My kingdom? ’Tis dark, my kingdom—like the angel’s that rose against God.
A party of Monks comes from the right.
A Monk.
Who speaks there? Is it King Skule’s men.
Paul Flida.
King Skule himself.
The Monk.
[To Skule.] God be praised that we met you, dear lord! Some townsmen gave us to know that you had taken the upward path, and we are no less unsafe than you in Nidaros.
Peter.
You have deserved death, you who denied to give forth St. Olaf’s shrine.