Ivar Bodde.
This was to be the last evening of the feast. It has ended in a heavy sorrow for the King; but sooner or later it needs must come, and methinks every true man must rejoice that it has come.
Earl Skule.
And I think every true man must feel bitter wrath to see a priest thus make mischief between us Birchlegs;—ay, Birchlegs, I say; for I am every whit as good a Birchleg as the King or any of his men. I am of the same stock, the stock of Sverre, the kingly stock—but you, Priest, you have built up a wall of distrust around the King, and shut me out from him; that has been your task this many a year.
Paul Flida.
[Enraged, to the bystanders.] Earl's men. Shall we abide this longer?
Gregorius Jonsson.
[Steps forward.] No, we can and will no more abide it. 'Tis time to say it plainly—none of the Earl's men can serve the King in full trust and love, so long as Ivar Bodde comes and goes in the palace, and makes bad blood between us.
Paul Flida.
Priest! I bid you look to life and limb, wheresoever I meet you—in the field, on shipboard, or in any unconsecrated house.
Many Earl's Men.
I too! I too! You are an outlaw to us!
