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——?