatest danger. Party must stand against party, claim against claim, region against region, 235if the king is to have the might. Every village, every family, must either need him or fear him. If you strike at the root of faction, at the same stroke you kill your own power.

Håkon.

And you would be king—you, who think such thoughts! You had been well fitted for a chieftain’s part in Erling Skakke’s days; but the time has grown away from you, and you know it not. See you not, then, that Norway’s realm, as Harald and Olaf built it up, may be likened to a church that stands as yet unconsecrate? The walls soar aloft with mighty buttresses, the vaultings have a noble span, the spire points upward, like a fir-tree in the forest; but the life, the throbbing heart, the fresh blood-stream, is lacking to the work; God’s living spirit is not breathed into it; it stands unconsecrate.—I will bring consecration! Norway has been a kingdom, it shall become a people. The Trönder has stood against the man of Viken, the Agdeman against the Hordalander, the Halogalander against the Sogndalesman; all shall be one hereafter, and all shall feel and know that they are one! That is the task which God has laid on my shoulders; that is the work which now lies before the King of Norway. That life-work, Duke, I think you were best to leave untried, for truly it is beyond you.

Duke Skule.

[Impressed.] To unite——? To unite the Trönders and the men of Viken,—all Norway——? [Sceptically.] ’Tis impossible! Norway’s saga tells of no such thing!

236Håkon.

For you ’tis impossible, for you can but work out the old saga afresh; for me, ’tis as easy as for the falcon to cleave the clouds.

Duke Skule.

[In uneasy agitation.] To unite the whole people—to awaken it so that it shall know itself one! Whence got you so strange a thought? It runs through me like ice and fire. [Vehemently.] It comes from the devil, Håkon; it shall never be carried through while I have strength to buckle on my helm.

Håkon.

’Tis from God the thought comes to me, and never shall I let it slip while I bear St. Olaf’s circlet on my brow!

Duke Skule.

Then must St. Olaf’s circlet fall from your brow!

Håkon.

Who will make it fall?

Duke Skule.

I, if none other.

Håkon.

You, Skule, will be harmless after to-morrow’s Assembly.

Duke Skule.

Håkon! Tempt not God! Drive me not out upon the last ledge of the deep!

Håkon.

[Points to the door.] Go, my lord—and be it 237forgotten that we have spoken with sharp tongues this night.

Duke Skule.

[Looks hard at him for a moment, and says:] Next time, ’twill be with sharper tongues we speak.

[Goes to the back.

Håkon.

[After a short pause.] He threatens! No, no, it cannot come to that. He must, he shall give way and do my will; I have need of that strong arm, that cunning brain.—Whatsoever courage and wisdom and strength there maybe in this land, all gifts that God has endowed men withal, are but granted them to my uses. For my service did all noble gifts fall to Duke Skule’s share; to defy me is to defy Heaven; ’tis my duty to punish whosoever shall set himself up against Heaven’s will—for Heaven has done so much for me.

Dagfinn the Peasant.

[Enters from the back.] Be on your guard to-night, my lord; the Duke has surely evil in his mind.

Håkon.

What say you?

Dagfinn.

What may be his drift, I know not; but sure am I that something is brewing.

Håkon.

Can he think to fall upon us? Impossible, impossible!

Dagfinn.

No, ’tis something else. His ships lie clear for sailing; he has summoned an Assembly on board them.

238Håkon.

You must mistake——! Go, Dagfinn, and bring me sure tidings.

Dagfinn.

Ay ay, trust to me.

[Goes.

Håkon.

No,—’tis not to be thought of! The Duke dare not rise against me. God will not suffer it—God, who has hitherto guided all things for me so marvellously. I must have peace now, for ’tis now I must set about my work!—I have done so little yet; but I hear the unerring voice of the Lord calling to me: Thou shalt do a great king’s-work in Norway!

Gregorius Jonsson.

[Enters from the back.] My lord and King!

Håkon.

Gregorius Jonsson! Come you hither?

Gregorius Jonsson.

I offer myself for your service. Thus far have I followed the Duke; but now I dare follow him no further.

Håkon.

What has befallen?

Gregorius Jonsson.

That which no man will believe, when ’tis rumoured through the land.

Håkon.

Speak, speak!

239Gregorius Jonsson.

I tremble to hear the sound of my own words; know then——

[He seizes the King’s arm and whispers.

Håkon.

[Starts backwards with a cry.] Ha, are you distraught?

Gregorius Jonsson.

Would to God I were.

Håkon.

Unheard of! No, it cannot be true!

Gregorius Jonsson.

By Christ’s dear blood, so is it!

Håkon.

Go, go; sound the trumpet-call for my guard; get all my men under arms.

[Gregorius Jonsson goes.

Håkon.

[Paces the room once or twice, then goes quickly up to the door of Margrete’s chamber, knocks at it, takes one or two more turns through the room, then goes again to the door, knocks, and calls.] Margrete!

[Goes on pacing up and down.

Margrete.

[In the doorway, attired for the night, with her hair down; she has a red cloak round her shoulders, holding it close together over her breast.] Håkon! Is it you?

240Håkon.

Yes, yes; come hither.

Margrete.

Oh, but you must not look at me; I was in bed already.

Håkon.

I have other things to think of.

Margrete.

What has befallen.

Håkon.

Give me a good counsel! I have even now received the worst tidings.

Margrete.

[Alarmed.] What tidings, Håkon?

Håkon.

That there are now two kings in Norway.

Margrete.

Two kings in Norway!—Håkon, where is my father?

Håkon.

He has proclaimed himself king on board his ship; now he is sailing to Nidaros to be crowned.

Margrete.

Oh God, thou almighty——!

[Sinks down on the bench, covers her face with her hands and weeps.]

Håkon.

Two kings in the land!

241Margrete.

My husband the one—my father the other!

Håkon.

[Pacing restlessly up and down.] Give me a good counsel, Margrete! Should I cross the country by way of the Uplands, come first to Nidaros, and prevent the crowning? No, it may not be done; My men are too few; there in the north he is more powerful than I.—Give me counsel; how can I have the Duke slain, ere he come to Nidaros?

Margrete.

[Imploringly, with folded hands.] Håkon, Håkon!

Håkon.

Can you not hit upon a good device, I say, to have the Duke slain?

Margrete.

[Sinks down from the bench in agony and remains kneeling.] Oh, can you so utterly forget that he is my father?

Håkon.

Your father——; ay, ay, it is true; I had forgotten.

[Raises her up.] Sit, sit, Margrete; comfort you; do not weep; you have no fault in this. [Goes over to the window.] Duke Skule will be worse for me than all other foemen! God, God,—why hast thou stricken me so sorely, when I have in nowise sinned! [A knock at the door in the back; he starts, listens, and cries:] Who knocks so late?

Inga’s Voice.

[Without.] One who is a-cold, Håkon!

242Håkon.

[With a cry.] My mother!

Margrete.

[Springs up.] Inga!

Håkon.

[Rushes to the door and opens it; Inga is sitting on the doorstep.] My mother! Sitting like a dog outside her son’s door! And I ask why God has stricken me!

Inga.

[Stretches out her arms towards him.] Håkon, my child! Blessings upon you!

Håkon.

[Raising her up.] Come—come in; here are light and warmth!

Inga.

May I come in to you?

Håkon.

Never shall we part again.

Inga.

My son—my King—oh, but you are good and loving! I stood in a corner and saw you, as you came from the Bishop’s Palace; you looked so sorrowful; I could not part from you thus.

Håkon.

God be thanked for that! No one, truly, could have come to me more welcome than you. Margrete—my mother—I have sorely sinned; I have barred my heart against you two, who are so rich in love.

243Margrete.

[Falls on his neck.] Oh, Håkon, my beloved husband; do I stand near you now?

Håkon.

Ay, near me, near me; not to give me cunning counsels, but to shed light over my path. Come what will, I feel the Lord’s strength within me!

Dagfinn the Peasant.

[Enters hastily from the back.] My lord, my lord! The worst has befallen!

Håkon.

[Smiles confidently while he holds Margrete and Inga closely to him.] I know it; but there is nought to fear, good Dagfinn! If there be two kings in Norway, there is but one in Heaven—and He will set all straight!

244

ACT FOURTH.

The great hall in Oslo Palace. King Skule is feasting with the Guard and his Chiefs. In front, on the left, stands the throne, where Skule sits, richly attired, with a purple mantle and the royal circlet on his head. The supper-table, by which the guests are seated, stretches from the throne towards the background. Opposite to Skule sit Paul Flida and Bård Bratte. Some of the humbler guests are standing, to the right. It is late evening; the hall is brightly lighted. The banquet is drawing to a close; the men are very merry, and some of them drunk; they drink to each other, laugh, and all talk together.

Paul Flida.

[Rises and strikes the table.] Silence in the hall; Jatgeir Skald will say forth his song in honour of King Skule.

Jatgeir.

[Stands out in the middle of the floor.^[36]

Duke Skule he summoned the Örething;^[37]

when ’twas mass-time in Nidaros town;

and the bells rang and swords upon bucklers clashed bravely

when Duke Skule he donned the crown.

King Skule marched over the Dovrefjeld,

his host upon snow-shoes sped;

245the Gudbranddalesman he grovelled for grace,

but his hoard must e’en ransom his head.

King Skule south over Miösen fared,—

the Uplander cursed at his banner;

King Skule hasted through Raumarike to Låka in Nannestad manor.

’Twas all in the holy Shrove-tide week

we met with the Birchleg horde;

Earl Knut was their captain—the swords with loud tongue

in the suit for the throne made award.

They say of a truth that since Sverre’s days

was never so hot a fight;

red-sprent, like warriors’ winding-sheets,

grew the upland that erst lay white.

They took to their heels did the Birchenlegs,

flinging from them both buckler and bill there;

many hundreds, though, took to their heels nevermore,

for they lay and were icily chill there.

No man knows where King Håkon hideth;—

King Skule stands safe at the helm.

All hail and long life to thee, lord, in thy state

as King of all Norway’s realm!

Skule’s Men.

[Spring up with loud jubilation, hold goblets and beakers aloft, clash their weapons, and repeat:

All hail and long life to thee, lord, in thy state as King of all Norway’s realm!

King Skule.

Thanks for the song, Jatgeir Skald! ’Tis as 246I best like it; for it gives my men no less praise than myself.

Jatgeir.

The King is honoured when his men are praised.

King Skule.

Take as guerdon this arm-ring, stay with me, and be of my household; I will have many skalds about me.

Jatgeir.

’Twill need many, my lord, if all your great deeds are to be sung.

King Skule.

I will be threefold more bountiful than Håkon; the skald’s song shall be honoured and rewarded like all other noble deeds, so long as I am king. Be seated; now you belong to my household; all you have need of shall be freely given you.

Jatgeir.

[Seats himself.] Ere long there will be a dearth of what I most need, my lord.

King Skule.

What mean you?

Jatgeir.

Foes to King Skule, whose flight and fall I can sing.

Many of the Men.

[Amid laughter and applause.] Well said, Icelander!

Paul Flida.

[To Jatgeir.] The song was good; but ’tis 247known there goes a spice of lying to every skald-work, and yours was not without it.

Jatgeir.

Lying, Sir Marshal?

Paul Flida.

Ay; you say no man knows where King Håkon is hiding; that is not true; we have certain tidings that Håkon is at Nidaros.

King Skule.

[Smiling.] He has claimed homage for the King-child, and given it the kingly title.

Jatgeir.

That have I heard; but I knew not that any man could give away that which he himself does not possess.

King Skule.

’Tis easiest to give what you yourself do not possess.

Bård Bratte.

But it can scarce be easy to beg your way in midwinter from Bergen to Nidaros.

Jatgeir.

The fortunes of the Birchlegs move in a ring; they began hungry and frozen, and now they end in like case.

Paul Flida.

’Tis rumoured in Bergen that Håkon has forsworn the Church and all that is holy; he heard not mass on New Year’s day.

248Bård Bratte.

He could plead lawful hindrance, Paul; he stood all day cutting his silver goblets and dishes to pieces—he had naught else wherewith to pay his household.

[Laughter and loud talk among the guests.

King Skule.

[Raises his goblet.] I drink to you, Bård Bratte, and thank you and all my new men. You fought manfully for me at Låka, and bore a great part in the victory.

Bård Bratte.

It was the first time I fought under you, my lord; but I soon felt that ’tis easy to conquer when such a chieftain as you rides at the head of the host. But I would we had not slain so many and chased them so far; for now I fear ’twill be long ere they dare face us again.

King Skule.

Wait till the spring: we shall meet them again, never fear. Earl Knut lies with the remnant at Tunsberg rock, and Arnbiörn Jonsson is gathering a force eastward in Viken; when they deem themselves strong enough, they will soon let us hear from them.

Bård Bratte.

They will never dare to, after the great slaughter at Låka.

King Skule.

Then will we lure them forth with cunning.

Many Voices.

Ay, ay—do so, lord King!

249Bård Bratte.

You have good store of cunning, King Skule. Your foemen have never warning ere you fall upon them, and you are ever there where they least await you.

Paul Flida.

’Tis therefore that the Birchlegs call us Vårbælgs.^[38]

King Skule.

Others say Vargbælgs; but this I swear, that when next we meet, the Birchlegs shall learn how hard it is to turn such Wolf-skins inside out.

Bård Bratte.

With their good will shall we never meet-’twill be a chase the whole country round.

King Skule.

Ay, that it shall be. First we must purge Viken, and make sure of all these eastward parts; then will we get our ships together, and sail round the Naze and up the coast to Nidaros.

Bård Bratte

And when you come in such wise to Nidaros, I scare think the monks will deny to move 250St. Olaf’s shrine out to the mote-stead, as they did in the autumn, when we swore allegiance.

King Skule.

The shrine shall out; I will bear my kingship in all ways lawfully.

Jatgeir.

And I promise you to sing a great death-song, when you have slain the Sleeper.

[An outburst of laughter among the men.

King Skule.

The Sleeper?

Jatgeir.

Know you not, my lord, that King Håkon is called “Håkon the Sleeper,” because he sits as though benumbed ever since you came to the throne?

Bård Bratte.

They say he lies ever with his eyes closed. Doubtless he dreams that he is still king.

King Skule.

Let him dream; he shall never dream himself back into the kingship.

Jatgeir.

Let his sleep be long and dreamless, then shall I have stuff for songs.

The Men.

Ay, ay, do as the skald says!

King Skule.

When so many good men counsel as one, the 251counsel must be good; yet will we not talk now of that matter. But one promise I will make: each of my men shall inherit the weapons and harness, and gold and silver, of whichever one of the enemy he slays; and each man shall succeed to the dignities of him he lays low. He who slays a baron shall himself be a baron; he who slays a thane, shall receive his thaneship; and all they who already hold such dignities and offices, shall be rewarded after other kingly sort.

The Men.

[Spring up in wild delight.] Hail, hail, King Skule! Lead us against the Birchlegs!

Bård Bratte.

Now are you sure to conquer in all battles.

Paul Flida.

I claim Dagfinn the Peasant for myself; he owns a good sword that I have long hankered after.

Bård Bratte.

I will have Bård Torsteinsson’s hauberk; it saved his life at Låka, for it withstands both cut and thrust.

Jatgeir.

Nay, but let me have it; ’twill fit me better; you shall have five golden marks in exchange.

Bård Bratte.

Where will you find five golden marks, Skald?

Jatgeir.

I will take them from Gregorius Jonsson when we come northward.

252The Men.

[All talking together.] And I will have—I will have——[The rest becomes indistinct in the hubbub.

Paul Flida.

Away! Every man to his quarters; bethink you that you are in the King’s hall.

The Men.

Ay, ay—hail to the King, hail to King Skule!

King Skule.

To bed now, good fellows! We have sat long over the drinking-table to-night.

A Man-at-Arms.

[As the crowd is trooping out.] To-morrow we will cast lots for the Birchlegs’ goods.

Another.

Rather leave it to luck!

Several.

Nay, nay!

Others.

Ay, ay!

Bård Bratte.

Now the Wolf-skins are fighting for the bear-fell.

Paul Flida.

And they have yet to fell the bear.

[All go out by the back.

King Skule.

[Waits till the men are gone; the tension of 253his features relaxes; he sinks upon a bench.] How weary I am, weary to death. To live in the midst of that swarm day out and day in, to look smilingly ahead as though I were so immovably assured of right and victory and fortune. To have no creature with whom I may speak of all that gnaws me so sorely. [Rises with a look of terror.] And the battle at Låka! That I should have conquered there! Håkon sent his host against me; God was to judge and award between the two kings—and I conquered, conquered, as never any before has conquered the Birchlegs! Their shields stood upright in the snow, but there was none behind them—the Birchlegs took to the woods, and fled over upland and moor and lea as far as their legs would carry them. The unbelievable came to pass; Håkon lost and I won. There is a secret horror in that victory. Thou great God of Heaven! there rules, then, no certain law on high, that all things must obey? The right carries with it no conquering might? [With a change of tone, wildly.] I am sick, I am sick!—Wherefore should not the right be on my side? May I not deem that God himself would assure me of it, since he let me conquer? [Brooding.] The possibilities are even;—not a feather-weight more on the one side than on the other; and yet—[shakes his head]—yet the balance dips on Håkon’s part. I have hatred and hot desire to cast into my scale, yet the balance dips on Håkon’s part. When the thought of the kingly right comes over me unawares, ’tis ever he, not I, that is the true king. When I would see myself as the true king, I must do it with forethought, I must build up a whole fabric of subtleties, a work of cunning; I must hold memories aloof, and take faith by 254storm. It was not so before. What has befallen to fill me so full of doubt? The burning of the letter? No—that made the uncertainty eternal, but did not add to it. Has Håkon done any great and kingly deed in these later days? No, his greatest deeds were done while I least believed in him. [Seats himself on the right.] What is it? Ha, strange! It comes and goes like a marsh-fire; it dances at the tip of my tongue, as when one has lost a word and cannot find it. [Springs up.] Ha! Now I have it! No——! Yes, yes! Now I have it!—“Norway has been a kingdom, it shall become a people; all shall be one, and all shall feel and know that they are one!” Since Håkon spoke those madman’s words, he stands ever before me as the rightful king. [Whispers with fixed and apprehensive gaze.] What if God’s calling glimmered through these strange words? If God had garnered up the thought till now, and would now strew it forth—and had chosen Håkon for his sower?

Paul Flida.

[Enters from the back.] My lord King, I have tidings for you.

King Skule.

Tidings?

Paul Flida.

A man who comes from down the fiord brings news that the Birchlegs in Tunsberg have launched their ships, and that many men have gathered in the town in these last days.

King Skule.

Good, we will go forth to meet them—to-morrow or the day after.

255Paul Flida.

It might chance, my lord King, that the Birchlegs had a mind to meet us first.

King Skule.

They have not ships enough for that, nor men.

Paul Flida.

But Arnbiörn Jonsson is gathering both men and ships, all round in Viken.

King Skule.

The better for us; we will crush them at one blow, as we did at Låka.

Paul Flida.

My lord, ’tis not so easy to crush the Birchlegs twice following.

King Skule.

And wherefore not?

Paul Flida.

Because Norway’s saga tells not that the like has ever befallen. Shall I send forth scouts to Hoved-isle?

King Skule.

’Tis needless; the night is dark, and there is a sea-fog to boot.

Paul Flida.

Well well, the King knows best; but bethink you, my lord, that all men are against you here in Viken. The townsfolk of Oslo hate you, and should the Birchlegs come, they will make common cause with them.

256King Skule.

[With animation.] Paul Flida, were it not possible that I could win over the men of Viken to my side?

Paul Flida.

[Looks at him in astonishment, and shakes his head.] No, my lord, it is not possible.

King Skule.

And wherefore not?

Paul Flida.

Why, for that you have the Trönders on your side.

King Skule.

I will have both the Trönders and the men of Viken!

Paul Flida.

Nay, my lord, that cannot be!

King Skule.

Not possible! cannot be! And wherefore—wherefore not?

Paul Flida.

Because the man of Viken is the man of Viken, the Trönder is the Trönder; because so it has always been, and no saga tells of a time when it was otherwise.

King Skule.

Ay, ay—you are right. Go.

Paul Flida.

And send forth no scouts?

King Skule.

Wait till daybreak. [Paul Flida goes.] Norway’s 257saga tells of no such thing; it has never been so yet; Paul Flida answers me as I answered Håkon. Are there, then, upward as well as downward steps? Stands Håkon as high over me as I over Paul Flida? Has Håkon an eye for unborn thoughts, that is lacking in me? Who stood so high as Harold Hårfager in the days when every headland had its king, and he said: Now they must fall—hereafter shall there be but one? He threw the old saga to the winds, and made a new saga. [A pause; he paces up and down lost in thought; then he stops.] Can one man take God’s calling from another, as he takes weapons and gold from his fallen foe? Can a Pretender clothe himself in a king’s life-task, as he can put on the kingly mantle? The oak that is felled to be a ship’s timber, can it say: Nay, I will be the mast, I will take on me the task of the fir-tree, point upwards, tall and shining, bear the golden vane at my top, spread bellying white sails to the sunshine, and meet the eyes of all men, from afar!—No, no, thou heavy gnarled oak-trunk, thy place is down in the keel; there shalt thou lie, and do thy work, unheard-of and unseen by those aloft in the daylight; it is thou that shalt hinder the ship from being whelmed in the storm; while the mast with the golden vane and the bellying sail shall bear it forward toward the new, toward the unknown, toward alien strands and the saga of the future! [Vehemently.] Since Håkon uttered his great king-thought, I can see no other thought in the world but that only. If I cannot take it and act it out, I see no other thought to fight for. [Brooding.] And can I not make it mine? If I cannot, whence comes my great love for Håkon’s thought?

258Jatgeir.

[Enters from the back.] Forgive my coming, lord King——

King Skule.

You come to my wish, Skald!

Jatgeir.

I overheard some townsfolk at my lodging talking darkly of——

King Skule.

Let that wait. Tell me, Skald: you who have fared far abroad in strange lands, have you ever seen a woman love another’s child? Not only have kindness for it—’tis not that I mean; but love it, love it with the warmest passion of her soul.

Jatgeir.

That do only those women who have no child of their own to love.

King Skule.

Only those women——?

Jatgeir.

And chiefly women who are barren.

King Skule.

Chiefly the barren——? They love the children of others with all their warmest passions?

Jatgeir.

That will oftentimes befall.

King Skule.

And does it not sometimes befall that such a 259barren woman will slay another’s child, because she herself has none?

Jatgeir.

Ay, ay; but in that she does unwisely.

King Skule.

Unwisely?

Jatgeir.

Ay, for she gives the gift of sorrow to her whose child she slays.

King Skule.

Think you the gift of sorrow is a great good?

Jatgeir.

Yes, lord.

King Skule.

[Looks fixedly at him.] Methinks there are two men in you, Icelander. When you sit amid the household at the merry feast, you draw cloak and hood over all your thoughts; when one is alone with you, sometimes you seem to be of those among whom one were fain to choose his friend. How comes it?

Jatgeir.

When you go to swim in the river, my lord, you would scarce strip you where the people pass by to church; you seek a sheltered privacy.

King Skule.

True, true.

Jatgeir.

My soul has the like shamefastness; therefore I do not strip me when there are many in the hall.

260King Skule.

Ha. [A short pause.] Tell me, Jatgeir, how came you to be a skald? Who taught you skald-craft?

Jatgeir.

Skaldcraft cannot be taught, my lord.

King Skule.

Cannot be taught? How came it then?

Jatgeir.

The gift of sorrow came to me, and I was a skald.

King Skule.

Then ’tis the gift of sorrow the skald has need of?

Jatgeir.

I needed sorrow; others there may be who need faith, or joy—or doubt——

King Skule.

Doubt as well?

Jatgeir.

Ay; but then must the doubter be strong and sound.

King Skule.

And whom call you the unsound doubter?

Jatgeir.

He who doubts of his own doubt.

King Skule.

[Slowly.] That, methinks, were death.

261Jatgeir.

’Tis worse; ’tis neither day nor night.

King Skule.

[Quickly, as if shaking off his thoughts.] Where are my weapons? I will fight and act—not think. What was it you would have told me when you came?

Jatgeir.

’Twas what I noted in my lodging. The townsmen whisper together secretly, and laugh mockingly, and ask if we be well assured that King Håkon is in the westland; there is somewhat they are in glee over.

King Skule.

They are men of Viken, and therefore against me.

Jatgeir.

They scoff because King Olaf’s shrine could not be brought out to the mote-stead when you were chosen king; they say it boded ill.

King Skule.

When next I come to Nidaros, the shrine shall out! It shall stand under the open sky, though I should have to tear down St. Olaf’s church and widen out the mote-stead over the spot where it stood.

Jatgeir.

That were a strong deed; but I shall make a song of it, as strong as the deed itself.

King Skule.

Have you many unmade songs within you, Jatgeir?

262Jatgeir.

Nay, but many unborn; they are conceived one after the other, come to life, and are brought forth.

King Skule.

And if I, who am King and have the might, if I were to have you slain, would all the unborn skald-thoughts you bear within you die along with you?

Jatgeir.

My lord, it is a great sin to slay a fair thought.

King Skule.

I ask not if it be a sin; I ask if it be possible!

Jatgeir.

I know not.

King Skule.

Have you never had another skald for your friend, and has he never unfolded to you a great and noble song he thought to make?

Jatgeir.

Yes, lord.

King Skule.

Did you not then wish that you could slay him, to take his thought and make the song yourself?

Jatgeir.

My lord, I am not barren; I have children of my own; I need not to love those of other men.

[Goes.

King Skule.

[After a pause.] The Icelander is in very deed a skald. He speaks God’s deepest truth and knows 263it not——I am as a barren woman. Therefore I love Håkon’s kingly thought-child, love it with the warmest passion of my soul. Oh, that I could but adopt^[39] it! It would die in my hands. Which were best, that it should die in my hands, or wax great in his? Should I ever have peace of soul if that came to pass? Can I forgo all? Can I stand by and see Håkon make himself famous for all time! How dead and empty is all within me—and around me. No friend—; ah, the Icelander! [Goes to the door and calls:] Has the skald gone from the palace?

A Guard.

[Outside.] No, my lord; he stands in the outer hall talking with the watch.

King Skule.

Bid him come hither. [Goes forward to the table; presently Jatgeir enters.] I cannot sleep, Jatgeir; ’tis all my great kingly thoughts that keep me awake, you see.

Jatgeir.

’Tis with the king’s thoughts as with the skald’s, I doubt not. They fly highest and grow quickest when there is night and stillness around.

King Skule.

Is it so with the skald’s thoughts too?

Jatgeir.

Ay, lord; no song is born by daylight; it may be written down in the sunshine; but it makes itself in the silent night.

264King Skule.

Who gave you the gift of sorrow, Jatgeir?

Jatgeir.

She whom I loved.

King Skule.

She died, then.

Jatgeir.

No, she deceived me.

King Skule.

And then you became a skald?

Jatgeir.

Ay, then I became a skald.

King Skule.

[Seizes him by the arm.] What gift do I need to become a king?

Jatgeir.

Not the gift of doubt; else would you not question so.

King Skule.

What gift do I need?

Jatgeir.

My lord, you are a king.

King Skule.

Have you at all times full faith that you are a skald?

Jatgeir.

[Looks silently at him for a while, and asks.] Have you never loved?

265King Skule.

Yes, once—burningly, blissfully, and in sin.

Jatgeir.

You have a wife.

King Skule.

Her I took to bear me sons.

Jatgeir.

But you have a daughter, my lord—a gracious and noble daughter.

King Skule.

Were my daughter a son, I would not ask you what gift I need. [Vehemently.] I must have some one by me who sinks his own will utterly in mine—who believes in me unflinchingly, who will cling close to me in good hap and ill, who lives only to shed light and warmth over my life, and must die if I fall. Give me counsel, Jatgeir Skald!

Jatgeir.

Buy yourself a dog, my lord.

King Skule.

Would no man suffice?

Jatgeir.

You would have to search long for such a man.

King Skule.

[Suddenly.] Will you be that man to me, Jatgeir? Will you be a son to me? You shall have Norway’s crown to your heritage—the whole land shall be yours, if you will be a son to me, and live for my life-work, and believe in me.

266Jatgeir.

And what should be my warranty that I did not feign——?

King Skule.

Give up your calling in life; sing no more songs, and then will I believe you!

Jatgeir.

No, lord—that were to buy the crown too dear.

King Skule.

Bethink you well—’tis greater to be a king than a skald.

Jatgeir.

Not always.

King Skule.

’Tis but your unsung songs you must sacrifice!

Jatgeir.

Songs unsung are ever the fairest.

King Skule.

But I must—I must have one who can trust in me! Only one! I feel it—had I that one, I were saved!

Jatgeir.

Trust in yourself and you will be saved!

Paul Flida.

[Enters hastily.] King Skule, look to yourself! Håkon Håkonsson lies off Elgjarness with all his fleet!

King Skule.

Off Elgjarness——! Then he is close at hand.

267Jatgeir.

Get we to arms then! If there be bloodshed to-night, I will gladly be the first to die for you!

King Skule.

You, who would not live for me!

Jatgeir.

A man can die for another’s life-work; but if he go on living, he must live for his own.

[Goes.

Paul Flida.

[Impatiently.] Your commands, my lord! The Birchlegs may be in Oslo this very hour.

King Skule.

’Twere best if we could fare to St. Thomas Beckett’s grave; he has helped so many a sorrowful and penitent soul.

Paul Flida.

[More forcibly.] My lord, speak not so wildly now; I tell you, the Birchlegs are upon us!

King Skule.

Let all the churches be opened, that we may betake us thither and find grace.

Paul Flida.

You can crush all your foemen at one stroke, and yet would betake you to the churches!

King Skule.

Yes, yes, keep all the churches open!

268Paul Flida.

Be sure Håkon will break sanctuary, when ’tis Vårbælgs he pursues.

King Skule.

That will he not; God will shield him from such a sin;—God always shields Håkon.

Paul Flida.

[In deep and sorrowful wrath.] To hear you speak thus, a man could not but ask: Who is king in this land?

King Skule.

[Smiling mournfully.] Ay, Paul Flida, that is the great question: Who is king in this land?

Paul Flida.

[Imploringly.] You are soul-sick to-night, my lord; let me act for you.

King Skule.

Ay, ay, do so.

Paul Flida.

[Going.] First will I break down all the bridges.

King Skule.

Madman! Stay!—Break down all the bridges! Know you what that means? I have assayed it;—beware of that!

Paul Flida.

What would you then, my lord?

King Skule.

I will talk with Håkon.

269Paul Flida.

He will answer you with a tongue of steel.

King Skule.

Go, go;—you shall learn my will anon.

Paul Flida.

Every moment is precious! [Seizes his hand.] King Skule, let us break down all the bridges, fight like Wolves,^[40] and trust in Heaven!

King Skule.

[Softly.] Heaven trusts not in me; I dare not trust in Heaven.

Paul Flida.

Short has been the saga of the Vargbælgs.

[Goes out by the back.

King Skule.

A hundred cunning heads, a thousand mighty arms, are at my beck; but not a single loving, trusting heart. That is kingly beggary; no more, no less.

Bård Bratte.

[From the back.] Two wayfarers from afar stand without, praying to have speech with you my lord.

King Skule.

Who are they?

Bård Bratte.

A woman and a priest.

270King Skule.

Let the woman and the priest approach.

[Bård goes; King Skule seats himself, musing, on the right; presently there enters a black-robed woman; she wears a long cloak, a hood, and a thick veil, which conceals her face; a priest follows her, and remains standing by the door.

King Skule.

Who are you?

The Woman.

One you have loved.

King Skule.

[Shaking his head.] There lives no one who remembers that I have loved. Who are you, I ask?

The Woman.

One who loves you.

King Skule.

Then are you surely one of the dead.

The Woman.

[Comes close to him and says softly and passionately.] Skule Bårdsson!

King Skule.

[Rises with a cry.] Ingeborg!

Ingeborg.

Do you know me now, Skule?

271King Skule.

Ingeborg,—Ingeborg!

Ingeborg.

Oh, let me look at you—look long at you, so long! [Seizes his hands; a pause.] You fair, you deeply loved, you faithless man!

King Skule.

Take off that veil; look at me with the eyes that once were as clear and blue as the sky.

Ingeborg.

These eyes have been but a rain-clouded sky for twenty years; you would not know them again, and you shall never see them more.

King Skule.

But your voice is fresh and soft and young as ever!

Ingeborg.

I have used it only to whisper your name, to imprint your greatness in a young heart, and to pray to the sinners’ God for grace toward us twain, who have loved in sin.

King Skule.

You have done that?

Ingeborg.

I have been silent save to speak loving words of you;—therefore has my voice remained fresh and soft and young.

272King Skule.

There lies a life-time between. Every fair memory from those days have I wasted and let slip——

Ingeborg.

It was your right.

King Skule.

And meantime you, Ingeborg, loving, faithful woman, have dwelt there in the north, guarding and treasuring your memories, in ice-cold loneliness!

Ingeborg.

It was my happiness.

King Skule.

And I could give you up to win might and riches! With you at my side, as my wife, I had found it easier to be a king.

Ingeborg.

God has been good to me in willing it otherwise. A soul like mine had need of a great sin, to arouse it to remorse and expiation.

King Skule.

And now you come——?

Ingeborg.

As Andres Skialdarband’s widow.

King Skule.

Your husband is dead!

Ingeborg.

On the way from Jerusalem.

273King Skule.

Then has he atoned for the slaying of Vegard.

Ingeborg.

’Twas not therefore that my noble husband took the Cross.

King Skule.

Not therefore?

Ingeborg.

No; it was my sin he took upon his strong, loving shoulders; ’twas that he went to wash away in Jordan stream; ’twas for that he bled.

King Skule.

[Softly.] Then he knew all.

Ingeborg.

From the first. And Bishop Nicholas knew it, for to him I confessed. And there was one other man that came to know it, though how I cannot guess.

King Skule.

Who?

Ingeborg.

Vegard Væradal.

King Skule.

Vegard!

Ingeborg.

He whispered a mocking word of me into my husband’s ear; and thereupon Andres Skialdarband drew his sword, and slew him on the spot.

King Skule.

He kept ward over her whom I betrayed and forgot.—And wherefore seek you me now?

274Ingeborg.

To bring you the last sacrifice.

King Skule.

What mean you?

Ingeborg.

[Points to the Priest who stands by the door.] Look at him!—Peter, my son, come hither!

King Skule.

Your son——!

Ingeborg.

And yours, King Skule!

King Skule.

[Half bewildered.] Ingeborg!

[Peter approaches in silent emotion, and throws himself before King Skule.

Ingeborg.

Take him! For twenty years has he been the light and comfort of my life.—Now are you King of Norway; the King’s son must enter on his heritage; I have no longer any right to him.

King Skule.

[Raises him up, in a storm of joy.] Here, to my heart, you whom I have yearned for so burningly! [Presses him in his arms, lets him go, looks at him, and embraces him again.] My son! My son! I have a son! Ha-ha-ha! who can stand against me now? [Goes over to Ingeborg and seizes her hand.] And you, you give him to me, 275Ingeborg! You take not back your word? You give him to me indeed?

Ingeborg.

Heavy is the sacrifice, and scarce had I strength to make it, but that Bishop Nicholas sent him to me, bearing a letter with tidings of Andres Skialdarband’s death. ’Twas the Bishop that laid on me the heavy sacrifice, to atone for all my sin.

King Skule.

Then is the sin blotted out, and henceforth he is mine alone; is it not so, mine alone?

Ingeborg.

Yes; but one promise I crave of you.

King Skule.

Heaven and earth, crave all you will!

Ingeborg.

He is pure as a lamb of God, as I now give him into your hands. ’Tis a perilous path that leads up to the throne; let him not take hurt to his soul. Hear you, King Skule: let not my child take hurt to his soul!

King Skule.

That I promise and swear to you!

Ingeborg.

[Seizes his arm.] From the moment you mark that his soul suffers harm, let him rather die!

King Skule.

Rather die! I promise and swear it!

276Ingeborg.

Then shall I be of good cheer as I go back to Halogaland.

King Skule.

Ay, you may be of good cheer.

Ingeborg.

There will I repent and pray, till the Lord calls me. And when we meet before God, he shall come back to me pure and blameless.

King Skule.

Pure and blameless! [Turning to Peter.] Let me look at you! Ay, your mother’s features and mine; you are he for whom I have longed so sorely.

Peter.

My father, my great, noble father! Let me live and fight for you! Let your cause be mine; and be your cause what it may—I know that I am fighting for the right!

King Skule.

[With a cry of joy.] You trust in me! You trust in me!

Peter.

Immovably!

King Skule.

Then all is well; then am I surely saved! Listen: you shall cast off the cowl; the Archbishop shall loose you from your vows; the King’s son shall wield the sword, shall go forward unwavering to might and honour.

277Peter.

Together with you, my noble father! We will go together!

King Skule.

[Drawing the youth close up to himself.] Ay, together, we two alone!

Ingeborg.

[To herself.] To love, to sacrifice all and be forgotten, that is my saga.^[41]

[Goes quietly out by the back.

King Skule.

Now shall a great king’s-work be done in Norway! Listen, Peter, my son! We will awaken the whole people, and gather it into one; the man of Viken and the Trönder, the Halogalander and the Agdeman, the Uplander and the Sogndaleman, all shall be one great family! Then shall you see how the land will come to flourish!

Peter.

What a great and dizzy thought——

King Skule.

Do you grasp it?

Peter.

Yes—yes!—Clearly——!

King Skule.

And have you faith in it?

278Peter.

Yes, yes; for I have faith in you!

King Skule.

[Wildly.] Håkon Håkonsson must die.

Peter.

If you will it, then it is right that he die.

King Skule.

’Twill cost blood; but that we cannot heed!

Peter.

The blood is not wasted that flows in your cause.

King Skule.

All the might shall be yours when I have built up the kingdom. You shall sit on the throne with the circlet on your brow, with the purple mantle flowing wide over your shoulders; all men in the land shall bow before you——[The sounds of distant horns^[42] are heard.] Ha! what was that? [With a cry.] The Birchleg host! What was it Paul Flida said——?

[Rushes towards the back.

Paul Flida.

[Enters and cries:] The hour is upon us, King Skule!

King Skule.

[Bewildered.] The Birchlegs! King Håkon’s host! Where are they?

279Paul Flida.

They are swarming in thousands down over the Ekeberg.

King Skule.

Sound the call to arms! Sound, sound! Give counsel; where shall we meet them?

Paul Flida.

All the churches stand open for us.

King Skule.

’Tis of the Birchlegs I ask——?

Paul Flida.

For them all the bridges stand open.

King Skule.

Unhappy man, what have you done?done?

Paul Flida.

Obeyed my King!

King Skule.

My son! My son! Woe is me; I have lost your kingdom!

Peter.

No, you will conquer! So great a king’s-thought cannot die!

King Skule.

Peace, peace! [Horns and shouts are heard, nearer at hand.] To horse! To arms! More is here at stake than the life and death of men!

[Rushes out by the back; the others follow him.

280A street in Oslo. On each side, low wooden houses, with porches. At the back, St. Hallvard’s churchyard, enclosed by a high wall with a gate. On the left, at the end of the wall, is seen the church, the chief portal of which stands open. It is still night; after a little, the day begins to dawn. The alarm-bell is ringing: far away on the right are heard battle-shouts and confused noises.

King Skule’s Hornblower.

[Enters from the right, blows his horn, and shouts.] To arms! To arms, all King Skule’s men!

[Blows his horn again, and proceeds on his way; presently he is heard blowing and shouting in the next street.

A Woman.

[Appears at a house door on the right.] Great God of mercy, what is astir?

A Townsman.

[Who has come out, half dressed, from a house on the other side of the street.] The Birchlegs are in the town! Now will Skule have his reward for all his misdeeds.

One of Skule’s Men.

[Enters with some others, bearing their cloaks and weapons on their arms, from a side street on the left.] Where are the Birchlegs?

Another of Skule’s Men.

[Coming from a house on the right.] I know not!

281The First.

Hist! Listen!—They must be down at the Geite-bridge!

The Second.

Off to the Geite-bridge then!

[They all rush out to the right; a townsman comes running in from the same side.

The First Townsman.

Hey, neighbour, whence come you?

The Second Townsman.

From down at the Lo-river; there’s ugly work there.

The Woman.

St. Olaf and St. Hallvard! Is it the Birchlegs, or who is it?

The Second Townsman.

Who else but the Birchlegs! King Håkon is with them; the whole fleet is laying in to the wharves; but he himself landed with his best men out at Ekeberg.

The First Townsman.

Then will he take revenge for the slaughter at Låka!

The Second Townsman.

Ay, be sure of that.

The First Townsman.

See, see! The Vårbælgs are flying already!

282A troop of Skule’s men enter in full flight, from the right.

One of Them.

Into the church! None can stand against the Birchlegs as they lay about them to-night.

[The troop rushes into the church and bars the door on the inside.

The Second Townsman.

[Looking out to the right.] I see a standard far down the street; it must be King Håkon’s.

The First Townsman.

See, see, how the Vårbælgs are running!

A second troop enters from the right.

One of the Fugitives.

Let us take to the church and pray for grace.

[They rush at the door.

Several Vårbælgs.

’Tis barred! ’tis barred!

The First.

Up over Martestokke then!

Another.

Where is King Skule?

The First.

I know not. Away! yonder I see the Birchlegs standard!

[They flee past the church, out to the left.

283Håkon enters from the right with his Standard-bearer, Gregorius Jonsson, Dagfinn the Peasant, and several other men.

Dagfinn.

Hark to the war-cry! Skule is gathering his men behind the churchyard.

An Old Townsman.

[Calls from his porch, to Håkon.] Take heed for yourself, dear my lord; the Vargbælgs are fierce, now they are fighting for life.

Håkon.

Is it you, old Guthorm Erlendsson? You have fought both for my father and for my grandfather.

The Townsman.

Would to God I could fight for you as well.

Håkon.

For that you are too old, and there is no need; men pour in upon me from all sides.

Dagfinn.

[Pointing off over the wall to the right.] There comes the Duke’s standard!

Gregorius Jonsson.

The Duke himself! He rides his white war-horse.

Dagfinn.

We must hinder his passage through the gate here!

284Håkon.

Wind the horn, wind the horn! [The Hornblower does so.] You blew better, you whelp, when you blew for money on Bergen wharf.

[The Hornblower winds another blast, louder than the first; many men come rushing in.

A Vårbælg.

[From the right, fleeing towards the church, pursued by a Birchleg.] Spare my life! Spare my life!

The Birchleg.

Not though you sat on the altar! [Cuts him down.] ’Tis a costly cloak you wear, methinks ’twill fit me well. [Is about to take the cloak, but utters a cry and casts away his sword.] My lord King! Not another stroke will I strike for you!

Dagfinn.

You say that in such an hour as this?

The Birchleg.

Not another stroke!

Dagfinn.

[Cuts him down.] Well, you may e’en let it alone.

The Birchleg.

[Pointing to the dead Vårbælg.] Methought I had done enough when I slew my own brother.

[Dies.

Håkon.

His brother!

285Dagfinn.

What! [Goes up to the Vårbælg’s body.

Håkon.

Is it true?

Dagfinn.

I fear me it is.

Håkon.

[Shaken.] Here see we what a war we are waging. Brother against brother, father against son;—by God Almighty, this must have an end!

Gregorius Jonsson.

There comes the Duke, in full fight with Earl Knut’s troop!

Dagfinn.

Bar the gate against him, king’s men!

On the other side of the wall, the combatants come in sight. The Vårbælgs are forcing their way towards the left, driving the Birchlegs back, foot by foot. King Skule rides his white war-horse, with his sword drawn. Peter walks at his side, holding the horse’s bridle, and with his left hand uplifting a crucifix. Paul Flida bears Skule’s standard, which is blue, with a golden lion rampant, without the axe.^[43]

King Skule.

Cut them down! Spare no man! There is come a new heir^[44] to the throne of Norway!

286The Birchlegs.

A new heir, said he?

Håkon.

Skule Bårdsson, let us share the kingdom!

King Skule.

All or nought!

Håkon.

Think of the Queen, your daughter!

King Skule.

I have a son, I have a son! I think of none but him!

Håkon.

I too have a son;—if I fall the kingdom will be his!

King Skule.

Slay the King-child, wherever you find it! Slay it on the throne; slay it at the altar; slay it—slay it in the Queen’s arms!

Håkon.

There did you utter your own doom!

King Skule.

[Slashing about him.] Slay, slay without mercy! King Skule has a son! Slay, slay!

[The fighting gradually passes away to the left.

Gregorius Jonsson.

The Vargbælgs are hewing their way through!

Dagfinn.

Ay, but only to flee.

287Gregorius Jonsson.

Yes, by Heaven,—the other gate stands open; they are fleeing already!

Dagfinn.

Up towards Martestokke. [Calls out.] After them, after them, Earl Knut! Take vengeance for the slaughter at Låka!

Håkon.

You heard it: he proclaimed my child an outlaw—my innocent child, Norway’s chosen king after me!

The King’s Men.

Ay, ay, we heard it!

Håkon.

And what is the punishment for such a crime?

The Men.

Death!

Håkon.

Then must he die! [Raises his hand to make oath.] Here I swear it: Skule Bårdsson shall die, wherever he be met on unconsecrated ground!

Dagfinn.

’Tis every true man’s duty to slay him.

A Birchleg.

[From the left.] Duke Skule has taken to flight!

The Townsfolk.

The Birchlegs have conquered!

288Håkon.

What way?

The Birchleg.

Past Martestokke, up towards Eidsvold; most of them had horses waiting up in the streets, else had not one escaped with his life.

Håkon.

Thanks be to God that has helped us yet again! Now may the Queen safely come ashore from the fleet.

Gregorius Jonsson.

[Points off to the right.] She has already landed, my lord; there she comes!

Håkon.

[To those nearest him.] The heaviest task is yet before me; she is a loving daughter;—listen—no word to her of the danger that threatens her child. Swear to me, one and all, to keep ward over your King’s son; but let her know nothing.

The Men.

[Softly.] We swear it.

Margrete.

[Enters, with ladies and attendants, from the right.] Håkon, my husband! Heaven has shielded you; you have conquered and are unhurt!

Håkon.

Yes, I have conquered. Where is the child?

Margrete.

On board the King’s ship, in the hands of trusty men.

289Håkon.

Go more of you thither.

[Some of the men go.

Margrete.

Håkon, where is—Duke Skule?

Håkon.

He has made for the Uplands.

Margrete.

He lives, then!—My husband, may I thank God that he lives?

Håkon.

[In painful agitation.] Hear me, Margrete: you have been a faithful wife to me, you have followed me through good hap and ill, you have been unspeakably rich in love;—now must I cause you a heavy sorrow; I am loath to do it; but I am King, therefore must I——

Margrete.

[In suspense.] Has it to do with—the Duke?

Håkon.

Yes. No bitterer lot could befall me than to live my life far from you; but if you think it must be so after what I now tell you—if you feel that you can no longer sit by my side, no longer look at me without turning pale—well, we must even part—live each alone—and I shall not blame you for it.

Margrete.

Part from you! How can you think such a thought? Give me your hand——!

290Håkon.

Touch it not!—It has even now been lifted in oath——

Margrete.

In oath?

Håkon.

An oath that set its sacred seal upon a death-warrant.

Margrete.

[With a shriek.] My father! Oh, my father!

[Totters; two women rush forward to support her.

Håkon.

Yes, Margrete—his King has doomed your father to death.

Margrete.

Then well I know he has committed a greater crime than when he took the kingly title.

Håkon.

That has he;—and now, if you feel that we must part, so let it be.

Margrete.

[Coming close to him, firmly.] We can never part! I am your wife, nought else in the world but your wife!

Håkon.

Are you strong enough? Did you hear and understand all? I have doomed your father.

Margrete.

I heard and understood. You have doomed my father.

291Håkon.

And you ask not to know what was his crime?

Margrete.

’Tis enough that you know it.

Håkon.

But it was to death that I doomed him!

Margrete.

[Kneels before the King, and kisses his hand.] My husband and noble lord, your doom is just!

292

ACT FIFTH.

A room in the palace at Nidaros. The entrance door is on the right; in front, on the same side, a window; to the left a smaller door. It is after night-fall. Paul Flida, Bård Bratte, and several of King Skule’s principal followers are standing at the window and looking upward.

A Man-at-Arms.

How red it glows!

A Second.

It stretches over half the sky, like a flaming sword.

Bård Bratte.

Holy King Olaf, what bodes such a sign of dread?

An Old Vårbælg.

Assuredly it bodes a great chief’s death.

Paul Flida.

Håkon’s death, my good Vårbælgs. He is lying out in the fiord with his fleet; we may look for him in the town to-night. This time, ’tis our turn to conquer!

Bård Bratte.

Trust not to that; there is little heart in the host now.

293The Old Vårbælg.

And reason enough, in sooth; ever since the flight from Oslo has King Skule shut himself in, and will neither see nor speak with his men.

The First Man-at-Arms.

There are those in the town who know not whether to believe him alive or dead.

Paul Flida.

The King must out, however sick he may be. Speak to him, Bård Bratte—the safety of all is at stake.

Bård Bratte.

It avails not; I have spoken to him already.

Paul Flida.

Then must I try what I can do. [Goes to the door on the left, and knocks.] My lord King, you must take the helm in your own hands; things can no longer go on in this fashion.

King Skule.

[Within.] I am sick, Paul Flida.

Paul Flida.

What else can you look for? You have eaten nought these two days; you must nourish and strengthen you——

King Skule.

I am sick.

Paul Flida.

By the Almighty, ’tis no time for sickness. 294King Håkon lies out in the fiord, and may at any time be upon us here in Nidaros.

King Skule.

Strike him down for me! Slay him and the King-child.

Paul Flida.

You must be with us, my lord!

King Skule.

No, no, no,—you are surest of fortune and victory when I am not there.

Peter.

[Enters from the right; he is in armour.] The townsfolk are ill at ease; they flock together in great masses before the palace.

Bård Bratte.

Unless the King speak to them, they will desert him in the hour of need.

Peter.

Then must he speak to them. [At the door on the left.] Father! The Trönders, your trustiest subjects, will fall away from you if you give them not courage.

King Skule.

What said the skald?

Peter.

The skald?

King Skule.

The skald who died for my sake at Oslo. A man cannot give what he himself does not possess, he said.

295Peter.

Then neither can you give away the kingdom; for it is mine after you!

King Skule.

Now I will come!

Paul Flida.

God be praised!

King Skule.

[Comes forward in the doorway; he is pale and haggard; his hair has grown very grey.] You shall not look at me! I will not have you look at me now that I am sick! [Goes up to Peter.] Take from you the kingdom, you say? Great God in heaven, what was I about to do!

Peter.

Oh, forgive me;—I know that what you do is ever the right.

King Skule.

No, no, not hitherto; but now I will be strong and sound—I will act!

Loud Shouts.

[Without, on the right.] King Skule! King Skule!

King Skule.

What is that?

Bård Bratte.

[At the window.] The townsmen are flocking together; the whole courtyard is full of people;—you must speak to them.

King Skule.

Do I look like a king? Can I speak now?

296Peter.

You must, my noble father!

King Skule.

Well, be it so. [Goes to the window and draws the curtain aside, but lets it go quickly and starts back in terror.] There hangs the flaming sword over me again!

Paul Flida.

It bodes that the sword of victory is drawn for you.

King Skule.

Ah, were it but so! [Goes to the window and speaks out.] Trönders, what would you? Here stands your King.

A Townsman.

[Without.] Leave the town! The Birchlegs will burn and slay if they find you here.

King Skule.

We must all hold together. I have been a gracious King to you; I have craved but small war-tax——

A Man’s Voice.

[Down in the crowd.] What call you all the blood, then, that flowed at Låka and Oslo?

A Woman.

Give me my betrothed again!

A Boy.

Give me my father and my brother!

Another Woman.

Give me my three sons, King Skule!

297A Man.

He is no King; homage has not been done him on St. Olaf’s shrine!

Many Voices.

No, no—no homage has been done him on St. Olaf’s shrine! He is no king!

King Skule.

[Shrinks behind the curtain.] No homage——! No king!

Paul Flida.

’Twas a dire mischance that the shrine was not brought forth when you were chosen.

Bård Bratte.

Should the townsfolk desert us, we cannot hold Nidaros if the Birchlegs come.

King Skule.

And they will desert us, so long as homage has not been done to me on the Saint’s shrine.

Peter.

Then let the shrine be brought forth, and take our homage now!

Paul Flida.

[Shaking his head.] How should that be possible?

Peter.

Is aught impossible, where he is concerned? Sound the call for the folkmote, and bring forth the shrine!

Several of the Men.

[Shrinking back.] Sacrilege!

298Peter.

No sacrilege!—Come, come! The monks are well disposed towards King Skule; they will agree——

Paul Flida.

That will they not; they dare not, for the Archbishop.

Peter.

Are you King’s men, and will not lend your aid when so great a cause is at stake! Good, there are others below of better will. My father and King, the monks shall give way; I will pray, I will beseech; sound the summons for the folkmote; you shall bear your kingship rightfully.

[Rushes out to the right.

King Skule.

[Beaming with joy.] Saw you him! Saw you my gallant son! How his eyes shone! Yes, we will all fight and conquer. How strong are the Birchlegs?

Paul Flida.

Not stronger than that we may master them, if but the townsfolk hold to us.

King Skule.

They shall hold to us. We must all be at one now and put an end to this time of dread. See you not that ’tis Heaven’s command that we should end it? Heaven is wroth with all Norway for the deeds that have so long been doing. A flaming sword glows night by night in the sky; women swoon and bear children in the churches; a frenzy creeps abroad among priests and monks, causing them to run through the streets and proclaim 299that the last day is come. Ay, by the Almighty, this shall be ended at one stroke!

Paul Flida.

What are your commands?

King Skule.

All the bridges shall be broken down!

Paul Flida.

Go, and let all the bridges be broken.

[One of the Men-at-arms goes out to the right.

King Skule.

Gather all our men upon the foreshore; not one Birchleg shall set foot in Nidaros.

Paul Flida.

Well spoken, King.

King Skule.

When the shrine is borne forth, let the horn sound to the folkmote. The host and the townsfolk shall be called together.

Paul Flida.

[To one of the men.] Go forth and bid the hornblower wind his horn in all the streets.

[The man goes.

King Skule.

[Addresses the people from the window.] Hold fast to me, all my sorrowing people. There shall come peace and light over the land once more, as in Håkon’s first glad days, when the fields yielded two harvests every summer. Hold fast 300to me; believe in me and trust to me; ’tis that I need so unspeakably. I will watch over you and fight for you; I will bleed and die for you, if need be; but fail me not, and doubt not——! [Loud cries, as though of terror, are heard among the people.] What is that?

A Wild Voice.

Atone! Atone!

Bård Bratte.

[Looks out.] ’Tis a priest possessed of the devil!

Paul Flida.

He is tearing his cowl to shreds and scourging himself with a whip.

The Voice.

Atone, atone! The last day is come.

Many Voices.

Flee, flee! Woe upon Nidaros. A deed of sin!

King Skule.

What has befallen?

Bård Bratte.

All flee, all shrink away as though a wild beast were in their midst.

King Skule.

Yes, all flee. [With a cry of joy.] Ha! it matters not. We are saved! See, see—King Olaf’s shrine stands in the middle of the courtyard.

301Paul Flida.

King Olaf’s shrine!

Bård Bratte.

Ay, by Heaven—there it stands!

King Skule.

The monks are true to me; so good a deed have they never done before!

Paul Flida.

Hark! the call to the folkmote!

King Skule.

Now shall lawful homage be done to me.

Peter.

[Enters from the right.] Take on you the kingly mantle; now stands the shrine out yonder.

King Skule.

Then have you saved the kingdom for me and for yourself; and tenfold will we thank the pious monks for yielding.

Peter.

The monks, father—you have nought to thank them for.

King Skule

’Twas not they that helped you?

Peter.

They laid the ban of the Church on whoever should dare to touch the holy thing.

302King Skule.

The Archbishop then! At last he gives way.

Peter.

The Archbishop hurled forth direr curses than the monks.

King Skule.

Ah, then I see that I still have trusty men. You here, who should have been the first to serve me, stood terrified and shrank back—but down in the crowd have I friends who for my sake fear not to take so great a sin upon their souls.

Peter.

You have not one trusty man who dared to take the sin upon him.

King Skule.

Almighty God! has then a miracle come to pass? Who bore out the holy thing?

Peter.

I, my father!

King Skule.

[With a shriek.] You!

The Men.

[Shrink back appalled.] Church-robber!

[Paul Flida, Bård Bratte, and one or two others go out.

Peter.

The deed had to be done. No man’s faith is sure ere homage be lawfully done to you. I begged, I besought the monks; it availed not. 303Then I broke open the church door; none dared to follow me. I sprang up to the high altar, gripped the handle, and pressed hard with my knees; ’twas as though an unseen power gave me more than human strength. The shrine came loose, I dragged it after me down the nave, while the ban moaned like a storm high up under the vaultings. I dragged it out of the church; all fled and shrank from me. When I came to the middle of the courtyard the handle broke; here it is!

[Holds it aloft.

King Skule.

[Quietly, appalled.] Church-robber.

Peter.

For your sake; for the sake of your great king’s-thought! You will wipe out the sin; all that is evil you will wipe away. Light and peace will follow you; a glorious day will dawn over the land—what matter, then, if there went a storm-night before it?

King Skule.

There was as ’twere a halo round your head when your mother brought you to me; now I see in its stead the lightnings of the ban.

Peter.

Father, father, think not of me; be not afraid for my woe or weal. Is it not your will I have fulfilled?—how can it be accounted to me for a crime?

King Skule.

I hungered for your faith in me, and your faith has turned to sin.

304Peter.

[Wildly.] For your sake, for your sake! Therefore God dare not deny to blot it out!

King Skule.

“Pure and blameless,” I swore to Ingeborg—and he scoffs at heaven!

Paul Flida.

[Entering.] All is in uproar! The impious deed has struck terror to your men; they flee into the churches.

King Skule.

They shall out; they must out!

Bård Bratte.

[Entering.] The townsfolk have risen against you; they are slaying the Vårbælgs wherever they find them, on the streets or in the houses!

A Man-at-Arms.

[Entering.] The Birchlegs are sailing up the river!

King Skule.

Summon all my men together! None must fail me here!

Paul Flida.

They will not come; they are benumbed with dread.

King Skule.

[Despairingly.] But I cannot fall now! My son must not die with a deadly sin upon his soul!

305Peter.

Think not of me; ’tis you alone that are to be thought of. Let us make for Indherred; there all men are true to you!

King Skule.

Ay, to flight! Follow me, whoso would save his life!

Bård Bratte.

What way?

King Skule.

Over the bridge!

Paul Flida.

All bridges are broken down, my lord.

King Skule.

Broken down——! All the bridges broken, say you?

Paul Flida.

Had you broken them down at Oslo, you might have let them stand at Nidaros.

King Skule.

We must over the river none the less;—we have our lives and our souls to save! To flight! To flight!

[He and Peter rush out to the left.

Bård Bratte.

Ay, better so than to fall at the hands of the townfolk and the Birchlegs.

Paul Flida.

In God’s name, then, to flight!

[All follow Skule.

306The room stands empty for a short time; a distant and confused noise is heard from the streets; then a troop of armed townsmen rushes in by the door on the right.

A Townsman.

Here! He must be here!

Another.

Slay him!

Many.

Slay the church-robber too!

A Single One.

Go carefully! They may yet bite!

The First Townsman.

No need; the Birchlegs are already coming up the street.

A Townsman.

[Entering.] Too late—King Skule has fled!

Many.

Whither? Whither?

The New-comer.

Into one of the churches, methinks; they are full of the Vargbælgs.

The First Townsman.

Then let us seek for him; great thanks and reward will King Håkon give to the man who slays Skule.

Another.

Here come the Birchlegs.

307A Third.

King Håkon himself!

Many of the Crowd.

[Shout.] Hail to King Håkon Håkonsson!

Håkon.

[Enters from the right, followed by Gregorius Jonsson, Dagfinn the Peasant, and many others.] Ay, now are you humble, you Trönders; you have stood against me long enough.

The First Townsman.

[Kneeling.] Mercy, my lord! Skule Bårdsson bore so hardly on us!

Another.

[Also kneeling.] He compelled us, else had we never followed him.

The First.

He seized our goods and forced us to fight for his unrighteous cause.

The Second.

Alas, noble lord, he has been a scourge to his friends no less than to his foes.

Many Voices.

Ay, ay,—Skule Bårdsson has been a scourge to the whole land.

Dagfinn.

That, at least, is true enough.

Håkon.

Good; with you townsfolk I will speak later; 308’tis my purpose to punish sternly all transgressions; but first there are other things to be thought of. Knows any man where Skule Bårdsson is?

Many.

In one of the churches, lord!

HÅkon.

Know you that for certain?

The Townsmen.

Ay, there are all the Vargbælgs.

Håkon.

[Softly to Dagfinn.] He must be found; set a watch on all the churches in the town.

Dagfinn.

And when he is found, he must straightway be slain.

Håkon.

[Softly.] Slain? Dagfinn, Dagfinn, how heavy a deed it seems!

Dagfinn.

My lord, you swore it solemnly at Oslo.

Håkon.

And all men in the land will call for his death. [Turns to Gregorius Jonsson and says, unheard by the others.] Go; you were once his friend; seek him out and prevail on him to fly the land.

Gregorius.

[Joyfully.] You will suffer it, my lord!

309Håkon.

For the sake of my gentle, well-beloved wife.

Gregorius Jonsson.

But if he should not flee? If he will not or cannot?

Håkon.

Then, in God’s name, I may not spare him; then must my kingly word be fulfilled. Go!

Gregorius Jonsson

I go, and shall do my utmost. Heaven grant I may succeed.

[Goes out by the right.

Håkon.

You, Dagfinn, go with trusty men down to the King’s ship; you shall conduct the Queen and her child up to Elgesæter^[45] convent.

Dagfinn.

My lord, think you she will be safe there?

Håkon.

Nowhere safer. The Vargbælgs have shut themselves up in the churches, and she has besought to be sent thither; her mother is at Elgesæter.

Dagfinn.

Ay, ay, that I know.

Håkon.

Greet the Queen most lovingly from me; and greet Lady Ragnhild also. You may tell them that so soon as the Vargbælgs shall have made 310submission and been taken to grace, all the bells in Nidaros shall be rung, for a sign that there has come peace in the land once more.—You townsfolk shall reckon with me to-morrow, and punishment shall be meted to each according to his misdeeds.

[Goes with his men.

The First Townsman.

Woe upon us to-morrow!

The Second.

We have a long reckoning to pay.

The First.

We, who have stood against Håkon so long—who bore our part in acclaiming Skule when he took the kingly title.

The Second.

Who gave Skule both ships and war-tribute—who bought all the goods he seized from Håkon’s thanes.

The First.

Ay, woe upon us to-morrow!

A Townsman.

[Rushes in from the left.] Where is Håkon? Where is the King?

The First.

What would you with him?

The New-comer

Bring him great and weighty tidings.

Many.

What tidings?

311The New-comer.

I tell them to no other than the King himself.

Many.

Ay, tell us, tell us!

The New-comer.

Skule Bårdsson is fleeing up toward Elgesæter.

The First.

It cannot be! He is in one of the churches.

The New-comer.

No, no; he and his son crossed over the river in a skiff.

The First.

Ha, then we can save us from Håkon’s wrath!

The Second.

Ay, let us forthwith give him to know where Skule is.

The First.

Nay, better than that; we will say nought, but ourselves go up to Elgesæter and slay Skule.

The Second.

Ay, ay—that will we!

A Third.

But did not many Vargbælgs go with him over the river?

The New-comer.

No, there were but few men in the boat.

The First.

We will arm us as best we can. Oh, now are 312we townsfolk safe enough! Let no man know what we are about; we are enough for the task!—And now, away to Elgesæter.

All.

[Softly.] Ay, away to Elgesæter!

[They go out to the left, rapidly but cautiously.

A fir-wood on the hills above Nidaros. It is moonlight, but the night is misty, so that the background is seen indistinctly, and sometimes scarcely at all. Tree-stumps and great boulders lie round about. King Skule, Peter, Paul Flida, Bård Bratte, and other Vårbælgs come through the wood from the left.

Peter.

Come hither and rest you, my father.

King Skule.

Ay, let me rest, rest.

[Sinks down beside a stone.

Peter.

How goes it with you?

King Skule.

I am hungry! I am sick, sick! I see dead men’s shadows!

Peter.

[Springing up.] Help here—bread for the King!

Bård Bratte.

Here is every man king; for life is at stake. 313Stand up, Skule Bårdsson, if you be king! Lie not there to rule the land.

Peter.

If you scoff at my father, I will kill you.

Bård Bratte.

I shall be killed whatever betides; for me King Håkon will have no grace; for I was his thane, and deserted him for Skule’s sake. Think of somewhat that may save us. No deed so desperate but I will risk it now.

A Vårbælg.

Could we but get over to the convent at Holm?

Paul Flida.

Better to Elgesæter.

Bård Bratte.

[With a sudden outburst.] Best of all to go down to Håkon’s ship and bear away the King-child.

Paul Flida.

Are you distraught?

Bård Bratte.

No, no; ’tis our one hope, and easy enough to do. The Birchlegs are ransacking every house, and keeping watch on all the churches; they think none of us can have taken flight, since all the bridges are broken. There can be but few men on board the ships; when once we have his heir in our power, Håkon must grant us peace, else 314will his child die with us. Who will go with me to save our lives?

Paul Flida.

Not I, if they are to be saved in such wise.

Several.

Not I! Not I!

Peter.

Ha, but if it were to save my father——!

Bård Bratte.

If you will go with me, come. First I go down to Hladehammer; there lies the troop we met at the bottom of the hill; they are the wildest dare-devils of all the Vargbælgs; they had swum the river, knowing that they would find no grace in the churches. They are the lads for a raid on the King’s ship! Which of you will follow me?

Some.

I! I!

Peter.

Mayhap I too; but first must I see my father into safe shelter.

Bård Bratte.

Ere daybreak will we make speed up the river. Come, here goes a short way downwards towards Hlade.

[He and some others go out to the right.

Peter.

[To Paul Flida.] Let not my father know aught of this; he is soul-sick to-night, we must act for him. There is safety in Bård Bratte’s deed; 315ere daybreak shall the King-child be in our hands.