[Enters from the back.] My lord King, I have tidings for you.

Tidings?

A man who comes from down the fiord brings news that the Birchlegs in Tunsberg have launched their ships, and that many men have gathered in the town in these last days.

Good, we will go forth to meet them—to-morrow or the day after.

It might chance, my lord King, that the Birchlegs had a mind to meet us first.

They have not ships enough for that, nor men.

But Arnbiörn Jonsson is gathering both men and ships, all round in Viken.

The better for us; we will crush them at one blow, as we did at Låka.

My lord, ’tis not so easy to crush the Birchlegs twice following.

And wherefore not?

Because Norway’s saga tells not that the like has ever befallen. Shall I send forth scouts to Hoved-isle?

’Tis needless; the night is dark, and there is a sea-fog to boot.

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.

[With animation.] Paul Flida, were it not possible that I could win over the men of Viken to my side?

[Looks at him in astonishment, and shakes his head.] No, my lord, it is not possible.

And wherefore not?

Why, for that you have the Trönders on your side.

I will have both the Trönders and the men of Viken!

Nay, my lord, that cannot be!

Not possible! cannot be! And wherefore—wherefore not?

Because the man of Viken is the man of Viken, the Trönder is the Trönder; because so it has always been, and no saga tells of a time when it was otherwise.

Ay, ay—you are right. Go.

And send forth no scouts?

Wait till daybreak. [Paul Flida goes.] Norway’s saga tells of no such thing; it has never been so yet; Paul Flida answers me as I answered Håkon. Are there, then, upward as well as downward steps? Stands Håkon as high over me as I over Paul Flida? Has Håkon an eye for unborn thoughts, that is lacking in me? Who stood so high as Harold Hårfager in the days when every headland had its king, and he said: Now they must fall—hereafter shall there be but one? He threw the old saga to the winds, and made a new saga. [A pause; he paces up and down lost in thought; then he stops.] Can one man take God’s calling from another, as he takes weapons and gold from his fallen foe? Can a Pretender clothe himself in a king’s life-task, as he can put on the kingly mantle? The oak that is felled to be a ship’s timber, can it say: Nay, I will be the mast, I will take on me the task of the fir-tree, point upwards, tall and shining, bear the golden vane at my top, spread bellying white sails to the sunshine, and meet the eyes of all men, from afar!—No, no, thou heavy gnarled oak-trunk, thy place is down in the keel; there shalt thou lie, and do thy work, unheard-of and unseen by those aloft in the daylight; it is thou that shalt hinder the ship from being whelmed in the storm; while the mast with the golden vane and the bellying sail shall bear it forward toward the new, toward the unknown, toward alien strands and the saga of the future! [Vehemently.] Since Håkon uttered his great king-thought, I can see no other thought in the world but that only. If I cannot take it and act it out, I see no other thought to fight for. [Brooding.] And can I not make it mine? If I cannot, whence comes my great love for Håkon’s thought?

[Enters from the back.] Forgive my coming, lord King——

You come to my wish, Skald!

I overheard some townsfolk at my lodging talking darkly of——

Let that wait. Tell me, Skald: you who have fared far abroad in strange lands, have you ever seen a woman love another’s child? Not only have kindness for it—’tis not that I mean; but love it, love it with the warmest passion of her soul.

That do only those women who have no child of their own to love.

Only those women——?

And chiefly women who are barren.

Chiefly the barren——? They love the children of others with all their warmest passions?

That will oftentimes befall.

And does it not sometimes befall that such a barren woman will slay another’s child, because she herself has none?

Ay, ay; but in that she does unwisely.

Unwisely?

Ay, for she gives the gift of sorrow to her whose child she slays.

Think you the gift of sorrow is a great good?

Yes, lord.

[Looks fixedly at him.] Methinks there are two men in you, Icelander. When you sit amid the household at the merry feast, you draw cloak and hood over all your thoughts; when one is alone with you, sometimes you seem to be of those among whom one were fain to choose his friend. How comes it?

When you go to swim in the river, my lord, you would scarce strip you where the people pass by to church; you seek a sheltered privacy.

True, true.

My soul has the like shamefastness; therefore I do not strip me when there are many in the hall.

Ha. [A short pause.] Tell me, Jatgeir, how came you to be a skald? Who taught you skald-craft?

Skaldcraft cannot be taught, my lord.

Cannot be taught? How came it then?

The gift of sorrow came to me, and I was a skald.

Then ’tis the gift of sorrow the skald has need of?

I needed sorrow; others there may be who need faith, or joy—or doubt——

Doubt as well?

Ay; but then must the doubter be strong and sound.

And whom call you the unsound doubter?

He who doubts of his own doubt.

[Slowly.] That, methinks, were death.

’Tis worse; ’tis neither day nor night.

[Quickly, as if shaking off his thoughts.] Where are my weapons? I will fight and act—not think. What was it you would have told me when you came?

’Twas what I noted in my lodging. The townsmen whisper together secretly, and laugh mockingly, and ask if we be well assured that King Håkon is in the westland; there is somewhat they are in glee over.

They are men of Viken, and therefore against me.

They scoff because King Olaf’s shrine could not be brought out to the mote-stead when you were chosen king; they say it boded ill.

When next I come to Nidaros, the shrine shall out! It shall stand under the open sky, though I should have to tear down St. Olaf’s church and widen out the mote-stead over the spot where it stood.

That were a strong deed; but I shall make a song of it, as strong as the deed itself.

Have you many unmade songs within you, Jatgeir?

Nay, but many unborn; they are conceived one after the other, come to life, and are brought forth.

And if I, who am King and have the might, if I were to have you slain, would all the unborn skald-thoughts you bear within you die along with you?

My lord, it is a great sin to slay a fair thought.

I ask not if it be a sin; I ask if it be possible!

I know not.

Have you never had another skald for your friend, and has he never unfolded to you a great and noble song he thought to make?

Yes, lord.

Did you not then wish that you could slay him, to take his thought and make the song yourself?

My lord, I am not barren; I have children of my own; I need not to love those of other men.

[After a pause.] The Icelander is in very deed a skald. He speaks God’s deepest truth and knows it not——I am as a barren woman. Therefore I love Håkon’s kingly thought-child, love it with the warmest passion of my soul. Oh, that I could but adopt^[39] it! It would die in my hands. Which were best, that it should die in my hands, or wax great in his? Should I ever have peace of soul if that came to pass? Can I forgo all? Can I stand by and see Håkon make himself famous for all time! How dead and empty is all within me—and around me. No friend—; ah, the Icelander! [Goes to the door and calls:] Has the skald gone from the palace?

[Outside.] No, my lord; he stands in the outer hall talking with the watch.

Bid him come hither. [Goes forward to the table; presently Jatgeir enters.] I cannot sleep, Jatgeir; ’tis all my great kingly thoughts that keep me awake, you see.

’Tis with the king’s thoughts as with the skald’s, I doubt not. They fly highest and grow quickest when there is night and stillness around.

Is it so with the skald’s thoughts too?

Ay, lord; no song is born by daylight; it may be written down in the sunshine; but it makes itself in the silent night.

Who gave you the gift of sorrow, Jatgeir?

She whom I loved.

She died, then.

No, she deceived me.

And then you became a skald?

Ay, then I became a skald.

[Seizes him by the arm.] What gift do I need to become a king?

Not the gift of doubt; else would you not question so.

What gift do I need?

My lord, you are a king.

Have you at all times full faith that you are a skald?

[Looks silently at him for a while, and asks.] Have you never loved?

Yes, once—burningly, blissfully, and in sin.

You have a wife.

Her I took to bear me sons.

But you have a daughter, my lord—a gracious and noble daughter.

Were my daughter a son, I would not ask you what gift I need. [Vehemently.] I must have some one by me who sinks his own will utterly in mine—who believes in me unflinchingly, who will cling close to me in good hap and ill, who lives only to shed light and warmth over my life, and must die if I fall. Give me counsel, Jatgeir Skald!

Buy yourself a dog, my lord.

Would no man suffice?

You would have to search long for such a man.

[Suddenly.] Will you be that man to me, Jatgeir? Will you be a son to me? You shall have Norway’s crown to your heritage—the whole land shall be yours, if you will be a son to me, and live for my life-work, and believe in me.

And what should be my warranty that I did not feign——?

Give up your calling in life; sing no more songs, and then will I believe you!

No, lord—that were to buy the crown too dear.

Bethink you well—’tis greater to be a king than a skald.

Not always.

’Tis but your unsung songs you must sacrifice!

Songs unsung are ever the fairest.

But I must—I must have one who can trust in me! Only one! I feel it—had I that one, I were saved!

Trust in yourself and you will be saved!

[Enters hastily.] King Skule, look to yourself! Håkon Håkonsson lies off Elgjarness with all his fleet!

Off Elgjarness——! Then he is close at hand.

Get we to arms then! If there be bloodshed to-night, I will gladly be the first to die for you!

You, who would not live for me!

A man can die for another’s life-work; but if he go on living, he must live for his own.

[Impatiently.] Your commands, my lord! The Birchlegs may be in Oslo this very hour.

’Twere best if we could fare to St. Thomas Beckett’s grave; he has helped so many a sorrowful and penitent soul.

[More forcibly.] My lord, speak not so wildly now; I tell you, the Birchlegs are upon us!

Let all the churches be opened, that we may betake us thither and find grace.

You can crush all your foemen at one stroke, and yet would betake you to the churches!

Yes, yes, keep all the churches open!

Be sure Håkon will break sanctuary, when ’tis Vårbælgs he pursues.

That will he not; God will shield him from such a sin;—God always shields Håkon.

[In deep and sorrowful wrath.] To hear you speak thus, a man could not but ask: Who is king in this land?

[Smiling mournfully.] Ay, Paul Flida, that is the great question: Who is king in this land?

[Imploringly.] You are soul-sick to-night, my lord; let me act for you.

Ay, ay, do so.

[Going.] First will I break down all the bridges.

Madman! Stay!—Break down all the bridges! Know you what that means? I have assayed it;—beware of that!

What would you then, my lord?

I will talk with Håkon.

He will answer you with a tongue of steel.

Go, go;—you shall learn my will anon.

Every moment is precious! [Seizes his hand.] King Skule, let us break down all the bridges, fight like Wolves,^[40] and trust in Heaven!

[Softly.] Heaven trusts not in me; I dare not trust in Heaven.

Short has been the saga of the Vargbælgs.

A hundred cunning heads, a thousand mighty arms, are at my beck; but not a single loving, trusting heart. That is kingly beggary; no more, no less.

[From the back.] Two wayfarers from afar stand without, praying to have speech with you my lord.

Who are they?

A woman and a priest.

Let the woman and the priest approach.

Who are you?

One you have loved.

[Shaking his head.] There lives no one who remembers that I have loved. Who are you, I ask?

One who loves you.

Then are you surely one of the dead.

[Comes close to him and says softly and passionately.] Skule Bårdsson!

[Rises with a cry.] Ingeborg!

Do you know me now, Skule?

Ingeborg,—Ingeborg!

Oh, let me look at you—look long at you, so long! [Seizes his hands; a pause.] You fair, you deeply loved, you faithless man!

Take off that veil; look at me with the eyes that once were as clear and blue as the sky.

These eyes have been but a rain-clouded sky for twenty years; you would not know them again, and you shall never see them more.

But your voice is fresh and soft and young as ever!

I have used it only to whisper your name, to imprint your greatness in a young heart, and to pray to the sinners’ God for grace toward us twain, who have loved in sin.

You have done that?

I have been silent save to speak loving words of you;—therefore has my voice remained fresh and soft and young.

There lies a life-time between. Every fair memory from those days have I wasted and let slip——

It was your right.

And meantime you, Ingeborg, loving, faithful woman, have dwelt there in the north, guarding and treasuring your memories, in ice-cold loneliness!

It was my happiness.

And I could give you up to win might and riches! With you at my side, as my wife, I had found it easier to be a king.

God has been good to me in willing it otherwise. A soul like mine had need of a great sin, to arouse it to remorse and expiation.

And now you come——?

As Andres Skialdarband’s widow.

Your husband is dead!

On the way from Jerusalem.

Then has he atoned for the slaying of Vegard.