Jatgeir—'Twas what I noted in my lodgings. The townsmen whisper together secretly, and laugh mockingly, and ask if we be well assured that King Hakon is in the west land: there is somewhat they are in glee over.
King Skule—They are men of Viken, and therefore against me.
Jatgeir—They scoff because King Olaf's shrine could not be brought out to the mote-stead when we did you homage; they say it boded ill.
King Skule—When next I come to Nidaros the shrine shall out! It shall stand under the open sky, tho I should have to tear down St. Olaf's church and widen the mote-stead over the spot where it stood.
Jatgeir—That were a strong deed; but I shall make a song of it as strong as the deed itself.
King Skule—Have you many unmade songs within you, Jatgeir?
Jatgeir—Nay, but many unborn; they are conceived one after the other, come to life, and are brought forth.
King Skule—And if I, who am king and have the might—if I were to have you slain, would all the unborn skald-thoughts within you die along with you?
Jatgeir—My lord, it is a great sin to slay a fair thought.
King Skule—I ask not if it be a sin: I ask if it be possible!