by C. R. May
It would seem that the main road in their area was being plagued by a family of trolls. Travellers were being murdered and robbed on such a regular basis that the area had become practically cut off from the outside world for most of the summer. The only way that these men had survived the journey south had been because they had elected to travel to the coast and take ship to Svartvik before travelling back west along the road which Beowulf had travelled a few days previously.
Ohthere had assured them that he would send his son and a Geat lord, ‘two of my finest warriors’ to kill the trolls and reopen the road. They would leave the very next day.
Eanmund had felt obliged to offer to escort the delegates back to their settlements but to both his and Beowulf’s relief they had preferred to trust their luck to the sea and returned to their ship at Svartvik. The journey would be long and arduous enough without having to entertain a party of rustics they could not even understand.
It was obvious to Beowulf that Ohthere had seized on the opportunity to enable Eanmund and himself to become better acquainted. Beowulf knew that the wizard Asgrim had predicted that he and Heardred would provide sanctuary for his sons at some time in the future. The abortive raid on Sigtun must have seemed like a gift from the gods. It had delivered both himself and his cousin into Ohthere’s hands and he was not about to let the opportunity go to waste.
Besides, Beowulf was grateful to be away from the hall for a while. The tale of his unfortunate first meeting with Ohthere’s daughter Halldis had swept the hill fort like a summer squall.
He had pretended not to notice the whispers and smiles from the women of the settlement the following day but it had become obvious that he must confront the issue that evening. There had been a noticeable air of anticipation in the hall as they sat at their benches and waited to be served their food.
Eanmund had engaged him in conversation across the hall, taking his attention away from the food which was being placed before them. When he looked down he found that he had been served a bowl of oats and apples. It had been what Hudda would call a ‘turd in the hood’ moment as they had all waited to see his reaction.
Luckily his foster father, Hygelac, had always impressed on him never to take himself too seriously. The ability to laugh at your own expense had always been presented to him as a great strength of character.
The hall had fallen silent as they all waited to see his reaction. Taking the apple he had thrown it high into the air. Catching it he had taken a large bite and smiled broadly. “That is a nice apple, far tastier than the ones at my last stable!”
The hall had exploded into laughter as the tension had been released. He had noticed that Halldis had cast an approving look in his direction as they all resumed their meals. He had also noticed that her mother, Valeska, was watching her daughter closely and seemed to approve.
Halldis had smiled at him frequently that evening and each time his heart had leapt and the familiar stirrings had occurred.
Maybe Cola was right. I will have to marry her.
As they rounded what seemed like the hundredth bend that day Eanmund’s voice suddenly cut into his thoughts.
“This must the place. Those must be the boulders which the rustics described.”
Beowulf focused on the road ahead. As it left the tree line, the road narrowed as it passed between two huge, distinctive, rocks. Eanmund had turned in his saddle and grinned at Beowulf.
“The Troll Gate; Do you think that they are related?”
They were definitely very distinctive rocks. Perhaps they had been trolls which had been turned to stone by the light of the sun as the old stories claimed.
“Shall we go on or wait until tomorrow. There is not that much light left and we don’t know how far away they are.”
Beowulf craned his neck and squinted at the sun. Eanmund was right, it was late in the day. Only a fool would blunder about in the dark with known killers about.
“Retrace our steps. I saw an ideal clearing about half a mile back. We can make camp there and investigate the road ahead at first light. That way we stand a good chance of catching the robbers unprepared. I doubt that wolf heads are prone to early starts!”
Within the hour they had hobbled the horses and were seated by the camp fire. Beowulf and Eanmund had competed at first to impress each other with the standard of their cooking but that had quickly faded and now they tended to grab the first thing that they laid their hands on to warm in the pot. Neither man had complained.
Perhaps they should have brought a thrall after all!
After they had eaten they sat back and enjoyed the warmth thrown out by the fire. It was a beautiful evening. Earlier in the summer they would have been plagued by small flying insects at this time of night but thankfully that time of the year had passed. It was one of the few things which made the inhabitants of the North thankful for the approach of winter. Eanmund suddenly spoke.
“I feel that I should warn you Beowulf of the great danger you are in.”
Beowulf looked at him in shock. He had grown to trust Ohthere and was growing to like Eanmund even more. He would be disappointed if his trust had been misplaced. Eanmund smiled at the look of concern which had swept Beowulf’s features.
“My parents have spoken of the possibility of a marriage between you and Halldis. It is a fate that I could not wish on anyone!”
Beowulf’s heart leapt. He was captivated by the woman but the truth was he had barely spoken to her. He knew nothing of her apart from her beauty. Eanmund casually chose a large stick and idly poked about in the embers.
“I want you to know that if this marriage proceeds, that it would have my support. It would be a great honour for you and your family Beowulf, to marry the granddaughter of King Ongentheow but my father holds you in high regard and I have never known him to misjudge a man’s quality. I have heard the tales of your fighting abilities in the South and have enjoyed your company on this trip. I would be proud to call you kinsman.”
Beowulf felt surprised and humbled by Eanmund’s declaration.
“I am honoured to be even considered worthy to join your family, but I am afraid that I doubt that such a thing will happen. I am only the son of a jarl. My only connection to the Geatish royal family is through my mother. I have no lands and little prospect of any as things stand. I may be considered, but we both know that Halldis is too valuable to be wasted on a lowly warrior like me. She will be married off to a foreign ruler as part of a trade agreement or to seal a peace treaty like all the daughters of kings and ætheling.”
Eanmund laughed.
“Don’t underestimate my father. He knows everything about you and the situation in Geatland. He is like a giant spider. ‘The Eyrie’ is the centre of his web and the roads which lead away are the strands of this web. West to Trondelag, east to the Helsingjabotn, south down to your town of Edet and on to the Kattegat at Geatwic and north to...”
He paused and looked about him, before laughing.
“Well, also north!”
Eanmund tossed the stick into the flames and went on.
“Ohthere sees more potential in you than merely your ability as a warrior. Yes, he was impressed by you at the river fight, especially so when he found out that you were responsible for the planning and that it was your first large scale engagement. But he was more impressed by your conduct and foresight in your dealings with the Danish reeve, Harald, as you led your fleet to our land.”
Beowulf could not hide his shock, much to Eanmund’s amusement.
How could the Swedes possibly know what had passed between himself and the Danish reeve only weeks before?
“Beowulf, my father is right. You do have great potential, but you need to gain more experience in the world. I will explain. Just because the Geats stop ships sailing into their ports, ‘to keep their invasion plans a secret’, does not mean that all sea traffic ceases.
Merchants need to make a living during the summer months and if they cannot go through Geatwic th
ey will go elsewhere. A shipload, twenty-four I believe, of Jutish captives from their defeated force are offloaded by the Danish reeve, Harald, which he has received as payment for escorting your fleet safely through their waters.
King Hrothgar is honoured, as you intended, and rewards Harald who in return rewards his crew, again as you intended. You have wisely built up a store of goodwill with the Danes which you may need to call upon for the return trip, following your destruction of the Swedish kingdom.”
Eanmund smiled at Beowulf’s obvious discomfort before continuing.
“What do the Danish warriors do with their new found wealth?”
Beowulf sighed as he answered the ætheling. It was all becoming painfully obvious why all their secretive planning had been a naive waste of time.
“They all spend the evening in the waterfront ‘places of entertainment’, where their ale sodden minds talk about anything and everything. The next morning the merchants who were also patronising these ‘places of entertainment’ sailed off elsewhere taking the news with them.”
Eanmund threw his arms out wide.
“We knew everything within the week. You can’t close a major port like Geatwic for months and expect nobody to notice. The first merchant to be turned away would have met another and the conversation would have gone something like this.”
Beowulf had to laugh as Eanmund continued in a Danish accent.
“You heard that Geatwic is closed to traders?”
“No, why is that then?”
“They’re building a secret invasion fleet to attack the Jutes in the summer.”
“Yeah? I’ll take my goods to Kaupang instead then, thanks Knut!”
They both laughed and drained their ale. Beowulf leaned across and refilled their cups as Eanmund grew more serious.
“Your King Hythcyn has been very unwise and upset a lot of very powerful people. The situation as it was suited my grandfather and King Hrothgar. The Danes were free to expand their kingdom into the lands being vacated by the English on the mainland and we were extending our power over the lands across the sea to our east. Neither kingdom felt threatened by the other. The last thing we both needed was a major war in our rear. Your uncle was very naïve. If he wanted to go raiding he should have gone to Gaul or Britannia like everyone else. He overestimated his power and it will cost him his life. He will not be king this time next year.”
Beowulf snapped awake. He lay still and concentrated on his hearing with every fibre of his being.
There!
The sound was unmistakable. Someone or something had moved a foot slowly and carefully through the undergrowth, beyond the tree line to his left.
He sighed softly and moved his body, slowly, as if he were changing position as he slept, his fingers closing around the handle of his Roman gladius, Pluto.
His adjustment had left him facing Eanmund, as it had been intended to, who lay wrapped inside his cloak on the far side of the barely smouldering fire.
He flicked his eyes up to Eanmund's face. The ætheling's eyes stared back into his, wide awake also.
Excellent!
Beowulf indicated the direction of the noise with his eyes. Eanmund gave the slightest of nods to show that he understood what was about to happen.
Beowulf silently mouthed the word 'three’ and gripped the handle of Pluto tighter. Slowly and deliberately he closed his eyes, once, twice, three times.
As he opened his eyes for the third time he exploded to his feet and crashed into the tree line. At his side Pluto was braced, ready to drive into the body of the intruder. He froze and listened. Eanmund was half a dozen paces to his right, crouched low and scanning the shadows which crowded in on them.
Far ahead, from the heart of the dense blackness, came the sound of crashing as the intruder fled from their attack. Eanmund started to follow the sounds but Beowulf called him back.
“Let them go. There could be a hundred of them out there for all we know. We can’t even see where we are going. We’ll take in turns to arm and be ready to deal with them in the morning.”
Eanmund cautiously made his way over to Beowulf, his eyes and ears still searching for signs of movement to their front.
“Whoever it was they were fast and knew their way around in the dark. I don’t think that I could move through the forest at that speed even during the daytime.”
They made their way back to the safety of the camp, their eyes checking the tree line in all directions as they moved.
Placing brands around the perimeter of the clearing they proceeded to arm themselves for the morning which would soon be with them. Already the first blue-grey glow of the pre dawn was flickering into the eastern sky. It was not a good start to their first troll hunt. They would have to move as quickly as possible if they were to surprise their prey.
The early sunlight slanted through the trees, dappling the roadway and illuminating the twin rocks known as the Troll Gate. They passed through and entered the valley beyond. Immediately the forest closed about them and the path narrowed to little more than a track. It was an ideal place for wolf heads to operate and Beowulf‘s mind drifted back to the first men that he had killed.
He had been a boy, racing the Engle, Eofer, to settle a wager between their respective foster fathers Hygelac and his brother Herebeald. Eofer had been older and taller than Beowulf and had begun to draw away so Beowulf had taken a short cut along a path very similar to the one they were now taking. He had stumbled across the hiding place of two robbers and killed them with his old seax, ‘King’s Gift’. Hopefully they would kill as quickly here. The weather would not remain fair for much longer, they needed to return south as soon as they could.
It was nearly as dark as night on the valley floor. The path wound its way around moss covered boulders and across the small rivulets which seemed to frequently bisect it, hindering their progress even more.
They would have missed the side path entirely if they had not been mounted on sturdy stallions. Only wealthy men and their warriors could afford the types of horses which carried them, infrequent visitors to this part of Swede land, and the side path would pass unnoticed to the casual traveller.
Dismounting they armed themselves with their framea, short, sturdy stabbing spears, and led their mounts into the trees. The framea would help them move through the thick foliage and be ready to counter any attack. All free men were trained in the use of such spears. It was the primary weapon of all classes of warrior and both Beowulf and Eanmund were highly skilled in its use.
Suddenly they broke free of the trees and found themselves, without warning, in a sunlit clearing. Fifty paces ahead of them a small squat building hugged the side of a gentle slope. They quickly retreated back into the cover of the trees and listened. No dogs barked and there was no indication that they had been seen by the occupants if they were at home.
They tied their horses to a tree and quietly removed their shields. Tightening their grim helms they heft their shields and moved back into the clearing.
Eanmund nodded to his right and Beowulf moved stealthily towards the front of the building as Eanmund worked his way around to the left.
There was still no indication that the building contained any occupants, although the tell-tale signs of occupation were scattered all around them. A midden on the far side of the field contained a pile of animal bones higher than Beowulf, on which, he noticed, several crows were picking at the latest additions. Obviously the place was in current use and not abandoned or a temporary shelter.
Eanmund appeared around the far side of the building and crept to the door. Beowulf moved to support him as he quietly propped his shield against the wall and slid his hand nearer the point of his framea, ready for use in the more confined space of the building’s interior.
At the sign from Eanmund, Beowulf dropped his spear and ran at the door, hurling himself upon it. Unequal to the task of containing his powerful charge the door burst from its frame and flew before him into the shadowy inte
rior. Beowulf landed a moment later and, rolling on his back, he brought his shield up to cover himself as he lay, helpless.
A heartbeat later Eanmund flashed through the doorway, framea poised to deal with any threat. Beowulf rolled to his feet in one fluid movement and drew Pluto, crouched behind his shield and ready to strike.
The building was empty.
Motes of dust drifted lazily in the light which shone through the shattered doorway. They squinted as they waited for their eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, searching the corners and darker areas for hidden inhabitants, but there were none.
“We are too late, the birds have flown.”
Eanmund was searching the sparsely furnished hut, flicking over clothing and bedding with the tip of his sword. Beowulf went over to the central hearth and held his hand close to the grey ash.
“This is still warm but not hot. It was used last night, they can’t be far. I have an idea that should flush them out if they are nearby.”
He knelt and softly blew the embers which slowly flickered back into life. Taking a handful of straw from one of the beds he wound it tightly and offered it to the flames. It caught immediately. Rising, he shielded the torch with his hand and stepped back outside.
“I would follow me if I were you. It is likely to get quite hot in here very soon!”
Eanmund threw a few of the choicer items of food into a bag he had found and hurried outside. Beowulf was already walking around the building, thrusting the brand into the overhanging thatch. The roof smouldered at first and then tongues of deep red flame began to appear. The summer had been warm, even this far north, and the conditions were ideal. Very soon the flames were licking hungrily at the thatch and a great column of dirty grey smoke was billowing high into the air. Eanmund smiled.
“Well that should catch their attention if they are still in the area. I will go and collect the horses. It would be a long walk home if we lost them!”