should think——[_A priest brings them._] So, set the cap there, ’tis
too heavy for me; give me the crozier in my hand; there, now am I in
my armour. A bishop!——The Evil One dare not grapple with me now!
SIRA VILIAM.
Desire you aught beside?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
No. Stay—tell me:—Peter, Andres Skialdarband’s son,—all speak well
of him——
SIRA VILIAM.
In truth, his is a blameless soul.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Peter, you shall watch beside me until the King or the Duke shall
come. Leave us, meanwhile, ye others, but be at hand.
[_All except_ PETER _go out on the right._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_After a short pause._] Peter!
PETER.
[_Approaches._] My lord?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Hast ever seen old men die?
PETER.
No.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
They are all afeard; that I dare swear. There on the table lies a
large letter with seals to it; give it to me. [PETER _brings the
letter._] ’Tis to your mother.
PETER.
To my mother?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
You must get you northward with it to Halogaland. I have written to
her touching a great and weighty matter; tidings have come from your
father.
PETER.
He is fighting as a soldier of God in the Holy Land. Should he fall
there, he falls on hallowed ground; for there every foot’s-breadth
of earth is sacred. I commend him to God in all my prayers.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Is Andres Skialdarband dear to you?
PETER.
He is an honourable man; but there lives another man whose greatness
my mother, as it were, fostered and nourished me withal.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Hurriedly and eagerly._] Is that Duke Skule?
PETER.
Ay, the Duke—Skule Bårdsson. My mother knew him in younger days. The
Duke must sure be the greatest man in the land!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
There is the letter; get you northward with it forthwith!—Are they
not singing in there?
PETER.
They are, my lord!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Eight lusty fellows with throats like trumpets, they must surely
help somewhat, methinks.
PETER.
My lord, my lord! Why not pray yourself!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
I have too much still undone, Peter. Life is all too short;—besides,
the King will surely forgive me when he comes——[Gives a start in
pain.
PETER.
You are suffering?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
I suffer not; but there is a ringing in mine ears, a twinkling and
flickering before mine eyes——
PETER.
’Tis the heavenly bells ringing you home, and the twinkling of the
altar-lights God’s angels have lit for you.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ay, sure ’tis so;—there is no danger if only they lag not with their
prayers in there——Farewell; set forth at once with the letter.
PETER.
Shall I not first——?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Nay, go; I fear not to be alone.
PETER.
Well met again, then, what time the heavenly bells shall sound for
me too.
[_Goes out on the right._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
The heavenly bells,—ay, ’tis easy talking when you still have two
stout legs to stand upon.—So much undone! But much will live after
me, notwithstanding. I promised the Duke by my soul’s salvation to
give him Trond the Priest’s confession if it came into my hand;—’tis
well I have not got it. Had he certainty, he would conquer or fall;
and then one of the twain would be the mightiest man that ever lived
in Norway. No no,—what _I_ could not reach none other shall reach.
Uncertainty serves best; so long as the Duke is burdened with that,
they two will waste each other’s strength, wheresoever they may;
towns will be burnt, dales will be harried,—neither will gain by the
other’s loss—[_Terrified._] Mercy, pity! It is I who bear the
guilt—I, who set it all agoing! [_Calming himself._] Well, well,
well! but now the King is coming—’tis he that suffers most—he will
forgive me—prayers and masses shall be said; there is no danger;—I
am a bishop, and I have never slain any man with mine own hand.—’Tis
well that Trond the Priest’s confession came not; the saints are
with me, they will not tempt me to break my promise.—Who knocks at
the door? It must be the Duke! [_Rubs his hands with glee._] He will
implore me for proofs as to the kingship,—and I have no proofs to
give him!
INGA OF VARTEIG _enters; she is dressed in
black, with a cloak and hood._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Starts._] Who is that?
INGA.
A woman from Varteig in Borgasyssel, my honoured lord.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
The King’s mother!
INGA.
So was I called once.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Go, go! ’Twas not I counselled Håkon to send you away.
INGA.
What the King does is well done; ’tis not therefore I come.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Wherefore then?
INGA.
Gunnulf, my brother, is come home from England——
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
From England——!
INGA.
He has been away these many years, as you know, and has roamed far
and wide; now has he brought home a letter——
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Breathlessly._] A letter——?
INGA.
From Trond the Priest. ’Tis for you, my lord.
[_Hands it to him._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ah, truly;—and _you_ bring it?
INGA.
It was Trond’s wish. I owe him great thanks since the time he
fostered Håkon. It was told me that you were sick; therefore I set
forth at once; I have come hither on foot——
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
There was no such haste, Inga!
DAGFINN THE PEASANT _enters from the right._
DAGFINN.
God’s peace, my honoured lord!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Comes the King?
DAGFINN.
He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the
King-child and a great following.
INGA.
[_Rushes up to_ DAGFINN.] The King,—the King! Comes _he_ hither?
DAGFINN.
Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!
INGA.
She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.
DAGFINN.
Now will his hard heart be melted.
INGA.
Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell
me,—comes he hither?
DAGFINN.
Ay, presently.
INGA.
And it is dark evening. The King will be lighted on his way with
torches?
DAGFINN.
Yes.
INGA.
Then will I hide me in a gateway as he goes by;—and then home to
Varteig. But first will I into Hallvard’s church; the lights are
burning there to-night; there will I call down blessings on the
King, on my fair son.
[_Goes out to the right._
DAGFINN.
I have fulfilled mine errand; I go to meet the King.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Bear him most loving greeting, good Dagfinn!
DAGFINN.
[_As he goes out to the right._] _I_ would not be Bishop Nicholas
to-morrow.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Trond the Priest’s confession——! So it has come after all—here I
hold it in my hand. [_Muses with a fixed gaze._] A man should never
promise aught by his soul’s salvation, when he is as old as I. Had I
years before me, I could always wriggle free from such a promise;
but this evening, this last evening—no, that were imprudent.—But can
I keep it? Is it not to endanger all that I have worked for, my
whole life through? [_Whispering._] Oh, could I but cheat the Evil
One, only this one more time! [_Listens._] What was _that_?
[_Calls._] Viliam, Viliam!
SIRA VILIAM _enters from the right._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
What is it that whistles and howls so grimly?
SIRA VILIAM.
’Tis the storm; it grows fiercer.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
The storm grows fiercer! Ay truly, I will keep my promise! The
storm, say you——? Are they singing in there?
SIRA VILIAM.
Yes, my lord.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Bid them bestir themselves, and chiefly brother Aslak; he always
makes such scant prayers; he shirks whenever he can; he skips, the
hound! [_Strikes the floor with his crozier._] Go in and say to him
’tis the last night I have left; he shall bestir himself, else will
I haunt him from the dead!
SIRA VILIAM.
My lord, shall I not fetch Master Sigard?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Go in, I say! [VILIAM _goes into the chapel._] It must doubtless be
heaven’s will that I should reconcile the King and the Duke, since
it sends me Trond’s letter now. This is a hard thing, Nicholas; to
tear down at a single wrench what you have spent your life in
building up. But there is no other way; I must e’en do the will of
heaven this time.—If I could only read what is written in the
letter! But I cannot see a word! Mists drive before my eyes; they
sparkle and flicker; and I dare let none other read it for me! To
make such a promise——! Is human cunning, then, so poor a thing that
it cannot govern the outcome of its contrivances in the second and
third degree? I spoke so long and so earnestly to Vegard Væradal
about making the King send Inga from him, that at length it came to
pass. That was wise in the first degree; but had I not counselled
thus, then Inga had not now been at Varteig, the letter had not come
into my hands in time, and I had not had any promise to
keep—therefore ’twas unwise in the second degree. Had I yet time
before me——! but only the space of one night, and scarce even that.
I must, I will live longer! [_Knocks with his crozier; a priest
enters from the right._] Bid Master Sigard come! [_The priest goes;
the_ BISHOP _crushes the letter in his hands._] Here, under this
thin seal, lies Norway’s saga for a hundred years! It lies and
dreams, like the birdling in the egg! Oh, that I had more souls than
_one_—or else _none_! [_Presses the letter wildly to his breast._]
Oh, were not the end so close upon me,—and judgment and doom I would
hatch you out into a hawk that should cast the dreadful shadow of
his wings overall the land, and strike his sharp talons into every
heart! [_With a sudden shudder._] But the last hour is at hand!
[_Shrieking._] No, no! You shall become a swan, a white swan!
[_Throws the letter far from, him, on to the floor, and calls:_]
Master Sigard, Master Sigard!
MASTER SIGARD.
[_From the right._] How goes it, honoured lord!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Master Sigard—sell me three days’ life!
MASTER SIGARD.
I have told you——
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Yes, yes; but that was in jest; ’twas a little revenge on me. I have
been a tedious master to you; therefore you thought to scare me.
Fie, that was evil,—nay, nay—’twas no more than I deserved! But, now
be good and kind! I will pay you well;—three days’ life, Master
Sigard, only three days’ life!
MASTER SIGARD.
Though I myself were to die in the same hour as you, yet could I not
add three days to your span.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
_One_ day, then, only _one_ day! Let it be light, let the sun shine
when my soul sets forth! Listen, Sigard! [_Beckons him over, and
drags him down upon the couch._] I have given well-nigh all my gold
and silver to the Church, to have high masses sung for me. I will
take it back again; you shall have it all! How now, Sigard, shall we
two fool them in there? He-he-he! You will be rich, Sigard, and can
depart the country; I shall have time to cast about me a little, and
make shift with fewer prayers. Come, Sigard, shall we——! [SIGARD
_feels his pulse; the_ BISHOP _exclaims anxiously:_] How now, why
answer you not?
MASTER SIGARD.
[_Rising._] I have no time, my lord. I must prepare you a draught
that may ease you somewhat at the last.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Nay, wait with that! Wait,—and answer me!
MASTER SIGARD.
I have no time; the draught must be ready within an hour.
[_Goes out to the right._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Within an hour! [_Knocks wildly._] Viliam! Viliam!
[SIRA VILIAM _comes out from the chapel._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Call more to help in there! The eight are not enough!
SIRA VILIAM.
My lord——?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
More to help, I say! Brother Kolbein has lain sick these five
weeks,—he cannot have sinned much in that time——
SIRA VILIAM.
He was at shrift yesterday.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Eagerly._] Ay, _he_ must be good; call him! [VILIAM _goes into the
chapel again._] Within an hour! [_Dries the sweat off his brow._]
Pah—how hot it is here!—The miserable hound—what boots all his
learning, when he cannot add an hour to my life? There sits he in
his closet day by day, piecing together his cunning wheels and
weights and levers; he thinks to fashion a machine that shall go and
go and never stop—_perpetuum mobile_ he calls it. Why not rather
turn his art and his skill to making man such a _perpetuum mobile_?
[_Stops and thinks; his eyes light up._] _Perpetuum mobile_,—I am
not strong in Latin—but it means somewhat that has power to work
eternally, through all the ages. If I myself, now, could but——?
_That_ were a deed to end my life withal! That were to do my
greatest deed in my latest hour! To set wheel and weight and lever
at work in the King’s soul and the Duke’s; to set them a-going so
that no power on earth can stop them; if I can but do that, then
shall I live indeed, live in my work—and, when I think of it, mayhap
’tis _that_ which is called immortality.—Comfortable, soothing
thoughts, how ye do the old man good! [_Draws a deep breath, and
stretches himself comfortably upon the couch._] Diabolus has pressed
me hard to-night. That comes of lying idle; _olium est
pulvis—pulveris_—pooh, no matter for the Latin——Diabolus shall no
longer have power over me; I will be busy to the last; I will——; how
they bellow in yonder——[_Knocks;_ VILIAM _comes out._] Tell them to
hold their peace; they disturb me. The King and the Duke will soon
be here; I have weighty matters to ponder.
SIRA VILIAM.
My lord, shall I then——?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Bid them hold awhile, that I may think in peace. Look you, take up
yonder letter that lies upon the floor.—Good. Reach me the papers
here——
SIRA VILIAM.
[_Goes to the writing-table._] Which, my lord?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
It matters not——; the sealed ones; those that lie uppermost—So; go
now in and bid them be silent. [VILIAM _goes._] To die, and yet rule
in Norway! To die, and yet so contrive things that no man may come
to raise his head above the rest. A thousand ways may lead towards
that goal; yet can there be but _one_ that will reach it;—and now to
find that one—to find it and follow it——Ha! The way lies so close,
so close at hand! Ay, so it must be. I will keep my promise; the
Duke shall have the letter in his hands;—but the King—he shall have
the thorn of doubt in his heart. Håkon is upright, as they call it;
many things will go to wreck in his soul along with the faith in
himself and in his right. Both of them shall doubt and believe by
turns, still swaying to and fro, and finding no firm ground beneath
their feet—_perpetuum mobile!_—But will Håkon believe what I say?
Ay, that will he; am I not a dying man?—And to prepare the way I
will feed him up with truths.—My strength fails, but fresh life
fills my soul;—I no longer lie on a sick-bed, I sit in my workroom;
I will work the last night through, work—till the light goes out——
DUKE SKULE.
[_Enters from the right and advances towards the_ BISHOP.] Peace and
greeting, my honoured lord! I hear it goes ill with you.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
I am a corpse in the bud, good Duke; this night shall I break into
bloom; to-morrow you may scent my perfume.
DUKE SKULE.
Already to-night, say you?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Master Sigard says: within an hour.
DUKE SKULE.
And Trond the Priest’s letter——?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Think you still upon that?
DUKE SKULE.
’Tis never out of my thoughts.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
The King has made you Duke; before you, no man in Norway has borne
that title.
DUKE SKULE.
’Tis not enough. If Håkon be not the rightful king, then must I have
all!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ha, ’tis cold in here; the blood runs icy through my limbs.
DUKE SKULE.
Trond the Priest’s letter, my lord! For Almighty God’s sake,—have
you it?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
At least, I know where it may be found.
DUKE SKULE.
Tell me then, tell me!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Wait——
DUKE SKULE.
Nay, nay—lose not your time; I see it draws to an end;—and ’tis said
the King comes hither.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ay, the King comes; thereby you may best see that I am mindful of
your cause, even now.
DUKE SKULE.
What is your purpose?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Mind you, at the King’s bridal—you said that Håkon’s strength lay in
his steadfast faith in himself?
DUKE SKULE.
Well?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
If I confess, and raise a doubt in his mind, then his faith will
fall, and his strength with it.
DUKE SKULE.
My lord, this is sinful, sinful, if he be the rightful king.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
’Twill be in your power to restore his faith. Ere I depart hence, I
will tell you where Trond the Priest’s letter may be found.
SIRA VILIAM.
[_From the right._] The King is now coming up the street, with
torch-bearers and attendants.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
He shall be welcome. [VILIAM _goes._] Duke, I beg of you one last
service: do you carry on my feuds against all mine enemies. [_Takes
out a letter._] Here I have written them down. Those whose names
stand first I would fain have hanged, if it could be so ordered.
DUKE SKULE.
Think not upon vengeance now; you have but little time left——
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Not on vengeance, but on punishment. Promise me to wield the sword
of punishment over all mine enemies when I am gone. They are your
foemen no less than mine; when you are King you must chastise them;
do you promise me that?
DUKE SKULE.
I promise and swear it; but Trond’s letter——!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
You shall learn where it is;—but see—the King comes; hide the list
of our foemen!
[_The_ DUKE _hides the paper; at the same moment_ HÅKON
_enters from the right._
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Well met at the grave-feast, my lord King.
HÅKON.
You have ever withstood me stubbornly; but that shall be forgiven
and forgotten now; death wipes out even the heaviest reckoning.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
That lightened my soul! Oh how marvellous is the King’s clemency! My
lord, what you have done for an old sinner this night shall be
tenfold——
HÅKON.
No more of that; but I must tell you that I greatly marvel you
should summon me hither to obtain my forgiveness, and yet prepare
for me such a meeting as this.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Meeting, my lord?
DUKE SKULE.
’Tis of me the King speaks. Will you, my lord Bishop, assure King
Håkon, by my faith and honour, that I knew nought of his coming, ere
I landed at Oslo wharf?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Alas, alas! The blame is all mine! I have been sickly and bedridden
all the last year; I have learnt little or nought of the affairs of
the kingdom; I thought all was now well between the princely
kinsmen!
HÅKON.
I have marked that the friendship between the Duke and myself
thrives best when we hold aloof from one another; therefore
farewell, Bishop Nicholas, and God be with you where you are now to
go.
[_Goes towards the door._
DUKE SKULE.
[_Softly and uneasily._] Bishop, Bishop, he is going!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Suddenly and with wild energy._] Stay, King Håkon!
HÅKON.
[_Stops._] What now?
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
You shall not leave this room until old Bishop Nicholas has spoken
his last word!
HÅKON.
[_Instinctively lays his hand upon his sword._] Mayhap you have come
well attended to Viken, Duke.
DUKE SKULE.
I have no part in this.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
’Tis by force of words that I will hold you. Where there is a burial
in the house, the dead man ever rules the roost; he can do and let
alone as he will—so far as his power may reach. Therefore will I now
speak my own funeral-speech; in days gone by, I was ever sore afraid
lest King Sverre should come to speak it——
HÅKON.
Talk not so wildly, my lord!
DUKE SKULE.
You shorten the precious hour still left to you!
HÅKON.
Your eyes are already dim.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ay, my sight is dim; I scarce can see you where you stand; but
before my inward eye, my life is moving in a blaze of light. _There_
I see sights——; hear and learn, O King!—My race was the mightiest in
the land; many great chieftains had sprung from it; _I_ longed to be
the greatest of them all. I was yet but a boy when I began to thirst
after great deeds; meseemed I could by no means wait till I were
grown. Kings arose who had less right than I,—Magnus Erlingsson,
Sverre the Priest——; I also would be king; but I must needs be a
chieftain first. Then came the battle at Ilevoldene; ’twas the first
time I went out to war. The sun went up, and glittering lightnings
flashed from a thousand burnished blades. Magnus and all his men
advanced as to a game; I alone felt a tightness at my heart.
Fiercely our host swept forward; but I could not follow—I was
afraid! All Magnus’s other chieftains fought manfully, and many fell
in the fight; but I fled up over the mountain, and ran and ran, and
stayed not until I came down to the fiord again, far away. Many a
man had to wash his bloody clothes in Trondheim-fiord that night;—I
had to wash mine too, but not from blood. Ay, King, I was
afraid;—born to be a chieftain—and afraid! It fell upon me as a
thunderbolt; from that hour I hated all men. I prayed secretly in
the churches, I wept and knelt before the altars, I gave rich gifts,
made sacred promises; I tried and tried in battle after battle, at
Saltösund, at Jonsvoldene that summer the Baglers lay in Bergen,—but
ever in vain. Sverre it was who first noted it; he proclaimed it
loudly and with mockery, and from that day forth, not a man in the
host but laughed when Nicholas Arnesson was seen in war-weed. A
coward, a coward—and yet was I filled with longing to be a chief, to
be a king; nay, I felt I was born to be King. I could have furthered
God’s kingdom upon earth; but ’twas the saints themselves that
barred the way for me.
HÅKON.
Accuse not heaven, Bishop Nicholas! You have hated much.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Ay, I have hated much; hated every head in this land that raised
itself above the crowd. But I hated because I could not love. Fair
women,—oh, I could devour them even now with glistening eyes! I have
lived eighty years, and yet do I yearn to kill men and clasp
women;—but my lot in love was as my lot in war: nought but an
itching will, my strength sapped from my birth; dowered with
seething desire—and yet a weakling! So I became a priest: king or
priest must that man be who would have all might in his hands.
[_Laughs._] I a priest! I a churchman! Yes, for _one_ clerkly office
Heaven had notably fitted me—for taking the high notes—for singing
with a woman’s voice at the great church-festivals. And yet they up
yonder claim of me—the half-man—what they have a right to claim only
of those whom they have in all things fitted for their life-work!
There have been times when I fancied such a claim might be just; I
have lain here on my sick-bed crushed by the dread of doom and
punishment. Now it is over; my soul has fresh marrow in its bones;
_I_ have not sinned; it is _I_ that have suffered wrong; _I_ am the
accuser!
DUKE SKULE.
[_Softly._] My lord—the letter! You have little time left.
HÅKON.
Think of your soul, and humble you!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
A man’s life-work is his soul, and my life-work still shall live
upon the earth. But you, King Håkon, you should beware; for as
Heaven has stood against _me_, and reaped harm for its reward, so
are you standing against the man who holds the country’s welfare in
his hand——
HÅKON.
Ha—Duke, Duke! Now I see the bent of this meeting!
DUKE SKULE.
[_Vehemently, to the_ BISHOP.] Not a word more of this!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_To_ HÅKON.] He will stand against you so long as his head sits
fast on his shoulders. Share with him! I will have no peace in my
coffin, I will rise again, if you two share not the kingdom! Neither
of you shall add the other’s height to his own stature. If that
befell, there would be a giant in the land, and here shall no giant
be; for I was never a giant!
[_Sinks back exhausted on the couch._
DUKE SKULE.
[_Falls on his knees beside the couch and cries to_ HÅKON.] Summon
help! For God’s pity’s sake; the Bishop must not die yet!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
How it waxes dusk before my eyes!—King, for the last time—will you
share with the Duke?
HÅKON.
Not a shred will I let slip of that which God gave me.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Well and good. [_Softly._] Your faith, at least, you shall let slip.
[_Calls._] Viliam!
DUKE SKULE.
[_Softly._] The letter! The letter!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[_Not listening to him._] Viliam! [VILIAM _enters; the_ BISHOP
_draws him close down to him and whispers._] When I received the
Extreme Unction, all my sins were forgiven me?
SIRA VILIAM.
All your sins from your birth, till the moment you received the
Unction.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
No longer? Not until the very end?
SIRA VILIAM.
You will not sin to-night, my lord!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Who can tell——? Take the golden goblet Bishop Absalon left me—give
it to the Church— and say seven high masses more.
SIRA VILIAM.
God will be gracious to you, my lord!
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Seven more masses, I say—for sins I may commit to-night! Go, go!
[VILIAM _goes; the_ BISHOP _turns to_ SKULE.] Duke, if you should
come to read Trond the Priest’s letter, and it should mayhap prove
that Håkon is the rightful king—what would you do then?
DUKE SKULE.
In God’s name—king he should remain.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Bethink you; much is at stake. Search every fold of your heart;
answer as though you stood before your Judge! What will you do, if
he be the rightful king?
DUKE SKULE.
Bow my head and serve him.
BISHOP NICHOLAS.