King Skule.
Yes, once—burningly, blissfully, and in sin.
Jatgeir.
You have a wife.
King Skule.
Her I took to bear me sons.
Jatgeir.
But you have a daughter, my lord—a gracious and noble daughter.
King Skule.
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!
Jatgeir.
Buy yourself a dog, my lord.
King Skule.
Would no man suffice?
Jatgeir.
You would have to search long for such a man.
King Skule.
[Suddenly.] Will <g>you</g> be that man to me, Jatgeir? Will <g>you</g> 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.
