“Do not forget, noble kinsman of Healfdene, illustrious ruler, good friend of warriors, what we two settled when we spoke together. If I, for your safety's sake, should end my life-days here, though I am dead, be as a father to me still. Be to my kindred thanes, my battle-comrades, a worthy protector. Do you hear, Hrothgar? Send all these treasures which you have given me, to my king, Hygelac, so the Geat king, brave son of dead Hrethel, may see by the gold and gems and treasures that I found a generous lord, whom I loved. Give back to Hunferth, too, this wondrous weapon, the sword with its graven blade. I will win fame with it, with Hrunting, or death will claim me.”
Beowulf then dived headlong into the swamp. No sooner did he enter those sinister waters than the sea-beasts came at him with tusk and horn and strove to break the protective ring-mail. He fought them off, all the while continuing his descent into the murky depths. As Beowulf neared the bottom, he felt himself being clasped in long, scaly arms of gigantic strength as his heart was torn at by steely claws. A creature both awful and loathsome was pulling him deeper into the cauldron, down through clusters of yet more slimy and horrible sea-beasts, to deliver him to the abode of the hate-filled sea-woman who wanted his blood.
She was waiting for him in the vast cavern, an underwater hall where Beowulf found himself at the end of the dizzying descent. In the water at its mouth he saw the reflection of a strange flickering flame deeper within the cavern, a livid sheen which burnt with the anger of Grendel's mother.
He ventured inside. There the adversaries met and with a cry charged at one another. The sea-woman flung Beowulf down on his back, stabbing at him with the point and edge of her broad knife, but she too was thwarted by the trusty corslet. Beowulf, exerting mighty force, threw her off and jumped to his feet. Brandishing Hrunting, he flashed one great blow at her head, but her scaly hide was invulnerable. Enraged, Beowulf cast aside the useless sword and determined to trust once again to his hand grip.
Grendel's mother now felt all the deadly power of Beowulf's grasp, and was forced to the ground, but still she would not yield. Knowing he needed some weapon to end the struggle, Beowulf looked desperately around. There, on one of the walls he saw a magnificent sword, an heirloom of heroes. It was the best of blades, with splendid point and edge, but it had been forged by giants and was larger than any member of the human race could manage to wield in battle – any human that is, other than one with the strength of Beowulf.
The young warrior released the monster and sprang up to snatch this mighty relic of earlier and greater races from the wall. With renewed hope in his heart, Beowulf swung the sword fiercely round his head and struck hard.
The blow fell with such crushing force on the neck of the sea-woman that it broke all the bones therein, killing her instantly. Beowulf, breathing hard, looked down at the lifeless carcass of his foe. Keeping the sword in his hand, he looked warily along the walls of the dwelling and peered into the recesses, in case some other enemy should emerge. As he stared around him, Beowulf saw the body of Grendel, lying on a bed in an inner hall. He entered the chamber and, seizing the corpse by the hideous coiled locks, cut off the head as a trophy. A stream of hissing, scalding, poisonous blood spat at him, melting the blade of the mighty sword until nothing remained of it but the curiously ornamented hilt. Beowulf carried away this hilt and Grendel's head and swam up with them through the now clear sparkling waters.
Only Beowulf's loyal Geats awaited his re-emergence from the lake. The Danes had departed in late afternoon, lamenting the hero's death, for they had concluded that no man could have survived so long beneath the waters. The Geats had stayed on, still gazing sadly at the waves, hoping against all hope that Beowulf would reappear. Their faith was encouraged by a remarkable sequence of changes to the lake. First they saw blood boiling upwards, followed by the quenching of the unholy light deep within it, then the sea-monsters fled its depths and there was a gradual clearing of the waters. Finally, Beowulf rose to the surface.
Their joy at seeing him return to them unharmed was matched by their awe and wonder at his dreadful booty, the ghastly head of Grendel and the massive hilt of the gigantic sword. Eagerly they listened to his story, and vied with one another for the glory of bearing his armour, his spoils, and his weapons back across the moorlands to Heorot. It was a proud and happy troop that followed Beowulf into the hall, through the startled Danish throng to the throne of Hrothgar, where the hideous head of Grendel was laid. Beowulf, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him above the buzz and hum, addressed the king.
“Lo, we have brought for your pleasure, this sea-booty, O wise son of Healfdene, Lord of the Scyldings, in token of triumph, though the conflict was almost decided against me, if the gods had not guarded me! Nought could I conquer with Hrunting in battle, belike it was only proof against human enemies. But the gods granted me another great weapon hanging high in the hall of my foe. So I seized and swung it and thus won through. The blade did later melt in the hot boiling blood when taking off Grendel's head. But I have the hilt here and I have avenged the crime. Now can I promise you that you may slumber carefree in Heorot with all your warrior-troop and all your kindred thanes, the young and the aged. You need not fear for them, a death from mortal foes just as you, Sire, made them safe of yore.”
King Hrothgar was now more delighted than ever at the return of his friend and the slaughter of his foes. He gazed in delight and wonder at the gory head of the monster, and the gigantic hilt of the weapon that had struck it off. Then, taking the glorious hilt, and scanning eagerly the runes which showed its history, he held up his hand to still the tumult in the hall.
“I declare that this hero is the greatest I have ever seen. Your glory, Beowulf my friend, will be widespread, both among your own and many other peoples. You have fulfilled everything by patience and prudence and I will surely give all that I promised you. I also foretell that you will long be a help and protection to your people.”
King Hrothgar spoke long and eloquently while all around him men listened. He reminded them of men of old who had not won such fame as Beowulf and warned them against pride and lack of generosity. He ended with thanks and fresh gifts to Beowulf, and bade them all make merry.
The rejoicing lasted until darkness settled on the land and long after. When it ended, all retired to rest free from fear. No fiendish monsters would break in upon their slumbers now. Gladly and peacefully the night passed, and in the morning Beowulf became resolved to return to his king and his native land. After arriving at this decision, he went to Hrothgar.
“Sire, we sea-voyagers who have come from so far away must announce our intent to seek out King Hygelac and home. Your hospitality and generosity have been magnificent and if ever I can do more to win your love, O prince of warriors, then I stand ready. Gladly will I wield my weapons for you and if ever your people is threatened by its neighbours, I will swiftly bring to your aid thousands of noble thanes and heroes. I know that, Hygelac, king of the Geat folk, will strengthen me in words and warlike deeds, speeding me to bear my spear over the ocean if our arms should serve your need. And if your son, young Hrethric, comes to the Geat court to gain skill at arms, as it is best for the valiant to learn by journeying to distant lands, then he shall find many friends.”
Hrothgar was deeply moved by these words and appreciated Beowulf's promise of future help. He also marvelled at finding so much wisdom in such a young warrior, and felt that if battle should cut off the son of Hygelac, then the Geats could never choose a better king than Beowulf. He renewed his own assurance of continual friendship between the two lands and of his enduring personal affection. Then, with still more gifts of treasure and some tears of regret, Hrothgar embraced Beowulf and bade him go quickly to his ship.
“A friend's yearning cannot retain you longer from your native land.”
The troop of Geats then marched proudly to their vessel carrying their many gifts and treasures, and leading fine steeds.
Glad-hearted were the voyagers as
they sailed their dragon-prowed ship home to Geatland. The vessel danced over the waves, and in time the Geats strained their eyes towards the cliffs of their native land and its lovingly recalled shores. As the vessel approached the land, the Geatish coast-warden hastened to greet them, having watched the ocean day and night for their return. He welcomed each of them, and told his subordinates to help to carry the heroes’ spoils to the royal palace, where King Hygelac and his beautiful queen, Hygd, awaited them. News of the success of Beowulf's expedition had been sent ahead and a banquet was being arranged in his honour. Proudly Beowulf entered the royal residence, where he was seated beside his royal kinsman for the coming festivities.
The celebrations were tremendous. Again a queen's hand poured out the first bowl with which they rejoiced at the safe return of the heroes and toasted their victory. Then the tale was told of how the fen-fiends were slain, and several times Beowulf was prevailed upon to describe his trials and his triumphs. He spoke stirring words of the horrible monsters and the desperate struggles. He waxed lyrical in his description of the undying gratitude and lavish generosity of King Hrothgar. He also prophesied a lasting friendship between Danes and Geats.
“The great Danish king lives in all noble deeds and has given me much treasure,” Beowulf said, “great gifts to meet my heart's desire. These I lovingly bring to you. I have few kinsmen but yourself, O Hygelac. My loyalty and service are your due, my own uncle and my hero-king.”
Beowulf showed the treasures Hrothgar had given him as reward for his courage, and distributed them generously among his friends and kinsmen, giving his priceless jewelled collar to Queen Hygd and his best steed to King Hygelac.
Beowulf now resumed his position as Hygelac's chief warrior and champion, and settled down once more among his own people. Time went by and naturally, when half a century had passed away, great and often sorrowful changes had taken place in the kingdoms of both Denmark and Geatland.
In that time Hrothgar had died to be succeeded by his son, Hrethric. Hygelac was killed in a military expedition against the Hetware, though Beowulf had done all a warrior could to save his kinsman and king. Beowulf nearly died in the fighting himself but managed to make his way to the coast after cutting through the encircling enemy. Though badly wounded, he dived into the sea and swam back to Geatland, where he sadly told Queen Hygd of the death of her husband.
Beowulf urged her to assume the regency of the kingdom while her young son, Heardred, came to manhood. Queen Hygd, however, called an assembly of the Geats, and there, with the full consent of the people, offered the crown to Beowulf, the wisest counsellor and bravest hero among them.
Beowulf refused it and so swayed the people with his eloquence and unswerving loyalty that unanimously they raised Heardred to the throne, with Beowulf as his guardian and protector. When in later years Heardred, yet childless, fell in battle, Beowulf was again beseeched by the Geats to become king.
He was in any case next in line to the throne, and reluctantly he accepted. The vengeance he swiftly exacted for his kinsman's death fulfilled every ideal of family and feudal duty, and quieted all external enemies. Indeed his fame as a warrior kept his country safe from foreign invasion, just as his wisdom as a statesman also made such an event less likely and increased the wealth and happiness of the Geats
Beowulf was an ideal king, the perfect warrior and hero, and his life ended in an act of selfless devotion and sacrifice for the good of his people. It was in the fifth decade of Beowulf's reign that terror suddenly afflicted the land, a terror brought down by a monstrous fire-dragon.
This beast flew nightly from its den in the rocky cliffs by the sea, scattering the darkness with its blazing breath. Its fiery scales shone so fiercely in the sky that it looked like the glow of dawn but alas, when sunrise did come, it would reveal a scene of destruction, of smouldering buildings and fields, and the charred remains of people and animals.
The dragon's anger was not without justification, for it had been robbed. Unable to find the thief, it had taken its revenge on the people of the region in general.
Centuries earlier its treasure had been gathered by feats of arms, and added to with care and by long inheritance. The family of warriors that had won this immense booty of gold cups and goblets, necklaces and rings, ornate swords and armour, was increasingly given to greed and miserliness, spending little and guarding the treasure jealously. The last of the clan had personally carried the hoard to the cliffs, trusting no servants, and, cunningly devising entrances and recesses within a cave, had hid the riches where only he could find them.
When this soul survivor died, knowledge of the whereabouts of the treasure died with him. The bounty remained undisturbed until the dragon, seeking shelter on the rocky cliff-side, found its way into the cave and discovered the inner chamber. For three hundred years he guarded the magnificent load unchallenged, until one day a fugitive, fleeing from the wrath of an irate chieftain, came across the cave and found the dragon sleeping on its gold.
Though frightened nearly to death by the sight of the dragon, the fugitive stealthily lifted a beautifully made chalice and took it away, as an offering that he hoped would appease his lord's anger and atone for his offence. When the dragon awoke, it discovered the theft and, using its keen scent, discerned that the felon was a human.
The dragon sniffed around the outside of the lair hoping to find traces of the thief but it was too late. Furious at being unable to find the guilty man, it flew over the surrounding countryside, raining down fiery death and destruction on everyone and everything in its path.
News soon reached Beowulf that his people were suffering and dying, and that no warrior felt equal to the task of delivering the land from this nightly devastation. Beowulf, although now an old man, determined that he must confront the dragon himself. He realized that he would not be able to come to handgrips with this enemy, the way he had with Grendel and his mother long before. The fiery breath of the dragon was far too deadly. More than ever he must trust to arms and armour for protection.
At his command, a shield was made entirely of iron, for it was certain that the usual shield of linden-wood would be quickly burned up by the dragon's flaming breath. Next he carefully hand-picked eleven warriors of his bodyguard to accompany him. The identity of the fugitive whose theft had started the horrible business was then discovered and he was forced to act as their guide.
The small party of men soon reached the lofty crags where the dragon's lair was to be found, and there they halted for a rest. Beowulf sat down and meditated sadly upon his past life, and his chances in the coming conflict. Back when he had defeated Grendel, and when he had done battle with the Hetware, he had been confident of victory and full of joyous self-reliance. Now things were changed. He was an old man and there hung over him a dark premonition. This would be his last fight, and after it he would rid the land of no more monsters.
Gloom seemed to beset him and a sense of impending woe.
“I had many great fights in my youth,” he mused to his warriors, almost dreamily. “I well remember them all. I was only seven years old when King Hrethel brought me to court to bring up, and loved me as dearly as his own sons. And like brothers to me were Herebeald, Hathcyn, and my own dear lord, Hygelac. You cannot imagine our grief when Hathcyn, hunting in the forest, accidentally killed his elder brother. To the grief was added a greater than ordinary sorrow, because of course we could not avenge him on the killer. It would have been an added horror for King Hrethel to see his second son killed in disgrace as a murderer! Soon after that King Hrethel died, borne down by his bitter loss. How we wept for my protector, my kinsman. Then was slain Hathcyn by the Swedes and my dear lord Hygelac came to the throne. He was so gracious to me, such a giver of weapons, such a generous distributor of treasure. I always did my best to repay him in battle against his enemies. I sent Daghrefn, the Frankish warrior, to his doom with my deadly hand-grip when he killed my king, so he could not show my lord's armour as testimony to his pr
owess.” Beowulf paused, then addressed his men directly, the dreamy look in his eyes having been replaced by steely determination. “But this fight is going to be different. This time I must use both point and edge, which was not my wont in my youth. Here too will I, old though I am, work deeds of valour. I will not retreat so much as one foot but will meet this monster on his own ground. Stay here you fine young warriors, for this is not your fight, nor the work of any man but me alone. And wait until you know which of us wins, me or the dragon, before you do anything. I will both claim the gold for my people, and save them from the dragon, or death may take me. One or the other.”
With that, the old warrior raised his huge shield and alone approached the dark entrance of the cavern. A stream boiling with strange heat flowed towards him and hot air which could be felt at some distance. When he reached the cave mouth Beowulf stopped, unable to advance farther for the suffocating steam and smoke belching out at him. Furious at his own impotence, Beowulf shouted an angry defiance at the terrible creature within.
The dragon leapt up, roaring hideously, flapping its glowing wings and sending a gush of fiery breath towards the interloper as it rushed out, its scales of burnished blue and green raised and glowing with inner heat.
True to his word, the hero did not retreat a single step. Meeting the onslaught with his bright sword, he wounded the dragon but not mortally. He struck the beast again mightily, this time on its scaly head, stunning it for a moment. It sprang again at Beowulf, gushing out so dense a stream of flames that the hero was surrounded by a mist of fire.
The heat was so terrible that his iron shield glowed red-hot and the ring-mail on his limbs seared his flesh. Despite the keen pain he was now feeling, desperately Beowulf endured. The fiery cloud was so terrible that the Geats, watching from some distance away, turned and ran, bound for the cool shelter of the neighbouring woods.
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 4