Jatgeir.
'Tis worse; 'tis neither day nor night.
King Skule.
[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?
Jatgeir.
'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.
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 you were chosen king; they say it boded ill.
King Skule.
When next I come to Nidaros, the shrine <g>shall</g> 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.
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?
