Beowulf's Return
by Tim Hodkinson
Copyright © Tim Hodkinson 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion
of brief quotation in review, without permission from the author
There was a time when heroes and monsters walked the earth. After the great Roman Empire fell and before the high days of chivalry arose, the peoples of Europe fell into darkness. The tribes of the north began great migrations across seas and continents, fighting others and themselves, taking lands by the sword and founding mighty kingdoms. In those days men worshipped heathen Gods: Woden, Frey and Thunor. It was a time of ruthless kings and valiant heroes who fought enemies both human and supernatural. In the wastes and wildernesses, the freezing tops of the mountains and the misty, murky bogs dwelt the demons who haunted and tormented these people: man devouring Ettins, blood drinking thyrsar, dark elves who worked evil magic and dreag, the revenants of dead men who returned from their graves. In this time came the hero Beowulf. An epic poem tells how he travelled from his home in the land of the Geats and defeated the terrible man-eating creature Grendal in the land of the Spear-Danes. When Grendal's mother sought revenge Beowulf killed her too. The poem tells also how many years later Beowulf fought against a dragon but in the decades in between Beowulf had many other adventures. This is one of them.
This was the time of the Middle Earth.
Part 1
The longship scythed through the grey waves like a spear blade. It had no mast or sail, instead its swift progress across the grey freezing waters of the Northern Sea was propelled by the twenty hardened warriors who manned its ranks of oars.
At its dragon-carved prow stood a bear of a man, broad chest and powerfully built. He savoured the taste of salt in the air. The cold wind stung his skin and whipped his long blond hair behind his head over the black bear's pelt he wore as a cloak around his shoulders. His tunic and britches were of the highest quality but he wore no armour or helmet, because he was on his way home.
A cheer rose from the warriors toiling at the oars as the sight of land arose from the waves ahead. They had been away from home for years now. Too long.
"We're nearly home lads," the big man shouted over his shoulder, his words loud and clear despite the buffeting wind. The warriors responded with eager glances over their shoulders. Ignoring their aching shoulders, fatigued from the long voyage, they redoubled their efforts on the oars.
The beach was a couple of ship lengths away and through the mist and spray that rose from the freezing waves a group of figures could be seen moving on the land.
"Beowulf, look: A welcoming committee," Weohstan, the warrior who stood beside the big man said, pointing at the figures on the beach.
"Our friends and relatives," Beowulf grinned. "It will be good to see everyone again."
His grin faded a little as he narrowed his eyes, squinting against the morning sunshine. There was something not quite right about the people waiting for them. The glint of sunlight on armour made it suddenly clear.
"That's no welcoming committee," Beowulf growled. "That's a war party."
Weohstan started and looked again. The men on the beach were armed to the teeth. Burnished chainmail glittered in sunlight that also glinted from helmets, swords and spear tips. Brightly painted shields were locked together in the unmistakable defencive formation of a shield wall. The message was clear. What awaited on the beach was not a welcome but a confrontation.
"Prepare for battle," Beowulf shouted to the rest of the men in the boat. The warriors from Beowulf's war band at first looked confused then their training took over. They dropped their oars and reached for weapons, armour and helmets. There were several moments of frantic activity as the warriors scrambled into their fighting harness and unhitched their shields from the side of the ship. Beowulf grabbed his own helmet as the boat shuddered and a loud grinding sound announced that they were grounding on the stones of the beach. He looked up and saw the warriors on the land already advancing towards them.
Beowulf turned to yell orders to his men when suddenly he froze. Intense pain stabbed through his right arm. He cried out in surprise and anguish and bent over, grabbing the limb with the other hand.
"I'm hit!" he cried out, looking down and expecting to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his arm or a spear in his shoulder. His face creased with bafflement when he saw no evidence of injury.
Beowulf suddenly gasped again as another acute pain seized his left thigh. Cramp-like and just as crippling, the big man dropped to his knees, unable to support himself while his leg spasmed.
"By the Lord!" the Beowulf exclaimed, his face contorted with agony and confusion. "I'm hit again but there is no wound."
Weohstan looked down at his leader, worry etched on his face.
"This is seithr," he said. "Witches' work." He looked at the beach and saw that the warriors were about twenty paces away and closing fast. There was no time to tend to Beowulf further. They would have to fight without him.
The fifty men on the beach outnumbered the crew of the ship more than two to one. Beowulf's men swarmed over the prow, jumping into the surf and wading urgently up onto dry land. It was imperative they got onto a defensible position before the defenders reached them as they would slaughter them in the shallow water. Once all were on the pebbles they formed up, locking shields side by side to form a wall.
"I must go."
Beowulf looked up and saw through the haze of his agony that Weohstan bent over him. Through gritted teeth he nodded and his second in command leapt off the prow.
With a roar of war cries the two bands of warriors closed on each other. Shields thumped against shields and swords rang against armour. Men growled and screamed curses at each other from behind the visors of their helmets.
Hearing the start of the battle and knowing his men were fighting, outnumbered and without him, Beowulf swore. He called for strength on his God: Ingvi, the God of his people who was commonly called Frey, the Lord. He dragged himself up onto the prow to see what was going on. On the beach his men had formed an arrowhead formation to stop the defenders coming around their flanks but their inferior numbers were already telling. They had put five of the defenders down but four of his men lay on the pebbles, whether wounded or killed he could not tell.
Despite the pain in his arm and leg, rage began to boil in him. They had ventured across the icy northern sea, they had fought-and defeated-Grendal the ettin, a monster from the marshlands. Then when Grendal's mother had come to avenge her son they had killed her too. After surviving all that they were now dying on the very shores of their homeland at the hands of faceless enemies who had attacked them for no reason.
He had to join his men, even if it was just to die alongside them. With a roar he dragged himself to his feet though bent double from the pain, his crippled arm hugged close in to his stomach. He lurched up onto the prow of the ship and as he did so another stab of pain shot through his body, this time in his right thigh. It felt for all the world like a spear shaft going through his leg, yet there was no weapon visible, no blood and no wound. Unable to stop himself he screamed out in agony, his back arched and he tried to grasp the limb. Losing his balance Beowulf tumbled off the prow and into the freezing surf below.
For a moment all other sensation was drowned by the shock of hitting the cold water. He lay flat on his back in the shallow water, gasping to control his breathing and racing heart. At first he thought the icy water had numbed the feeling, but then as his other senses returned to normal he realised that the mysterious debilitating agony in his limbs had vanished when he hit th
e waves. A wave closed over him, completely soaking him, and he decided that the strange enchantment was definitely gone and if he did not get up, he would drown.
In a second Beowulf was on his feet, soaked to the skin and his hair trailing water. He had no time to consider what had happened to him: his men needed his help. Spray flying, he charged up out of the water roaring his defiance in an incoherent war cry. He ripped the great ring sword-the trophy he had won for killing the shadow walker Grendal's fiendish mother-from its sheath. The polished metal of the blade gleamed in the misty morning sunlight. Heedless of the fact that he wore no armour or helmet, Beowulf plunged straight into the fight. Weohstan, who was at the point of the arrow formation, heard his lord bellowing and instinctively stepped aside. The big warrior ploughed past him, dipping his shoulder into the shield of the first man in his way. Even though he had been braced against Weohstan, the force of Beowulf's charge sent the man sprawling onto his back. Beowulf stormed forwards, standing on the man and swinging his sword in a deadly arc that connected with the helmet of the warrior to his right. With a startled cry the man collapsed, knees buckling as he dropped to the pebbles.
The arrow formation could serve equally well in attack as defence. With a hole battered through the shield wall of the opposing force, Beowulf's men surged forward behind their leader, splitting the defenders ranks completely in two and surging up the beach to higher ground.
A horn blared out a loud signal from further up the beach. As one, the defenders disengaged and fell back from their assault. Beowulf and his men took the opportunity to regroup and formed another shield wall, this time they were higher and with the advantage. The defenders peered at them over the tops of their shields but none of them advanced.
The sound of hooves crunching on pebbles made Beowulf turn around and he saw mounted figures coming down towards them. This was no cavalry attack however. Only one of the three horse riders was ready for war. He was a large, broad chested man like Beowulf who sat tall in the saddle. From under a magnificent, gold covered, visored helmet his white hair spilt across his shoulders and a long beard the same colour cascaded down the front of his burnished mail coat. His shoulders were wrapped in a heavy fur cloak. All his equipment was of the finest quality and in his gauntleted right fist he bore the huge gilded war horn that had signalled the cessation of hostilities. Beside him rode a young woman in a deep red, fur trimmed cloak and long, linen dress. She was striking in her beauty and her long blond hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall. The third rider was a middle-aged man wrapped in a dark brown, hooded cloak who wore no armour and bore no weapon.
"Beowulf!" the helmeted rider called. "Is it you? It is good to see you my nephew!"
Part 2
A blaze crackled in the fire pit at the centre of the great feasting hall of Hygelac. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, slaves hurried around, laden with dishes while musicians played tunes to entertain the dining warriors. Beowulf's men sat on benches beside the long tables, filling their hungry bellies with meat and fish, all washed down with ale that came from the best vats in the King's kitchens. Their wounded were in a different building receiving treatment for their injuries. Now the men sat alongside the warriors who only that morning they had been locked in deadly combat with. Now the beer and fellowship meant that all that was being exchanged were jokes and songs.
It had all been a terrible mistake. Hygelac, the King of Geatland and Beowulf's uncle, had explained the situation as they travelled from the beach where the battle had taken place to his royal burgh, the fortress and dwelling of the King, his court, his thanes, servants and the many others who supported to royal household. The Geats had been expecting an attack and when the coastguard spotted a strange ship approaching they had assumed the worst. As they passed through the countryside, the settlement that surrounded Hygelac's royal compound and now in the great feasting hall itself, Beowulf noted plenty of signs that his homeland was not a country enjoying the peace and prosperity that had prevailed when left it several years before. Bands of warriors, armed and ready for war patrolled everywhere. Even the peasants and merchants they passed were all armed in some way. Several times they passed through settlements and villages that had recently been destroyed by fire. The only sign of the former inhabitants were some freshly dug grave mounds. Even now they were in the feasting hall of Hygelac at the centre of the burgh, Beowulf noted that the King's men were far from relaxed. As the afternoon darkened into evening the doors were shut, barred and a squad of warriors remained armed and on guard by them. Those men who sat down to eat at the benches also drank their ale, but drank it sparingly. This all made Beowulf uneasy so when the opportunity arose, he had pulled Weohstan aside and told him to order his own men to do the same.
At the top table, set on a raised platform at the head of the room, Hygelac the King apologised to his nephew for the third time. Hygelac was a proud man, and Beowulf appreciated what it must take for his to say sorry once, never mind three times.
"Our land faces a time of crisis, Beowulf," Hygelac said. "Our borders are under attack. Villages have been burned along the coast and no survivors left to say who did it. Raiders have been seen in ships out to sea but they fly no flag. A dark force of warriors are abroad in the night. They attack a village then vanish by dawn. We are ready for war but do not know when it is coming or where from. The coast guard have orders to attack any strange ship approaching our land, which is what happened to you today."
"It must be the Wulfings,"- Beowulf commented. The neighbours and ancient enemy of his clan were the most likely people to cause the Geats trouble. They had fought each other for centuries. His own late father had been outlawed in an illegal blood feud with them.
Hygelac shook his head. "My marriage to Hygd, here"-he laid a hand on that of the beautiful young woman who sat on his left, "was designed to bring peace between us and the Wulfings."
"The Queen is a Wulfing?" Beowulf narrowed his eyes, unable to conceal his immediate suspicion of the woman. Hygd returned his look with a pair of ice-blue eyes that reciprocated his challenge.
"She is the daughter of Helgi, the King of the Wulfings," Hygelac said, his tone turning censorious as he observed Beowulf's reaction. "Our marriage was a condition of the peace treaty arranged between our peoples that was agreed while you were overseas."
"A truce with the Wulfings?" Beowulf's eyes were now wide open with incredulity. He sat back in his chair, shook his head then took a swig of the strong ale that frothed in his silver-decorated drinking horn.
"You disapprove of peace between our peoples?" the Queen interjected, her tone laden with accusation.
"The Wulfings cannot be trusted," Beowulf stated. "Your people worship the one-eyed God of War, Woden. His faith teaches treachery, lying and deceit. Betrayal is a virtue to you. Nor do your folk deign to use dark magic and siethr."
"You would rather our two people fought each other forever ? That the killing just went on and on?" Hygd said.
Beowulf shrugged. "Why not? If the choice is between war and a dishonourable peace then I know what I would rather have."
"The Queen has converted to our religion," a new voice interjected. "As a sign of good faith. She now acknowledges the supremacy of the Lord, Ingvi, as the true God deserving worship."
Beowulf turned to see that the man who spoke was the third rider from the beach earlier. He had now taken off the heavy cloak and Beowulf saw that the man wore the belted white linen robe and heavy metal amulet of a priest of Ingvi.
"Anyone can pretend to profess a faith," Beowulf said.
There was a scraping sound as the King pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. A hush descended on the hall.
"The Wulfings have honoured the peace, Beowulf," Hygelac growled, rising to his feet. "I know well how my brother Ecgtheow, your late father-may his soul rest with the Lord-spent his life fighting the Wulfings for our people, but that is now the past. I will not have their motives-or that of my Queen-questioned. Hygd h
as worked ceaselessly to bring our two people together, and these dark events that beset us cause her as much distress as me. More so: Her sleep at night is disturbed, beset by nightmares, she is so tormented by the worry of it all."
For several seconds he locked eyes with Beowulf. The big man held his gaze. All around the room men's hands dropped to the knives at their belts or inched towards anything they could use as a weapon. The tension was palpable in the silence that gripped the hall.
Finally Beowulf raised a conciliatory hand. "If you are satisfied of her good faith, uncle, then that is good enough for me," he said. "You know my family history with the Wulfings, so forgive my suspicious nature."
Hygelac paused a moment then nodded to show he accepted Beowulf's apology. He sat down again and the silent tension in the hall burst into relieved chatter again.
"This is Ingeld, the chief priest of our faith and my personal Thyl," Hygelac said, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man in priest's robes. Ingeld nodded and sat down beside the King. "He is my right hand man and councillor in all things. He was the chief architect of the peace treaty with the Wulfings. And while our efforts are not directed at war our land has prospered-until the current problems. We have much to thanks him for."
Beowulf took another swig of ale and studied Ingeld's face as he reflected on the changes that had happened since he had left. He and his men had been away for several years, and he had expected changes to have occurred, however the extent of the changes surprised him. The King had not been married nor had the priest been part of the court that he could remember.
Ingeld's blushed and looked down at the table. "I deserve no credit," he said. "I simply follow the example of our Lord, Frey, who taught that peace and prosperity are what all good people should strive for, not discord and war."
"Wise words. And on that note, let us argue no more," Hygelac's face softened into a smile. "Tonight is for feasting. A welcome respite in our time of trouble."
Beowulf's Return (Tales of Beowulf) Page 1