by C. R. May
“The axe man was your son!” Beowulf exclaimed.
“He cost me the lives of nearly a dozen of my men. He held us at bay almost single handedly until he was overpowered by sheer weight of numbers!”
Hunwald’s eyes shone with pride.
“He was a good son and a great warrior. I am looking forward to seeing him in Valhall. Accept the gladius Beowulf but give it a new name. Let the old name pass into history with my family.”
As the fire died and was replaced by the light of the new day Hunwald rose and stretched.
“It is a funny feeling.”
“What is Hunwald?”
“Looking at the dawn and knowing that it is the last one you will ever see.”
He smiled thinly and went to arm himself.
“Come on let’s go for a swim.” Heardred pushed Beowulf with the sole of his foot and began to undress.
“I will meet you on that island over there and then we can come back and finish the ale.”
Beowulf looked up at his cousin and smiled grimly. He knew that Heardred was trying to take his mind off of the death of Hunwald and he appreciated the gesture, but as hard as he tried and as hard as he told himself that he had done the old Jute's bidding, he still found it difficult to reconcile himself to the fact.
It was the first time that he had killed a man that he had known and liked and he felt remorse. All the others he had killed had been in the heat of battle. It had been either him or them. Even the watchman he had ordered hanged at the dock in Edet before the battles against the Swedes had deserved his fate as had the troublesome sailor.
Come on snap out of it. He is laughing with Herebeald in Valhall by now!
Heardred had asked Hunwald to tell their uncle that his death would soon be avenged when he met him in the afterlife, as he surely would.
Herebeald had been the next in line to the Geat throne until he had been killed during a hunt by his brother, the present king, Hythcyn. Despite a lack of certainty over the guilt of Hythcyn it still fell to the remaining members of the family to avenge his death.
With a yell Heardred ran into the surf and launched himself into the breakers. Surfacing he turned and called back to Beowulf.
“Come on, I can’t race myself!”
Beowulf gave up. If there was one person on middle earth who could always lift his spirits it was his cousin. Pulling off his clothes he tore across the sand and leapt into the air. As he came down he drew his knees into his chest and landed with a mighty splash, inches from Heardred’s horrified, upturned face.
“You bastard, I thought that you were going to land right on my head then!” he spluttered as Beowulf surfaced, sweeping the hair back from his face.
“Promise me something kinsman. Never do that again. I shall have the sight of your hairy arse and balls hurtling towards me fixed in my memory for a long time to come!”
Beowulf laughed and struck out for the island. They were both powerful swimmers thanks to the years they had spent under the tutelage of Hygelac and they were soon pulling themselves up onto the rocky outcrop.
Heardred was right. The swim had taken his mind off the affair with Hunwald and shaken off the effects of a full night feasting and drinking. He felt refreshed and rejuvenated and able to talk about the fight which had just taken place.
“What a life that man had led!”
“Aye, and what a family!” Heardred replied.
“Britons, Romans, Huns, Gauls was there anyone that they hadn’t fought? I always thought the Jutes were timid! I am going back there once this Swedish problem is settled. Come with me kinsman, let’s make a life for ourselves fighting in the South. What is the point in staying here, trying to defend trees and lakes from the ‘Terrible Swedes’. Let them have it, they are welcome to it.”
Heardred picked up a stone and threw it at a piece of driftwood.
“You should see the land there. Green rolling hills as far as you can see and trees rooted in soil so deep that you have to dig down the height of a man before you reach the bottom, not like the thin, stony soil here. The rivers are so full of fish that you can practically walk from one bank to the other. I was in Anglia one winter and it never snowed a single time, not once, that’s how mild the climate is. What do you say?”
Beowulf smiled and nodded.
“I would love to go cousin. Once we have avenged our kinsmen and repaid the Swedes I will be on the first ship with you.”
Heardred grinned and lay back, letting the morning sun dry and warm his body.
“You gave him a good death you know, a warrior’s death. I hope that someone would do the same for me one day if I was in his position. Did he let you in at the end or was that just pure savage skill on your part?”
Beowulf paused and thought. He had fought with Hunwald as they had agreed as a condition of his surrender. Beowulf thought that the man would put up a token resistance but it had not worked out that way.
“When we started I am sure that he intended to slap his sword around a bit and then drop his guard for the killer stroke but after a few tame parries I recognised the old battle fury take control of him and I knew that I had a real fight on my hands. Most of what you saw was real but I think that he regained control of himself at the end. I am sure that he dropped his guard just long enough for me to get in a quick, clean, kill.”
Heardred nodded.
“Well, it was a beauty, straight through the heart. He was already supping in valhall when his body hit the ground.”
Heardred nodded back towards the pile of weapons and clothing which lay on the island opposite them.
“Have you thought of a new name for the sword?”
“Pluto,” Beowulf replied proudly.
“Pluto! What is a Pluto?”
“It is the name of the Roman god of Death. Didn’t the English teach you anything while you were fostered there?”
“Yes, useful things like how to rut a wench and how to drink far too much ale, not the name of ‘The Roman god of Death’!” he teased.
They both looked over at the island on which they had shared Hunwald’s last night. A ship had been sent to collect his body and prepare it for its return to Jute Land. Unlike the Geats, and most other northern people, the Jutes did not tend to cremate their dead before burial.
“Really? That is disgusting!” Beowulf had exclaimed when Heardred had told him.
“All those worms and the gods know what eating your body. What if it is dug up by wolves or dogs? You can’t have animals running around with bits of your kin, it’s not right!”
They sat in silence as they watched the men clearing the island. The sun had now fully cleared the hills in the East and cast long shadows about the waiting ships of the Geat fleet, now swelled by the addition of the Jutish ships.
“What are you going to do now, mighty leader?” Heardred asked sarcastically. Of the two he was the more experienced warrior by far but the king had entrusted the fleet to Beowulf as a reward for his efforts at Sorrow Hill. Fortunately the cousins were far too close for any feelings of jealousy to taint their relationship.
“I have an idea that I want to put to Hudda and yourself. Let’s get back over there and arrange it, it’s as good a place as any and it will be out of earshot of the rest of the crew. I don’t like the way that it seems that word of our movements seems to be going ahead of us.”
Hudda waved to the boat as it returned to the Griffon and joined them at the fireside. Although the morning was warm the swim in the icy waters of the Kattegat had chilled them to the bone and they sat, savouring the sun’s warmth. Besides, the big pot of bubbling porridge suspended above it smelled delicious and they eyed it hungrily.
Beowulf was gratified to see that the blood stained patch where the body of Hunwald had lain had been replaced with fresh sand. The act bore all the thoughtfulness of Gunnar and would be typical of the man.
Beowulf reached for three bowls and filled them to the brim with the steaming mixture. He handed one to each
of his companions and returned to his place beside the fire. He blew on the first spoonful and closed his eyes, savouring the taste as the warmth spread slowly through his body. Opening his eyes he began.
“I have asked you here Hudda because I value your council as much as my father does.”
Hudda had served Beowulf’s father, Ecgtheow, for many years and was one of his most trusted advisers. Beowulf had left instructions that the Jutish prisoners be questioned closely whilst he was on the island with their leader Hunwald the previous evening. He was keen, as they all were, to find out the extent to which their plans were known abroad and in what detail. He reasoned that the prisoners would be more than willing to divulge any information which they possessed given their precarious position.
“What have you found out about our situation from our ‘guests’?”
Hudda blew out his cheeks and scratched his beard as he replied.
“Well, I was tempted to ask them what our king had in store for us next. I am not kidding. It seems that the whole of the northern lands knows all about our plans in as much detail as you do Beowulf. They would have held their men at home this year to counter our invasion but they knew so much about what happened at the Troll's Hat that they knew that we would be tied up fighting the Swedes. They even knew that we were to embark on a raid in retribution for their attack. Bear in mind that this is information from the ordinary warriors and seamen not their leaders. I would think that they know what King Hythcyn had for breakfast their information is so good.”
Beowulf pursed his lips as he pondered Hudda’s report. The Troll's Hat was the old name for the hill now generally referred to as Sorrow Hill after the losses the Geats had sustained in the battle with the Swedish force there.
“But that was only two weeks ago! How can they possibly have found out so much in such a short time?”
“Obviously they have good sources of information on our coast. As soon as news reaches Miklaborg or Geatwic they get to hear of it, practically at the same time. We stopped all traffic in and out while the fleet was assembling so that would have told everyone that we were up to something big. We couldn’t stop the fishing boats from coming and going though, people need to eat. You can control traffic to and from places like Geatwic easy enough but there are hundreds of smaller ports and beaches on our coast. You can’t control them all.”
Beowulf nodded, deep in thought, as he listened to Hudda’s report.
“Well, it’s even worse than we thought but at least now we know where we stand. I have thought of a plan which should protect our coast, make our men rich and fulfil our original mission. Break open that last barrel of mead and I will share the details with you. Let me know your thoughts but keep the details we agree on to just us three. Our lives may depend on it.”
Heardred nudged Hudda.
“Beowulf has thought of a plan to protect our coast, make the men rich and fulfil our original mission. It must be something in the porridge!”
He leaned forward, spooned another dollop into his bowl and sat back.
“Lucky for me, I got the good looks in the family!”
3
Grey clouds rolled down from the North as the Griffon led the ships of the Geatish fleet southwards once again. The wind had returned after the previous few days of calm and the conditions were perfect for their journey once again.
Hudda reflected on the conversation he had had with Beowulf as they passed this point on the coast three days previously. That time men had sweated at the oars as the ships clawed their way painfully south across the surface of a sea as smooth as any sword blade.
He had thought at the time that the gods had deserted them, or even perhaps become hostile to their quest to bring retribution to the Swedes for the casualties which they had inflicted upon his people during the fighting in the North.
He could see now that Beowulf had been right to convince him otherwise. He looked with satisfaction at the ships now flying south under the following breeze. The defeat of the Jutish force had enabled them to replace the pine ‘elk ships’ with the best of their fiends’ ships. Built of sturdy seasoned oak, they were a match for any produced in Geatwic or elsewhere. Their old beast heads had been burned on the island before they resumed their journey south and carpenters were busy carving replacements to match the names chosen for the ships by their delighted new crews.
Corralled amidships in each vessel were groups of men who looked anything but delighted. Each ship carried a score or more prisoners taken after the battle, close to four hundred in total. They were on their way to one of the ports which lined the Baltic Sea where they would be sold to one of the slavers for onward shipment to the great slave market at Novgorod.
He could not help but have some sympathy for their plight. These were the men who came from families too poor to pay a ransom for their return. Many would have been obliged to follow their lord to Geatland, the same lord who was now no doubt stuffing his face in Ealdorman Alfhelm’s hall in Geatwic whilst his family collected his ransom. Life was always hard on the poor, he reflected, whatever their nationhood.
Hunwald’s body had been placed back aboard his dracca for its return journey home. Aware that Jute burial customs differed from their own but unsure exactly which form the family would prefer, Beowulf had ordered that the chief’s body be sent back in his own ship in case it was required for the final rites.
The Geat crews were about as happy as he had ever seen a group of men. The helmsmen of the pine ships had had them replaced by good, solid, oak ships. The crews had been told that they were no longer going to fight against the powerful Swedes in their own land and so had every chance of living long enough to enjoy the fact that they had all become rich men.
Beowulf had decreed that the silver collected from the ransom of the more important members of the Jute force and the proceeds from the sale of those now in thraldom, slavery, were to be collected and distributed amongst the crews of all ships in the fleet. He had reasoned that it was not the fault of the crews of the ‘elk ships’ that their ships had missed the fight as they had done their duty to him by following his orders and protecting the knarrs while they were away.
The weaponry, armour and any items of value taken from the Jutes were to be sent to King Hythcyn as tribute by his victorious fleet.
Hudda smiled to himself as Beowulf walked the centre of the ship towards the steering platform where he guided the Griffon effortlessly south. To a man the crew brightened, smiled and inclined their heads towards him as he passed. He was sure that if Beowulf had told them that they were all going to be swimming to the Baltic the ship would almost capsize as they raced to be the first one over the side.
He felt a surge of pride that he could claim a small part in producing the leader of men which Beowulf had become. At every opportunity since he had first had him aboard the Griffon all those years ago on his first journey abroad to Dane Land, he and his crew had carefully taught him the ways of the sea.
He raised his eyes to the masthead to admire the golden man and boar emblem of Beowulf which now flew there.
Beowulf smiled as he approached the steering platform.
“No turds in your hood today I hope Hudda. Who said the gods were against us!” he exclaimed breezily.
To his surprise Hudda seemed not to have heard him and stood open mouthed as the blood visibly drained from his upturned face.
“Hudda, what’s wrong?”
Slowly he turned and followed his gaze.
Perched atop the mast, just above his red and gold personal pennant, sat the largest raven that he had ever seen.
Slowly, one by one, the rest of the crew became aware of the drama unfolding above them. Men pointed in terror and fell back against the hull of the ship as they involuntarily moved away from the mast and its divine occupant. Clearly the bird was Huginn or Muninn, Thought or Memory, Woden’s birds.
Tasked by the Allfather with flying throughout the realm of middle earth gathering information on his b
ehalf, Woden relied on their reports to decide which warriors were worthy of a place in Valhall.
The appearance of one of the birds next to Beowulf’s personal emblem could be a good or bad omen. The events of the next few moments would decide not only the outcome of the voyage but in all probability the life of Beowulf himself. He was under no illusion that should the omen be seen as bad by the crew that he would be lucky to survive.
Beowulf became aware of the crews of the surrounding ships lining the wales as they noticed the events unfolding on the Griffon. Even Heardred was looking on, aghast, from the steering platform of the aptly named Raven. He had to act quickly to take control of the situation. Suddenly and old memory flashed into his thoughts.
He knew the call of the raven!
His father’s old falconer, Svip, had taught him it many years ago when he had been a boy. The man possessed a talent for mimicking bird calls and he had enjoyed spending time with him. Now he was thankful that he had.
Ahead of him a crew man had been tearing at a piece of salted pork when the bird had appeared. Now he sat staring at the raven, the meat still held, forgotten, in his teeth.
Beowulf stepped forward and snatched the meat from his mouth. Holding it aloft he called a low, deep, gurgling croak,
prruk... prruk... prruk
The birds head snapped down and regarded Beowulf. Svip had told him that the raven was one of the most intelligent birds, even to the point of learning human speech, and he could see the bird appraising him as he called to it.
Woden, Fury. Don’t let your bird shit on my emblem!
With a flap of its enormous wings the raven left the mast and glided down to perch on Beowulf’s outstretched hand. It cocked its head and looked directly into his eyes as if it either knew him or was trying to communicate with him.