They ached with yearning for those early throne-years
bountiful memories—many a wiseman
had looked to that lord for long peace-days
910
feasts and friendship as his father’s king-love
had brought to the Danes—deep treachery
darkened their gift-hall as that dangerous man
bent down to evil. Beowulf prevailed
Hygelac’s war-thane held to his promise
brought to all of them bright victory.
They raced their mounts measured the pathway
on the track to Heorot. The hastening of day
shoved up the sky—soon came fugitives
from safe night-lodgings to see that arm-trophy
920
high upon the hall. Their hopeful king
keeper of the hoard came from the bride-bower
marched with his house-guard to Heorot’s doorway
and his queen with him, waiting for hope-news,
measured the hall-yard maidens at her side.
Hrothgar spoke then stood by the doorstep
stared above him at the steep roof-gable
garnished with gold and Grendel’s hand:
“May thanks to the Wielder for this wondrous sight
be long in our hearts. Loathsome misery
930
Grendel has brought me. God brings to us
wonder after wonder Wielder of glory.
Until this day I dared not imagine
relief from sorrow shame and treachery
sinful murdering when stained with gore
this best of meadhalls mournfully stood
empty and idle—agony and grief
gripped our heart-thoughts with no hope for mercy
a hand to defend us from that foul hell-monster
sorcery and death. Through the Deemer’s will
940
a visiting Geat has vanquished forever
this murdering demon that no Dane’s courage
could banish or harm. That heartstrong woman
mother of this man marked by the Wielder
to bear such a son may say to the world
that the old Measurer honored her womb-seed
blessed her in childbirth. I choose you now
beloved Beowulf best among warriors
as the son of my hopes—hold this kinship
near to your heart—you will never be poor
950
in goods of this world while I wield this goldhoard.
I have often allowed to lesser warriors
weaker in battle-strength bounteous rewards
for smaller victories. You’ve assured it now
through your great courage that glory will be yours
forever and always. May the almighty King
reward you for this with wisdom and strength.”
Beowulf answered Ecgtheow’s son:
“With war-willing hearts we waited for terror
gambled our lives gave up to murder
960
a thane of Hygelac. I hoped as I struggled
that you for yourself might see that monster
in all his strangeness stripped of his life.
I hoped to bind him hard in my grasp
clamp his fiend-corpse to a cold slaughter-bed
hold in my handgrip his hateful life-core
bring you his death—but his body betrayed me.
I could not hold him here by the gift-throne
hard as I tried when the high Measurer
planned differently—he pulled too strongly
970
fled with his life. But he left his hand
to mark our struggle his mighty fiend-claws
and death-wrenched arm. No ease from revenge
did he buy with that bargain no booty from hell—
not long will he live loveless murderer
laboring in sin for sorrow has him
clamped in a life-grip lashed to his crimes
in baleful death-bonds—he will bide in misery
stained with hall-blood stand for judgment
bound to the will of the bright Measurer.”
980
Then Ecglaf’s son Unferth the heckler
stood silent there stunned by that trophy
hushed with horror humbled orator.
They stared at that hand by the high roof-gable
terror-warped fingers—the tips of the nails
were hard as smith-steel sharp death-talons
heathen’s handspurs a hellish warrior’s
sword-tips of evil. They all agreed there
that the best of blades battle-swords of old
could not hew that arm from its huge shoulder
990
hack from its body that hell-fiend’s claw-hand.
Soon it was time to restore the meadhall
shape it for feasting—they flocked then to Heorot
warriors and women worked through the day
washed the gore-tracks. Golden tapestries
were hung on the walls wondrous designs
elvishly woven for the eyes of men.
In that bright meadhall benches were shattered
beams unanchored iron-hard hinges
wrenched and twisted—the roof only
1000
kept to its shape when that shambling killer
fled to the moors marked with a death-wound
lifeblood draining. Nor is death avoided
not easily tricked try it as we may
but each soul-bearer must seek in the end
by fate impelled a final slumber-bed—
each earth-dweller earns a resting-place
where his body will lie bowered from sky-light
sleeping after banquet. Soon it was ready—
to the hall he went Healfdene’s son
1010
ready for feasting firelight and peace.
Never have I heard of happier warriors
more highly behaved with their hoard-guardian.
They bent to the benches by bright fire-flicker
lifted their cups. Comrades together
Hrothgar and Hrothulf hoisted their mead-drink
uncle and nephew honored by them all
no guile in their hearts. Heorot was filled then
with family and friends—no feuding in the air
darkened the Danes no deep treachery.
1020
To Beowulf then bountiful Hrothgar
gave a golden banner beacon of victory
with bright battle-dress breast-coat and helmet.
To the Geat came next a great treasure-sword
borne to his hands. To Beowulf at last
an ale-cup was served. No shameful gifts
were laid before him for his friends to see—
I have not yet heard of a handsomer reward
four such treasures trimmed well with gold
brought with such grace to a guest in Heorot.
1030
On the helmet’s crown a hammer-hard ridge
wound with steel-wire stood against blade-bites
a fire-tempered tube to toughen the head-guard—
no file-sharp edges would eat through that crown
when shielded swordmen stepped into battle.
Then the king of the Danes called for attention—
eight fine horses entered the meadhall
with gold-laced bridles. On the best was mounted
a silver saddle studded with garnets
the gleaming battle-seat of gladman Hrothgar
1040
when that son of Healfdene sallied to warplay
rode before his men to the rush of swordswings—
he was always in front when they fell around him.
To Beowulf then the Battle-Danes’ leader
offered all of it urged him to take
weapons and horses hold and use them.
With royal manners the mighty Dane-lord
guardian of that hoard gave from his treasure
horses and weapons worthy of his kingdom—
no courteous man could quarrel with those gifts.
1050
Each of the Geats every man of them
who crossed with Beowulf the curling sea-road
was worthied with gifts by the wise old king
honored with heirlooms—then he offered wergild
gold for that wretch ravaged by Grendel
viciously murdered—as more would have been
had not God in his wisdom and one man’s courage
withstood wyrd there. The Wielder controlled
all of mankind as he always does.
Forethought is best future in the mind
1060
plans for everything. All who are given
loan-days in this world life before darkness
will suffer and enjoy sorrow and happiness.
AT THIS POINT Hrothgar’s minstrel celebrates Beowulf’s victory with a highly allusive episode recounting an earlier fight between Danes and Frisians which he calls the Freswael (“Frisian slaughter”). A fragment of a heroic poem about half the length of this episode, printed in 1705 from a manuscript leaf now lost, gives Finnsburuh as the site of the battle. Those two accounts are the only extant versions of an obviously well-known story that has engaged Beowulf scholars for more than a century. From a wilderness of versions, drawing upon both episode and fragment, I summarize as follows:
A Danish king Hoc has two children, Hnaef and his sister, Hildeburh, who marries Finn Folcwalding, king of the Frisians. Hnaef and sixty retainers visit Hildeburh at Finnsburuh in Frisia. For some reason, the Frisians attack the Danes at dawn in the hall assigned to them and fight for five days with many Frisian casualties (including Hildeburh’s son) but no Danish dead until Hnaef is finally killed, leaving the Frisian forces badly depleted and unable to vanquish the beleaguered Danes.
As winter approaches, a truce is made between Finn and Hengest (now in charge of the Danes), giving the Danes an honored place in Finn’s hall and equal status with the Frisians, Finn paying wergild for Hnaef and staging a formal cremation for dead warriors, including Hnaef and his nephew, Hildeburh’s son. Some Frisians apparently return to their homes, and Hengest spends an unhappy winter at Finnsburuh, his thoughts turning to vengeance with the coming of spring. Hunlafing (encouraged by Guthlaf and Oslaf) gives Hengest a sword to urge him on. The Danes attack and kill Finn, loot Finnsburuh, then carry Hildeburh back to Denmark.
Then sweet strumming silenced the company
harpstrings sounded for Healfdene’s son
fingers drew notes found story-words
hushed mead-benches when Hrothgar’s minstrel
mourned a winter-tale matched it with song
of the house of Finn that fatal night-visit
when that doomed hall-guest Hnaef the visitor
1070
fell to death-rest in Frisian slaughter.
Nor was Hildeburh’s heart rewarded
by that hostile truce—tormented queen
bereft of loved ones by linden-shield play
her brother and son slain in treachery
by deep spear-bites—dark was her mourning.
With heavy heart-thoughts Hoc’s daughter-child
measured destiny when darkness paled
when the graylight sky spread before her eyes
black murder-bale. Battle-slaughter won
1080
fetched from life-breath Finn’s warrior-thanes
all but a few—ended at last
when Hengest and his men held against them all—
nothing could flush them fighting was stalled
with ominous silence—at the end of slaughter
was no victory. They vowed peace-terms—
to Danes was offered their own winter-home
hall-room and high-seat to hold peacefully
with half of everything enemies together—
before the gift-throne Folcwalda’s son
1090
would honor the Danes each day and night-time
welcome with rings warriors of Hengest
give from his treasure gold arm-bracelets
in full friendship with Frisians around them
equal in boasting beer-cups and song.
So they swore together solemn companions
a firm peace-pact. Finn gave to Hengest
in full hall-council hard oath-bindings
with his elders’ advice: In honorable plenty
he would hold them all—no envious hall-thane
1100
with words or with deeds would damage that peace
no Dane would lament with malice on his tongue
that they now followed forced by that truce
their lord’s life-taker through the long winter—
if one Frisian with foul hate-words
mindful of mischief should mention battle-thoughts
a sharp swordedge would silence that tongue.
Oaths were honored old gold-treasures
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