Chapter 20

The New-comer.

I tell them to no other than the King himself.

Many.

Ay, tell us, tell us!

The New-comer.

Skule Bårdsson is fleeing up toward Elgesæter.

The First.

It cannot be! He is in one of the churches.

The New-comer.

No, no; he and his son crossed over the river in a skiff.

The First.

Ha, then we can save us from Håkon’s wrath!

The Second.

Ay, let us forthwith give him to know where Skule is.

The First.

Nay, better than that; we will say nought, but ourselves go up to Elgesæter and slay Skule.

The Second.

Ay, ay—that will we!

A Third.

But did not many Vargbælgs go with him over the river?

The New-comer.

No, there were but few men in the boat.

The First.

We will arm us as best we can. Oh, now arewe townsfolk safe enough! Let no man know what we are about; we are enough for the task!—And now, away to Elgesæter.

All.

[Softly.] Ay, away to Elgesæter!

[They go out to the left, rapidly but cautiously.

A fir-wood on the hills above Nidaros. It is moonlight, but the night is misty, so that the background is seen indistinctly, and sometimes scarcely at all. Tree-stumps and great boulders lie round about.King Skule, Peter, Paul Flida, Bård Bratte,and otherVårbælgscome through the wood from the left.

Peter.

Come hither and rest you, my father.

King Skule.

Ay, let me rest, rest.

[Sinks down beside a stone.

Peter.

How goes it with you?

King Skule.

I am hungry! I am sick, sick! I see dead men’s shadows!

Peter.

[Springing up.] Help here—bread for the King!

Bård Bratte.

Here is every man king; for life is at stake.Stand up, Skule Bårdsson, if you be king! Lie not there to rule the land.

Peter.

If you scoff at my father, I will kill you.

Bård Bratte.

I shall be killed whatever betides; for me King Håkon will have no grace; for I was his thane, and deserted him for Skule’s sake. Think of somewhat that may save us. No deed so desperate but I will risk it now.

A Vårbælg.

Could we but get over to the convent at Holm?

Paul Flida.

Better to Elgesæter.

Bård Bratte.

[With a sudden outburst.] Best of all to go down to Håkon’s ship and bear away the King-child.

Paul Flida.

Are you distraught?

Bård Bratte.

No, no; ’tis our one hope, and easy enough to do. The Birchlegs are ransacking every house, and keeping watch on all the churches; they think none of us can have taken flight, since all the bridges are broken. There can be but few men on board the ships; when once we have his heir in our power, Håkon must grant us peace, elsewill his child die with us. Who will go with me to save our lives?

Paul Flida.

Not I, if they are to be saved in such wise.

Several.

Not I! Not I!

Peter.

Ha, but if it were to save my father——!

Bård Bratte.

If you will go with me, come. First I go down to Hladehammer; there lies the troop we met at the bottom of the hill; they are the wildest dare-devils of all the Vargbælgs; they had swum the river, knowing that they would find no grace in the churches. They are the lads for a raid on the King’s ship! Which of you will follow me?

Some.

I! I!

Peter.

Mayhap I too; but first must I see my father into safe shelter.

Bård Bratte.

Ere daybreak will we make speed up the river. Come, here goes a short way downwards towards Hlade.

[He and some others go out to the right.

Peter.

[ToPaul Flida.] Let not my father know aught of this; he is soul-sick to-night, we must act for him. There is safety in Bård Bratte’s deed;ere daybreak shall the King-child be in our hands.

Paul Flida.

To be slain, most like. See you not that it is a sin——

Peter.

Nay, it cannot be a sin; for my father doomed the child in Oslo. Sooner or later it must die, for it blocks my father’s path;—my father has a great king’s-thought to carry through; it matters not who or how many fall for its sake.

Paul Flida.

Hapless for you was the day you came to know that you were King Skule’s son. [Listening.] Hist!—cast you flat to the ground; there come people this way.

[All throw themselves down behind stones and stumps; a troop of people, some riding, some on foot, can be seen indistinctly through the mist and between the trees; they come from the left, and pass on to the right.

Peter.

’Tis the Queen!

Paul Flida.

Ay; she is talking with Dagfinn the Peasant. Hush!

Peter.

They are making for Elgesæter. The King-child is with them!

Paul Flida.

And the Queen’s ladies.

Peter.

But only four men! Up, up, King Skule—now is your kingdom saved!

King Skule.

My kingdom? ’Tis dark, my kingdom—like the angel’s that rose against God.

A party ofMonkscomes from the right.

A Monk.

Who speaks there? Is it King Skule’s men.

Paul Flida.

King Skule himself.

The Monk.

[ToSkule.] 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.

The Monk.

The Archbishop forbade it; but none the less we would fain serve King Skule; we have ever held to him. See, we have brought with us robes of our Order for you and your men; put them on, and then can you easily make your way into one convent or another, and can seek to gain grace of Håkon.

King Skule.

Ay, let me put on the robe; my son and I must stand on consecrated ground. I will to Elgesæter.

Peter.

[Softly, toPaul Flida.] See that my father comes safely thither.

Paul Flida.

Bethink you that there are Birchlegs at Elgesæter.

Peter.

But four men; you may easily deal with them, and once inside the convent walls they will not dare to touch you. I will seek Bård Bratte.

Paul Flida.

Nay, do not so!

Peter.

Not on the King’s ship, but at Elgesæter, must the outlaws save the kingdom for my father.

[Goes quickly out to the right.

A Vårbælg.

[Whispering to another.] Go you to Elgesæter with Skule?

The Other.

Hist; no; the Birchlegs are there!

The First.

Neither will I go; but say nought to the rest.

The Monk.

And now away, two and two,—one spearman and one monk.

Another Monk.

[Sitting on a stump behind the rest.] I will guide King Skule.

King Skule.

Know you the way?

The Monk.

The broad way.

The First Monk.

Haste you; let us take different paths, and meet outside the convent gate.

[They go out among the trees, to the right; the fog lifts and the comet shows itself red and glowing, through the hazy air.

King Skule.

Peter, my son——! [Starts backwards.] Ha, there is the flaming sword in heaven!

The Monk.

[Sitting behind him on the stump.] And here am I!

King Skule.

Who are you?

The Monk.

An old acquaintance.

King Skule.

Paler man have I never seen.

The Monk.

But you know me not?

King Skule

’Tis you that are to lead me to Elgesæter.

The Monk.

’Tis I that will lead you to the throne.

King Skule.

Can you do that?

The Monk.

I can, if you but will it.

King Skule.

And by what means?

The Monk.

By the means I have used before;—I will take you up into a high mountain and show you all the glory of the world.

King Skule.

All the glory of the world have I seen ere now, in dreams of temptation.

The Monk.

’Twas I that gave you those dreams.

King Skule.

Who are you?

The Monk.

An envoy from the oldest Pretender in the world.

King Skule.

From the oldest Pretender in the world?

The Monk.

From the first Earl, who rose against the greatest kingdom, and himself founded a kingdom that shall endure beyond doomsday.

King Skule.

[Shrieks.] Bishop Nicholas!

The Monk.

[Rising.] Do you know me now? We were friends of yore,and ’tis you that have brought me back;once the self-same galley our fortunes bore,and we sailed on the self-same tack.At our parting I quailed, in the gloom and the blast;for a hawk in his talons had gripped my soul fast;I besought them to chant and to ply the bell,and I bought me masses and prayers as well,—they read fourteen, though I’d paid but for seven;yet they brought me no nearer the gates of heaven.

[Rising.] Do you know me now? We were friends of yore,

and ’tis you that have brought me back;

once the self-same galley our fortunes bore,

and we sailed on the self-same tack.

At our parting I quailed, in the gloom and the blast;

for a hawk in his talons had gripped my soul fast;

I besought them to chant and to ply the bell,

and I bought me masses and prayers as well,—

they read fourteen, though I’d paid but for seven;

yet they brought me no nearer the gates of heaven.

King Skule.

And you come from down yonder——?

The Monk.

Yes, from the kingdom down yonder I’m faring;the kingdom men always so much miscall.I vow ’tis in nowise so bad after all,and the heat, to my thinking, is never past bearing.

Yes, from the kingdom down yonder I’m faring;

the kingdom men always so much miscall.

I vow ’tis in nowise so bad after all,

and the heat, to my thinking, is never past bearing.

King Skule.

And it seems you have learnt skald-craft, old Bagler-chieftain!

The Monk.

Not only skald-craft, but store of Latinity!Once my Latin was not over strong, you know;now few can beat it for ease and flow.To take any station in yonder vicinity,ay, even to pass at the gate, for credentiala knowledge of Latin is well-nigh essential.You can’t but make progress with so many ableand learned companions each day at the table,—full fifty ex-popes by my side carouse, andfive hundred cardinals, skalds seven thousand.

Not only skald-craft, but store of Latinity!

Once my Latin was not over strong, you know;

now few can beat it for ease and flow.

To take any station in yonder vicinity,

ay, even to pass at the gate, for credential

a knowledge of Latin is well-nigh essential.

You can’t but make progress with so many able

and learned companions each day at the table,—

full fifty ex-popes by my side carouse, and

five hundred cardinals, skalds seven thousand.

King Skule.

Greet your Master and give him my thanks for his friendship. Tell him he is the only king who sends help to Skule the First of Norway.

The Monk.

Hear now, King Skule, what brings me to you—my Master’s henchmen down there are legion,and each up here is allotted a region;they gave Norway to me, as the place I best knew.Håkon Håkonsson serves not my Master’s will;we hate him, for he is our foeman still—so he must fall, leaving you at the helm,the sole possessor of crown and realm.

Hear now, King Skule, what brings me to you—

my Master’s henchmen down there are legion,

and each up here is allotted a region;

they gave Norway to me, as the place I best knew.

Håkon Håkonsson serves not my Master’s will;

we hate him, for he is our foeman still—

so he must fall, leaving you at the helm,

the sole possessor of crown and realm.

King Skule.

Ay, give me the crown! When once I have that, I will rule so as to buy myself free again.

The Monk.

Ay, that we can always talk of later——we must seize the time if we’d win the fight.King Håkon’s child sleeps at Elgesæter;could you once wrap him in the web of night,then like storm-swept motes will your foes fly routed,then your victory’s sure and your kingship undoubted!

Ay, that we can always talk of later——

we must seize the time if we’d win the fight.

King Håkon’s child sleeps at Elgesæter;

could you once wrap him in the web of night,

then like storm-swept motes will your foes fly routed,

then your victory’s sure and your kingship undoubted!

King Skule.

Think you so surely that the victory were mine?

The Monk.

All men in Norway are sighing for rest;the king with an heir[46]is the king they love best—a son to succeed to the throne without wrangling;for the people are tired of this hundred-years’ jangling.Rouse you, King Skule! one great endeavour!the foe must perish to-night or never!See, to the northward how light it has grown,see how the fog lifts o’er fiord and o’er valley—there gather noiselessly galley on galley—hark! men are marching with rumble and drone!One word of promise, and all is your own—hundreds of glittering sails on the water,thousands of warriors hurtling to slaughter.

All men in Norway are sighing for rest;

the king with an heir[46]is the king they love best—

a son to succeed to the throne without wrangling;

for the people are tired of this hundred-years’ jangling.

Rouse you, King Skule! one great endeavour!

the foe must perish to-night or never!

See, to the northward how light it has grown,

see how the fog lifts o’er fiord and o’er valley—

there gather noiselessly galley on galley—

hark! men are marching with rumble and drone!

One word of promise, and all is your own—

hundreds of glittering sails on the water,

thousands of warriors hurtling to slaughter.

King Skule.

What word would you have?

The Monk.

For raising you highest, my one conditionis just that you follow your heart’s ambition;all Norway is yours, to the kingship I’ll speed you,if only you vow that your son shall succeed you!

For raising you highest, my one condition

is just that you follow your heart’s ambition;

all Norway is yours, to the kingship I’ll speed you,

if only you vow that your son shall succeed you!

King Skule.

[Raising his hand as if for an oath.] My son shall—-[Stops suddenly, and breaks forth in terror.] The church-robber! All the might to him! Ha! now I understand;—you seek for his soul’s perdition! Get thee behind me, get thee behind me! [Stretches out his arms to heaven.] Oh have mercy on me, thou to whom I now call for help in my sorest need!

[He falls prone to the earth.

The Monk.

Accursëd! He’s slipped through my fingers at last—and I thought of a surety I held him so fast!But the Light, it seems, had a trick in storethat I knew not of—and the game is o’er.Well, well; what matters a little delay?Perpetuum mobile’s well under way;my might is assured through the years and the ages,the haters of light shall be still in my wages;in Norway my empire for ever is founded,though it be to my subjects a riddle unsounded.

Accursëd! He’s slipped through my fingers at last—

and I thought of a surety I held him so fast!

But the Light, it seems, had a trick in store

that I knew not of—and the game is o’er.

Well, well; what matters a little delay?

Perpetuum mobile’s well under way;

my might is assured through the years and the ages,

the haters of light shall be still in my wages;

in Norway my empire for ever is founded,

though it be to my subjects a riddle unsounded.

[Coming forward.

While to their life-work Norsemen set outwill-lessly wavering, daunted with doubt,while hearts are shrunken, minds helplessly shivering,weak as a willow-wand wind-swept and quivering,—while about one thing alone they’re united,namely, that greatness be stoned and despited,—when they seek honour in fleeing and fallingunder the banner of baseness unfurled,—then Bishop Nicholas ’tends to his calling,the Bagler-Bishop’s at work in the world!

While to their life-work Norsemen set out

will-lessly wavering, daunted with doubt,

while hearts are shrunken, minds helplessly shivering,

weak as a willow-wand wind-swept and quivering,—

while about one thing alone they’re united,

namely, that greatness be stoned and despited,—

when they seek honour in fleeing and falling

under the banner of baseness unfurled,—

then Bishop Nicholas ’tends to his calling,

the Bagler-Bishop’s at work in the world!

[He disappears in the fog among the trees.

King Skule.

[After a short pause, half rises and looks around.] Where is he, my black comrade? [Springs up.] My guide, my guide, where are you? Gone!— No matter; now I myself know the way, both to Elgesæter and beyond.

[Goes out to the right.

The courtyard of Elgesæter Convent. To the left lies the chapel, with an entrance from the courtyard; the windows are lighted up. Along the opposite side of the space stretch some lower buildings; in the back, the convent wall with a strong gate, which is locked. It is a clear moonlight night. Three Birchleg Chiefs stand by the gate;Margrete, Lady Ragnhild,andDagfinn the Peasantcome out from the chapel.

Lady Ragnhild.

[Half to herself.] King Skule had to flee into the church, you say! He, he, a fugitive! beggingat the altar for peace—begging for his life mayhap—oh no, no, that could never be; but God will punish you who dared to let it come to this!

Margrete.

My dear, dear mother, curb yourself; you know not what you say; ’tis your grief that speaks.

Lady Ragnhild.

Hear me, ye Birchlegs! ’Tis Håkon Håkonsson that should lie before the altar, and beseech King Skule for life and peace.

A Birchleg.

It ill beseems loyal men to listen to such words.

Margrete.

Bow your heads before a wife’s sorrow!

Lady Ragnhild.

King Skule doomed! Look to yourselves, look to yourselves all of you, when he regains his power!

Dagfinn.

That will never be, Lady Ragnhild.

Margrete.

Hush, hush!

Lady Ragnhild.

Think you Håkon Håkonsson dare let his doom be fulfilled if the King should fall into his hands?

Dagfinn.

King Håkon himself best knows whether a king’s oath can be broken.

Lady Ragnhild.

[ToMargrete.] And this man of blood have you followed in faith and love! Are you your father’s child? May the wrath of heaven——! Go from me, go from me!

Margrete.

Blessed be your lips, although now they curse me.

Lady Ragnhild.

I must down to Nidaros and into the church to find King Skule. He sent me from him when he sat victorious on the throne; then, truly, he had no need of me—now will he not be wroth if I come to him. Open the gate for me; let me go to Nidaros!

Margrete.

My mother, for God’s pity’s sake——!

[A loud knocking at the convent gate.

Dagfinn.

Who knocks?

King Skule.

[Without.] A king.

Dagfinn.

Skule Bårdsson.

Lady Ragnhild.

King Skule.

Margrete.

My father!

King Skule.

Open, open!

Dagfinn.

We open not here to outlaws.

King Skule.

’Tis a king who knocks, I tell you; a king who has no roof over his head; a king whose life is forfeit if he reach not consecrated ground.

Margrete.

Dagfinn, Dagfinn, ’tis my father!

Dagfinn.

[Goes to the gate and opens a small shutter.] Come you with many men to the convent?

King Skule.

With all the men that were true to me in my need.

Dagfinn.

And how many be they?

King Skule.

Fewer than one.

Margrete.

He is alone, Dagfinn.

Lady Ragnhild.

Heaven’s wrath fall upon you if you deny him sanctuary!

Dagfinn.

In God’s name, then!

[He opens the gate; the Birchlegs respectfully uncover their heads.King Skuleenters the courtyard.

Margrete.

[Throwing herself on his neck.] My father! My dear, unhappy father!

Lady Ragnhild.

[Interposing wildly between him and the Birchlegs.] Ye who feign reverence for him, ye will betray him, like Judas. Dare not to come near him! Ye shall not lay a finger on him while I live!

Dagfinn.

Here he is safe, for he is on holy ground.

Margrete.

And not one of all your men had the heart to follow you this night!

King Skule.

Both monks and spearmen brought me on the way; but they slipped from me one by one, for they knew there were Birchlegs at Elgesæter. Paul Flida was the last to leave me; he came with me to the convent gate; there he gave me his last hand-grip, in memory of the time when there were Vargbælgs in Norway.

Dagfinn.

[To the Birchlegs.] Get you in, chieftains, and set you as guards about the King-child; I must to Nidaros to acquaint the King that Skule Bårdsson is at Elgesæter; in so weighty a matter ’tis for him to act.

Margrete.

Oh, Dagfinn, Dagfinn, have you the heart for that?

Dagfinn.

Else should I ill serve King and land. [To the men.] Lock the gates after me, watch over the child, and open to none until the King be come.[SoftlytotoSkule.] Farewell, Skule Bårdsson—and God grant you a blessed end.

[Goes out by the gate; the Birchlegs close it after him, and go into the chapel.

Lady Ragnhild.

Ay, let Håkon come; I will not loose you; I will hold you straitly and tenderly in my arms, as I never held you before.

Margrete.

Oh, how pale you are—and aged; you are cold.

King Skule.

I am not cold—but I am weary, weary.

Margrete.

Come in then, and rest you——

King Skule.

Yes, yes; ’twill soon be time to rest.

Sigrid.

[From the chapel.] You come at last, my brother!

King Skule.

Sigrid! you here?

Sigrid.

I promised that we should meet when you were fain of me in your sorest need.

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