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 his 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 storm. 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.