The Old Vårbælg.
And reason enough, in sooth; ever since the flight from Oslo has King Skule shut himself in, and will neither see nor speak with his men.
The First Man-at-Arms.
There are those in the town who know not whether to believe him alive or dead.
Paul Flida.
The King must out, however sick he may be. Speak to him, Bård Bratte—the safety of all is at stake.
Bård Bratte.
It avails not; I have spoken to him already.
Paul Flida.
Then must I try what I can do. [Goes to the door on the left, and knocks.] My lord King, you must take the helm in your own hands; things can no longer go on in this fashion.
King Skule.
[Within.] I am sick, Paul Flida.
Paul Flida.
What else can you look for? You have eaten nought these two days; you must nourish and strengthen you
King Skule.
I am sick.
Paul Flida.
By the Almighty, 'tis no time for sickness.
