But Guthorm was the king's son; there yawned an abyss between me and the throne.
Bishop Nicholas.
And you dared not venture
Earl Skule.
Then Erling Steinvæg was chosen by the Slittungs. The voice cried within me again: Skule is a greater chieftain than Erling Steinvæg! But I must needs have broken with the Birchlegs,—<g>that</g> was the abyss that time.
Bishop Nicholas.
And Erling became king of the Slittungs, and after of the Ribbungs, and still you waited!
Earl Skule.
I waited for Guthorm to die.
Bishop Nicholas.
And Guthorm died, and Inge Bårdsson, your brother, became king.
Earl Skule.
Then I waited for my brother's death. He was sickly from the first; every morning, when we met at holy mass, I would cast stolen glances to see whether his sickness increased. Every twitch of pain that crossed his face was as a puff of wind in my sails, and bore me nearer to the throne. Every sigh he breathed in his agony sounded to me like an echoing trumpet-blast, like a herald from afar, proclaiming that the throne should soon be mine. Thus I tore up by the roots every
