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.
King 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?