King Skule.
The Archbishop then! At last he gives way.
Peter.
The Archbishop hurled forth direr curses than the monks.
King Skule.
Ah, then I see that I still have trusty men. You here, who should have been the first to serve me, stood terrified and shrank back—but down in the crowd have I friends who for my sake fear not to take so great a sin upon their souls.
Peter.
You have not one trusty man who dared to take the sin upon him.
King Skule.
Almighty God! has then a miracle come to pass? Who bore out the holy thing?
Peter.
I, my father!
King Skule.
[With a shriek.] You!
The Men.
[Shrink back appalled.] Church-robber!
[Paul Flida, Bård Bratte, and one or
two others go out.
Peter.
The deed had to be done. No man's faith is sure ere homage be lawfully done to you. I begged, I besought the monks; it availed not.
