Olaf Skaktavl.
You remember your oath—and yet you have forgotten it.
Lady Inger.
And how did the others keep their promise? I speak not of you, Olaf Skaktavl, but of your friends, all Norway’s nobles? Not one of them, in all these years, has had the courage to be a man; yet they lay it to my charge that I am a woman.
Olaf Skaktavl.
I know what you would say. Why have they bent to the yoke, and not defied the tyrants to the last? ’Tis but too true; there is base metal enough in our noble houses nowadays. But had they held together—who knows what then might have been? And you could have held them together, for before you all had bowed.
Lady Inger.
My answer were easy enough, but ’twould scarce content you. So let us leave speaking of what cannot be changed. Tell me rather what has brought you to Östråt. Do you need harbour? Well, I will try to hide you. If you would have aught else, speak out; you shall find me ready——
Olaf Skaktavl.
For twenty years have I been homeless. In the mountains of Jæmteland my hair has grown grey. My dwelling has been with wolves and bears.—You see, Lady Inger—I need you not; but both nobles and people stand in sore need of you.