Myths and Legends from Around the World

by Robin Brockman

“Then Breca overcame you, having greater strength and courage. The ocean bore him to shore, and he returned happily to his native land, the fair city where he ruled as lord and chieftain. He fully made good his boast against you, didn't he? And now you seem to want to risk an even worse defeat, for you'll find Grendel far fiercer in battle than was Breca, if you dare await him tonight.”

  Around the two men conversation ceased.

  “Friend Hunferth,” Beowulf replied haughtily, his brow flushed with anger, “you seem much fascinated by the swimming contest between Breca and me; but you must be drunk, for you have told the tale wrongly. It was, admittedly, a youthful folly of ours, when we two boasted and challenged each other to risk our lives in the ocean that day.”

  Aware that most ears in the hall were straining to hear this interchange, Beowulf raised his voice.

  “We bore our naked swords in our hands as we swam, for it was necessary to defend ourselves against sea-monsters. For five days we floated together, neither out-distancing the other, when a storm drove us apart. The surging waves were cold and the north wind bitter. The swelling flood was rough, especially under the darkening shades of night. Yet this was not the worst, for the sea-monsters, excited by the raging tempest, rushed at me with their deadly tusks and bore me to the abyss. It was just as well that I wore my well-woven ring-mail, and had my keen sword in hand, for these enabled me to fight and kill the deadly beasts. Many a time the host of monsters pulled me to the ocean-bottom, but I fought and dispatched great numbers among them. We battled all night long until the morning light. I could see the windy cliffs along the shore and all around me the bodies of the slain sea-beasts floating on the surf, nine of them in total. The gods are gracious to the man who is valiant and unafraid. Never has there been a sterner conflict, nor a more unhappy warrior lost in the waters. I saved my life and landed on the shores of Finland, but Breca fought not so mightily and did not fare so well.” Beowulf paused, and looked hard at his antagonist. “I never heard of such warlike deeds on your part, Hunferth, only that you murdered your brothers and nearest kinsmen.”

  A ripple of shock ran round the great hall.

  “And I'll tell you another thing, son of the bold Ecglafs. The grisly hand of Grendel would not have caused such misery, shame and anguish for your king in his palace, if you, Hunferth, were valiant and battle-fierce.”

  Hunferth was furious over the reminder of his former wrongdoing and the implied accusation of cowardice, but his belittling of Beowulf had not been received well by either the Geats or the Danes, who were now enthusiastically applauding Beowulf's address. He dared make no further attack on the champion and let pass without comment Beowulf's declaration that he and his friends would await Grendel that night in the hall. The fiend had ceased to expect any resistance from the Danes, and all agreed that the presence of this newly arrived band of warriors would indeed come as a shock to it.

  The feast resumed and continued in high spirits until a door at the upper end of the hall opened to admit a woman of noble bearing. This was Hrothgar's wife, the fair and gracious Queen Wealhtheow. The company ceased their merriment and watched as she filled a goblet of mead and presented it to her husband, who joyfully received it and drank it down. Then she poured mead or ale for each man in turn, in due course coming to Beowulf. Wealhtheow greeted the lordly hero gratefully, and thanked him for the friendship that had brought him to Denmark to risk his life against Grendel. Beowulf, rising respectfully, took the cup from the queen's hand.

  “I considered the risks well,” he replied with dignity, “when I sailed with my brave warriors, believing I alone might win your people's deliverance or perish in the demon's grip. Yes, I accept the challenge. I must perform this knightly deed or meet my doom here in your fine hall in the dark of night.”

  Well pleased by Beowulf's words, Queen Wealhtheow went to sit beside her lord, where her gracious smile cheered the assembly. The clamour of the feast continued until Hrothgar gave the signal for retiring. With night almost blanketing the sky, it was time to leave Heorot.

  The assembly broke up with a chorus of ‘Good nights’ and the Danes went to their lodgings. Hrothgar, the last to leave, addressed Beowulf half joyfully, half sadly.

  “Not since I first held a spear and shield have I fully given over this mighty Danish hall to any man. Keep well and defend this most wonderful of places. Bring forth all your heroic strength, call up you bravery, watch for the enemy and stay alert. You will be marvellously rewarded, I assure you, if you survive this night and triumph in the coming battle.”

  The king then departed to pass a restless night in a safer dwelling, gripped by nervous expectation, torn between hope and fear. In the meantime, Beowulf and his men prepared themselves for the dangers of the coming night.

  “I will strive against this fiend weaponless,” Beowulf swore again to his friends, “and with no armour, as he wears none. I will wrestle with him, and try to overcome him. I will conquer, if I win, by my hand-grip alone. Let the All-Father judge between us, and grant the victory to whom He will.”

  Beowulf divested himself of his mail, sword and helmet, and put them in the care of a Danish thane who bore them away. The fourteen champions of the Geats then settled down to a light sleep, with one eye open as it were, wearing their armour and with their weapons close to hand. Deep down inside, none of these brave men expected to see the light of day again or to revisit their native land. They had heard far too much during the feast about the slaughter of which Grendel was capable, but none was troubled by thoughts of what the night held and soon all were slumbering peacefully.

  When everything was still, Grendel came. From the fen-fastness, by way of marshy tracts, through mists of acid swamp-born fogs, the hideous monster came once again to the house he hated. Grendel behaved no differently on this night than any other. He strode fiercely up to the door and tried to open it. The fiend's anger was instantly aroused when he found that he could not because it was locked and bolted. He grasped the door with his mighty hands and slowly tore it open.

  As Grendel stalked through the hall he seemed to fill it with his monstrous shadow. The green and uncanny light that shone from his eyes illuminated the troop of sleeping warriors. The sight of the men delighted the creature, even as it angered him further. It seemed that all the fools slept, but the fiend did not notice one man, leaning on his elbow and peering keenly into the gloom.

  Grendel thrust out a terrible scaly hand, seized one hapless sleeper and tore him to pieces before the poor man could utter a cry. Gleefully, Grendel drank the warm blood and devoured the flesh. So excited was he by this hideous starter that he reached out carelessly for another similarly tasty morsel. To Grendel's utter amazement his hand was seized and held in a grip the like of which he had never felt before. Instinctively he knew that here was an antagonist he must fight with caution and cunning.

  Beowulf, who had sprung from his couch as soon as the terrible claws of the monster had fallen upon him, now wrestled desperately with Grendel. It was an awesome struggle, as the combatants swayed and grappled the length of the vast, unlit hall, overturning tables and benches, trampling underfoot dishes and goblets.

  The other Geat warriors were now wide awake and with weapons in hand were trying to follow the progress of the struggle and discern how they might help their leader. But they were unable to see the combatants distinctly in the darkness, and ran about the hall ineffectually, occasionally landing blows on the beast when the gleam from its eyes was turned in their direction. Whenever they struck however, their weapons glanced harmlessly off Grendel's scaly hide.

  The combat seemed to go on for hours and everything in the hall was utterly wrecked by the time Grendel made to break away. Bested and aware that the gloom was lifting as a new day pushed away the veil of night, Grendel put every ounce of his strength into escaping Beowulf. But the Geat champion held him fast in a grip no man on earth could equal or endure. The monster writhed in anguish as he vainly strove to free himself.
>
  The struggle grew more intense and frenzied, until, with a terrible cry, Grendel wrenched himself free, staggered to the door, and fled, wailing, over the moors to his home in the gloomy swamp. In the grasp of the exhausted victor he left his arm and shoulder, and in his wake a trail of glistening blood. Beowulf sank down, panting, on a shattered seat, still holding his grisly trophy, hardly able to credit what had happened. His men gathered round with a lighted torch and by the sputtering glare, they all beheld the scaly arm of Grendel, ghastly and, even now, threatening. But the monster was gone, and with a wound so terrible that he must surely die.

  Realizing this, the Geats raised a shout of triumph, and then took the hateful trophy and fastened it high up on the roof of the hall. Now, all who entered would see the token of victory and recognize that the Geat hero, Beowulf, had fulfilled his boast – he had conquered with no weapon and by the strength of his hands alone.

  In the morning many warriors came to Heorot to learn the events of the night, and all saw the trophy and praised Beowulf's might and courage. Together they followed with eager curiosity the bloodstained track of the fleeing demon till it came to the edge of the gloomy lake. Here the trail disappeared into the waters, which were stained with gore, and boiled and surged noiselessly. There, on the shore, the Danes rejoiced over the death of their enemy, and returned to Heorot carefree and with gladness in their hearts.

  Beowulf and his Geats stayed on in Heorot for some days. Hrothgar had to be given a full account of the struggle and there were celebrations to be enjoyed; horse races were run, and wrestling matches and every other manly contest of skill and endurance held.

  When King Hrothgar himself came, with his queen and her maiden train, to see the dreadful trophy, he turned with gratitude to the hero who had delivered them from this evil, and cried:

  “Thanks be to the All-Father for this happy sight! I have endured so much sorrow at the hands of Grendel, and lost so many warriors, all these uncounted years of misery. But my woe is at an end. Now, a youth has performed, with his unaided strength, what none of the rest of us could accomplish with all our power or craft. Well might your father, O Beowulf, have rejoiced in your great fame and well may your mother, if she yet lives, praise the All-Father for the noble son she bore. You shall always be a son indeed to me, both in love and honour, and you shall never lack anything you desire that I can give. I have often rewarded less heroic deeds than this with great gifts, so I can happily deny you nothing.”

  “We have performed our boast, O King,” Beowulf answered, “and have driven away the enemy. I intended to force him down and to deprive him of his life by mere strength of my hand-grip, but in this I did not succeed. Alas, Grendel escaped from the hall, but he did leave me his hand, arm and shoulder as a token of his presence, and as a ransom for the rest of his loathsome body. I am certain that he can live no longer with so deadly a wound.”

  The hall was cleared of the traces of the conflict and preparations were made for a splendid banquet. There in Heorot the Danes assembled once again free from fear in their splendid hall, and the walls were hung with gold-wrought embroideries and hangings of costly stuffs. Richly chased goblets shone on the long tables, and men's tongues waxed loud as they discussed and described the heroic struggle of the night before.

  Beowulf and King Hrothgar sat on the high seats opposite each other, their men, Danes and Geats, sitting side by side. All shouted and cheered and drank deeply to the fame of Beowulf. The minstrels sang of the Fight in Finnsburg and the deeds of Finn and Hnoef, of Hengest and Queen Hildeburh. The song was good and long, and hearing of the victory of their Danish forefathers over Finn of the Frisians roused the national pride of the Danes. Merrily the banquet proceeded, graced and gladdened still more by the presence of Queen Wealhtheow.

  With the gifts which he loaded on Beowulf and every member of the Geat troop, Hrothgar showed the extent of his generosity and his gratitude. Beowulf received a gold-embroidered banner, a magnificent sword, helmet, and corslet, a goblet of gold, and swift horses. On the back of the best of these steeds was strapped a magnificent saddle, Hrothgar's own, with gold ornaments. When the Geat hero had thanked the king fittingly, Queen Wealhtheow arose from her seat, and lifting the great drinking-cup, offered it to her lord.

  “Take the goblet, my lord and ruler,” she said, “Be happy as a man can be and lavish praise and reward on the young Geats for the peace they have won us. I know that this mighty warrior who has cleansed this banquet hall will be as a son to us. Now may we enjoy the many pleasures of this place and, in security, leave our kinsmen, our lands and lordships when we must journey forth to meet death.”

  “Just so,” said Hrothgar.

  “Beowulf,” the queen said, turning to him. “Enjoy your reward while you are young, and live a noble and blessed life. Keep well your widespread fame, and be a friend to my sons in time to come, should they ever need a protector.”

  Then she gave him two golden armlets, set with jewels, costly rings, a corslet of chain-mail and a wonderful jewelled collar of exquisite ancient workmanship. Then, bidding the men continue their feasting, she left the hall with her maidens.

  The feast went on until Hrothgar too departed to his dwelling, and left the Danes, now secure and careless, to prepared their beds. The warriors who guarded the hall of Heorot settled down in their armour, and placed their shields by their heads, as was their custom. Meanwhile, Beowulf and the Geats were shown to a very comfortable lodging, where they slept soundly and without disturbance.

  But in the darkness of that night an avenger came to Heorot. It came in silence and mystery, as Grendel had done, with thoughts of murder just as terrible and even greater hatred raging in its heart.

  Grendel had gone home to die, but his mother, a fiend nearly as terrible as her son, lived to avenge him. She rose from her dwelling in the gloomy lake, followed the fen paths and moorland ways to Hrothgar's mighty palace. When she opened the door of Hearot, a sudden horrible panic filled the Danes inside. Men ran hither and thither, vainly seeking to attack the monstrous intruder. The figure of this horrible woman, though, cast less terror in their hearts than had Grendel. They were confident of overcoming her. But despite their brave attacks, they could not prevent her seizing Aschere, one of King Hrothgar's thanes, and carrying him away to the fens. Again, Heorot became a house of lamentation where only a few hours before men had feasted and laughed so joyously.

  When the news was brought to King Hrothgar, he bitterly lamented the loss of his wisest and dearest counsellor. He sent at once for Beowulf, certain that he alone could help in this extremity. Beowulf was unaware of what had passed in the night, and when he came into the presence of the king, he inquired courteously if Hrothgar's rest had been peaceful.

  “Do not ask me about peace. My best adviser and friend Aschere is dead. The truest comrade in fight or council, slain by a monster last night in Heorot and I don't know where she has taken his body. This is undoubtedly revenge for your killing Grendel. Yes, his kinswoman has come to avenge him.”

  “There is another…?”

  “I have heard my people say that they have seen two such unearthly creatures. Huge bodied marsh-striders, one in the shape of a female, the other of a male, the one they came to call Grendel.”

  Beowulf nodded.

  “I beg you, my son,” Hrothgar suddenly burst out in uncontrollable emotion, “help us if you will, for help is only to be found in you.”

  “I will, O King.”

  “But you know not the horror of the place you must go to if you are to corner the fiend in her den. It is a foul and strange place within the swamp. Even a hunted stag will not venture into it and would rather face death at the hunter's hands than hide there. But I will reward you beyond measure if you return alive from such a journey.”

  “Sire,” said Beowulf softly, touched by the old king's sorrow, made worse for having thought himself delivered only the day before. “Do not grieve. It is best for each of us rather to avenge
our friend than mourn him over much. Everyone dies at the end of this life. Let us win war-like glory in the world while we can. That is best for a slain warrior after death. Arise, my lord, and let's follow the track of the monster. I promise you, I will never lose it, wherever it may lead.”

  Hrothgar sprang from his bed with near-youthful energy, and ordered his horse to be saddled. With Beowulf beside him, and a mixed party of Geats and Danes following, he rode towards the home of the monsters, the dread lake so shunned by men and beasts. The bloodstained tracks were easy to follow, and the avengers moved swiftly till they came to the edge of the swamp. There they found the head of Aschere lying on the bank. The Danes looked at in grief and horror. The Geats turned their gaze towards the lake, which was boiling with blood and hot, welling gore. As if to give comfort and to raise their spirits, one man in the party blew a horn, which loudly sang out a fierce, eager defiance. On the water were wrathful and venomous snakes, monstrous beasts and weird creatures which madly shot away when the blast of the war-horn was sounded again. Soon, however, they gathered once more.

  Beowulf stood on the shore watching these creatures. Then, suddenly, he drew his bow and shot one of them through the heart. The rest darted furiously away, enabling the thanes to drag the carcass of the slain beast onto the bank where all surveyed it with wonder.

  Beowulf began making ready for his task. He decided to trust to his well-woven mail, the close-fitting corslet which protected his breast, the shining helmet, bright with the boar image on the crest, and to a mighty sword which Hunferth, his jealousy forgotten in admiration of Beowulf's bravery, had earlier pressed on the hero.

  “This sword is called Hrunting,” he had said, presenting the weapon to him. “It is of an ancient heritage. The steel of the blade itself was tempered with poison-twigs and hardened with battle-blood. It has never failed in battle any who wielded it.”

  Now Beowulf stood ready. He surveyed his surroundings and looked at the sky, the sun and the green earth, which he might never see again. With naked sword in hand he turned to his loyal followers, his friendly hosts and King Hrothgar. There was no trace of weakness or fear in him when, finally, he spoke.