by C. R. May
“Are you all wealthy men?”
A cheer arose from the ships crew and a voice called out.
“Thanks to you, lord!”
“I suggest that you pay for a real cook then and get rid of Tiny!” he joked.
The men opposite laughed at the big man stood beside the tiller who in turn feigned disappointment and bowed his head.
“The men are relieved to see you lord, as am I. We thought that you were dead!”
“If I am not it’s not for want of trying on Hythcyn’s part. Come, let us speak somewhere. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Beowulf and Hudda moved to the bows of the Puffin where they could speak more freely. Beowulf noticed that Gunnar and Cola had leapt aboard the Griffon and were busy hugging old friends as Tiny passed over a great hunk of freshly cooked meat and that morning’s bread for Helgi and his overjoyed crew.
Hudda gripped Beowulf by the arms and stared at him.
“You have to forgive me, lord. We really did think that everyone on the Raven was dead. How did you escape?”
“Escape? Escape from whom?” he answered in surprise.
“The Swedes, lord. You remember the people we went to attack a few months ago.”
Beowulf shook his head. So much had happened during those few months that he had almost forgotten that the Swedes had been his enemy. Now the Swedes were his friends and he was forced to skulk off the, now hostile, coast of Geatland.
“Hudda, my old friend, we need to tap a cask of ale while I explain how much the world has changed since we left these waters in the summer.”
Hudda had drunk steadily as Beowulf had described the abortive raid on Uppsala. He had looked as shocked as Beowulf had ever seen a man when he told him that Ecgtheow, his father and Hudda’s lord, had met them on the waterfront at Sigtun with a friendly Swedish army. He knew nothing of Alfhelm’s defection or if he had been replaced as Ealdorman of Geatwic.
He described the evening he and Heardred had spent as the guest of the Swedish King Ongentheow and their subsequent distribution amongst the Swedish æthelings Othere and Onela.
Hudda was clearly struggling to comprehend the scale of the changes which had been wrought since they had last met. He decided not to tell him about his meetings with the wizard Asgrim and his battle with the trolls. Those tales could wait until they were once again at their ale in a smoky hall.
“Oh, and I have fallen in love with Ohthere’s daughter and it looks possible that I will be marrying into the Swedish Scylfings. What has happened here whilst we have been away?” he finally concluded.
Hudda refilled his cup from the cask of ale and looked into the distance. Suddenly he clicked his fingers.
“I caught a huge pike in the top lake!”
Beowulf had waved sadly as the Griffon had pulled away. It had not been possible to visit his mother for Yule after all, now only five days away. Hudda had explained the situation now at Beowulf’s family home.
“The whole place is ringed by Hythcyn’s spies and I know that it is the same at Hygelac’s hall. Sometimes it seems that every woodsman or trader is trying to overhear your every word. Your father’s old steward disappeared and was replaced by someone who is obviously one of the king’s men.”
He shook his head sadly as he continued.
“He reminds me of that old dog your father used to have, the one who used to lean towards you when you were eating so that he could get a crafty sniff of your food. When you looked at him he would quickly look away. In the end your father took him around the back of the stable and came back alone. No doubt that’s what will happen to the new steward when your father returns.”
Beowulf had told Hudda to tell both his mother and Heardred’s mother, his foster mother Hygd, all he had told him. To his surprise there was still no sign of his foster father, Hygelac. It had been more than half a year now since he was last seen or heard of, surely he was dead. He must know of the situation at home if he still lived and, as Heardred had once told him, he would never abandon his wife.
Hudda had passed over several bags of gold and silver before he left, Beowulf’s share of the proceeds from the sale of the Jutish captives in the summer, along with plenty of fresh food and drink for the journey back to Trondelag.
Helgi ordered the sail set and turned to Beowulf.
“We’ll pick up your man Finn from the North River and be on our way then, lord. We should be back in Trondelag before a week is up at this time of the year. We’ll be running before the wind on the way home, we won’t need to go so far out.”
Beowulf paused before answering.
Helgi sighed. He knew what was coming next.
“We are not going home yet, are we lord. You have another plan forming.”
As the dawn light broke in the east four days later the Puffin slipped silently into the mouth of the North River. On the southern shore Finn stood embracing a middle aged woman, clearly his mother.
To his surprise the Puffin did not lay offshore and wait for him to swim out to rejoin his lord and companions but moved slowly to within hailing distance.
“Finn, stay there. We are coming to join you.”
They had spent the last few days in one of the seaward facing bays which lined the offshore islands. They had rested and recovered from the journey south and feasted on Hudda’s generous gift of meat, bread and good Geatish ale. There were very few ships at sea at this time of year to report their presence even if they had a mind to. This close to the midwinter festival the days were very short. Thankfully the weather remained unseasonably warm with just a light frost to greet them in the morning. Even the rain had abated.
Helgi lowered the ship’s boat and helped Beowulf, Gunnar and Cola to climb aboard before handing over their weapons and armour.
“You are very trusting, lord, leaving us with all that gold and silver.”
Beowulf fixed Helgi with an intense stare, his piercing blue eyes unnerving the man.
“No, not really Helgi, I told Hudda all about you and your brother. I even described the location of your hall in Trondelag. He is not the sort of man to upset, however jovial he may seem. Even if I didn’t make it back he would consider himself honour bound to avenge any wrongdoing I may have suffered.”
Helgi laughed nervously.
“It’s lucky that I am an honourable man then, lord!”
Beowulf smiled, genially. "That is what I thought when I hired you. You will be well rewarded when we return to Trondelag, as I promised.”
Gunnar placed the blade of the oar against the side of the Puffin and shoved off. Slipping the twin oars into the rowlocks he struck out for the nearby shore and the waiting Finn. Beowulf called back to Helgi.
“Remember. Lay just offshore, we may need to leave in a hurry.”
Finn splashed into the shallows as they neared the beach and pulled the boat ashore by the prow.
“Thank the gods that you are safe, lord. I thought that something dreadful must have happened to you all when you never returned. We have waited on the beach every morning. I took to sacrificing to Woden. I hope you don’t mind me bothering your god, lord?”
Beowulf laughed at his man's worried expression. “We are all touched by your concern. You need not worry about upsetting Woden, you are a warrior now Finn not a fisherman. I have seen you in battle and you have earned the right to speak to the Allfather.”
Cola and Gunnar jumped from the boat and helped Finn drag it further up the gently sloping beach. The sand scrunched under his feet as Beowulf leapt down and joined them.
The woman went down on one knee and bowed her head in deference as he approached. He was pleased to see that she appeared well fed and clothed. He had sent her silver to replace the income she had lost when Finn had left to join his comitatus. Her husband and his brother had both been lost at sea whilst fishing several years previously and she had no other source of income. He smiled at her and lifted her to her feet.
“You have no need to bow to me. Your
son saved my life and became my friend. Are you well?”
The woman was clearly overawed. She had almost certainly never been spoken to by a man of his rank before, much less helped to her feet. He gave her a reassuring hug.
“My name is Beowulf. I am Finn’s lord, I am happy to meet you.”
“Thank you, lord. My name is Bertha. I prayed to Thunor that I would meet the man who changed our lives and thank him. I do so now.”
Finn stood, beaming, as the two people he cared most deeply for in the world exchanged pleasantries. Beowulf caught his eye.
“Finn. We need a horse each and a spare mount. We have some hard riding ahead, can we get them here?”
The smile quickly fell from Finn’s face.
“Five horses lord! This is a fishing village, there are very few horses.”
Bertha cut in.
“What about the horses at Hrapp’s farm? That is not too far.”
Finn smiled.
“She’s right lord. They have half a dozen horses, but what would we do with Hrapp?”
“It looks as though Farmer Hrapp is going to have a little Yuletide adventure to liven up his life!” Beowulf chuckled.
They started north towards Miklaborg as the daylight began to fade on Yule Eve. As Beowulf had expected there was nobody to be seen outside at this time of the year and the road was deserted. It was the time of year when the spirits walked the land and sensible folk kept to their homes or stayed with friends and celebrated the coming of the New Year with roast meats and drinking.
Woden would ride through the land on his ‘Wild Hunt’ accompanied by spectral horses and baying hounds and the Modranecht, the Night of the Mothers, would spell danger to any man caught outside after dark.
They had spent the best part of the short northern day at Hrapp’s farm. To Beowulf’s surprise and relief Hrapp had proven to be more than willing to accompany them on their journey. Hrapp had gladly shared the specially brewed Yule ale with them and Beowulf had laughed as he had confessed to him in hushed tones that he would rather join them that night than ‘spend the evening with my bloody in-laws’.
Finn’s mother, Bertha, had left earlier for the short overland journey to Saro. Beowulf had insisted that she go, explain to Hudda that she was Finn’s mother, and that Beowulf had asked him to provide her with protection and anonymity until it was safe to return. He had tactfully neglected to mention that he was not sure when that would be but he, and her son, would rest easier knowing that she was safe from Hythcyn’s retribution.
The horses picked their way carefully along the old trail which led through the heart of the forest. The path was narrow and overgrown but added greatly to their safety this close to the heart of Hythcyn’s kingdom. Several times they had to dismount and force their way through the overhanging branches, but at least the ground was frozen hard at this time of the year and they were spared the cloying mud which would otherwise have plagued their journey.
They reached the end of the trail just as the last of the evening light cast its long shadows up the valley of the North River. Towering ahead of them was their goal, the fortress of Miklaborg and, to its left across the connecting causeway, the smaller island of the Hill of Goats.
Beowulf dismounted and gently rubbed the horse’s neck as he gripped the reins. This time last year he had been in the hall, Gefrin, which stood proudly atop the island of Miklaborg. It was the home of his family, the Swertings, and the entire Geat folk and his heart ached as he looked on the familiar carving of the world serpent which encircled the roof, now shining brilliantly as it caught the last rays of the dying year.
He had been drinking with the most important warriors of the Geat kingdom. His father Ecgtheow had been there with his thegn Hudda and hearth warriors Bjalki and Orme. His foster father Hygelac with his thegns, Hromund and Ulfgar. His cousin and great friend Heardred. Alfhelm, Ealdorman of Geatwic. One year later and they had been blown before the wind that was Hythcyn’s rule like so much chaff in a summer squall.
Well, the wind is changing, we have all escaped your power and we are coming to get you, you bastard. We have powerful allies now, you should have killed us when you had the chance but you didn’t have the balls!
Slowly, imperceptibly, the shadows grew ever longer until they merged and extinguished the old year. The world below held its breath and waited to see if the gods would bless them with another.
He smiled to himself as he saw the lights being lit on the Holy Island. He was sure that the volva, Kaija, was the one doing the lighting, it always had been. It was strange to think that it was her shadowy form which he could just make out beneath the flickering brand. He had thought that he had loved her this time last year but in truth he had been too inexperienced to realise that there was little joy in her.
Meeting Halldis had seemed like the first day of spring after a hard winter.
“It is dark enough now, lord. Shall we begin?”
Cola’s voice interrupted his thoughts and dragged him, reluctantly, back to the present.
“Wait for now Cola. There is something that I need to do first.”
Unbuckling his sword he handed it to Gunnar.
“I won’t be long but it is best that I go alone. There will be less chance of being seen.”
Beowulf quickly undressed and moved from the cover of the trees before slowly and methodically scanning the clearing before him. Below him ran the road which skirted the southern bank of the river and led to the bridge into the town. He had used it many times and he knew that it was under constant watch by the warriors who patrolled the walls of the fortress which overlooked it.
Beyond the trees to his left lay the wide plain which would be used tomorrow by the people of the town for the Yule sports. He smiled to himself as he remembered the skating race which he had participated in two years ago. He wondered where Breca, his Bronding challenger, was now.
In the hall which towered above him?
It seemed likely.
There cannot be many Geat warriors left in the kingdom!
One thing was certain. There would be no skating race this Yule. The weather was as warm as anyone could remember it for the time of year and the river which ran along the foot of the fortress was still completely free of ice.
Beowulf used an old trick which had been taught to him many years ago by his father’s hearth warrior Orme. He had been a child sharing his first guard duty on the island of Anholt and Orme had taught him all about the importance of protecting his night vision and of how best to search the darkness. He smiled as Orme’s voice came into his mind.
‘If you look off to one side you will find that you can see the object clearer.’
It was advice which he had used regularly and he thought of the big warrior safely enjoying Swedish ale this Yule, far away with his lord.
Reassured that there was nobody in sight Beowulf placed the scabbard of his seax between his teeth and crossed quickly to the River. Sitting on the bank he felt the bottom gingerly with his feet. He grimaced as the thick, glutinous, mud forced its way between his toes as he sought a firm foothold. Pushing himself away from the bank he silently began to cross.
He had expected to be able to wade across the river but it had obviously become swollen in the recent rains and before he had even reached the halfway point he had had to strike out as quietly as he could for the opposite bank. Although he was an excellent swimmer he had never enjoyed swimming in rivers. There were just too many fish in the murk who might fancy a nibble at the parts which were dangling beneath him. He tried to push the picture of Hudda’s huge pike from his mind.
Hopefully they will all stay in the top lake!
As he neared the far bank he lowered his body to see if he could feel the bottom. To his surprise he was already in shallow water, a few more strokes would have seen him grounded on the bed of shingle, perhaps painfully. He rose, dripping, from the cold waters and swiftly ducked into the shadows.
His swim had brought him directly
to the steep sided Hill of Goats. Although precipitous, the base of the island was a crowd of Goat Willow and Beowulf was quickly hidden from view amongst the overhanging branches. It was completely dark beneath the canopy and he had to move towards the thicker branches using feel alone. Finally he selected one which was straight enough, and stout enough, for his purpose.
Withdrawing the seax he hacked quickly through the bough and stripped it of its branches. Trimming it to the correct length he immediately began his return journey. Soon he was back inside the shelter of the tree line with the others.
“Shit, that was cold! Give me my clothes,” he shivered.
Dressing quickly he turned to Gunnar.
“Gunnar, light that candle now and shield it from the fortress. This could all still go horribly wrong but I need to see what I am doing for this next bit.”
Gunnar carefully lit the taper with his fire steel as the others crowded around him. Even the tiniest light would alert the guards on the summit of Miklaborg on a night as dark as this. Beowulf listened intently for the cry of alarm from the stockade opposite them but none came.
Satisfied that they remained undiscovered he crouched low over the shaft of the sacred willow bough. Taking his seax he carefully carved magic runes into the soft bark. Once they were completed he took the blade and cut his palm, smearing his blood across the runes to give them power.
He looked up, straight into the terrified face of Hrapp. The man seemed on the verge of fainting in terror. If he cried out he could ruin everything.
“Cola, take care of him!” he snapped.
Cola leapt forward and smothered Hrapp’s mouth with his huge hand. Before anyone could move he had drawn his knife and plunged it deep into him. They all jumped back as a stream of hot blood pulsed from the gaping hole that had been the farmer’s neck. Cola gently lowered the body to the ground where Hrapp jerked twice before growing still. Once he was satisfied that the man was dead, Cola slowly removed his hand. Wiping his knife clean on Hrapp’s clothing Cola looked up at the shocked faces surrounding him.