Margrete.
[Enters, with the King, from the room on the right.] The Bishop dead! Oh, trust me, all strife dies with him. Håkon. To bed, Margrete! You must be weary after the journey. Margrete. Yes, yes. [To the Duke.] Father, be kind and yielding—Håkon has promised to be the like! A thousand good-nights, to both of you! [Makes a gesture of farewell at the door on the left, and goes out; two women carry out the cradle.
Duke Skule.
King Håkon, this time we must not part as foes. All evil will follow; there will fall a time of dread upon the land.
Håkon.
The land has known nought else through many generations; but, see you, God is with me; every foeman falls that would stand against me. There are no more Baglers, no Slittungs, no Ribbungs; Earl Jon is slain, Guthorm Ingesson is dead, Sigurd Ribbung likewise—all claims that were put forth at the folkmote at Bergen have fallen powerless—from whom, then, should the time of dread come now?
Duke Skule.
Håkon, I fear me it might come from me!
Håkon.
When I came to the throne, I gave you the third part of the kingdom
