by C. R. May
“What?”
Beowulf was as shocked as any of them.
“Cola, you idiot! I just wanted you to make sure that he didn’t call out or run off, not cut his head off!”
“Sorry, lord, I thought...”
Beowulf's shoulders slumped and he began to feel anxious. Things were starting to go wrong and there was no margin for error in his plan but they were committed now. He had to press on and hope that the gods remained on his side.
“Come on, let’s get this done we are running out of time. Bring the horse forward and make sure that it is a mare. We want to make the gesture as insulting as possible.”
Gunnar led the now spare mount forward. Satisfied that it was a mare Beowulf turned to Cola.
“Cola, take our horses back down the path and take care of them, I don’t want them getting skittish.”
Cola nodded sullenly. Even in the dark they could tell that he had the look of a whipped puppy.
“Yes, lord.”
Cola turned to gather the reins together and lead their horses back into a small clearing they had seen to their rear.
“And Cola…”
Cola turned back brightly, sure that he was about to be forgiven.
“Yes, lord!”
“When I say take care of them I mean take care of them. I want to find then all in one piece when I get there.”
Cola’s shoulders slumped again as he led the horses to the rear. Beowulf looked to Gunnar and Finn who were hugging each other and biting each other’s shoulders in their attempts to stifle their laughter. Shaking his head he was beginning to grow angry with them.
“We stand a very good chance of dying tonight!” he snapped. “Now, if you think that that is funny then I can make it come true for you, just let me know!”
He breathed deeply as his chastened hearth warriors glumly took the reins of the mare and held it still. Beowulf knew that part of the reason that he was becoming increasingly short tempered with them was the fear of a repeat of his problem on the English settler’s boat. He knew that it happened during times that he felt under strain and he lived in constant fear of a recurrence.
I must remain calm.
“Right we do this quickly and then you two can get down and fire the ships. Hold her still.”
Beowulf drew his Roman gladius, now renamed 'Troll Killer', and plunged it upwards, deep inside the neck of the animal, sawing it backwards and forwards to open the jugular veins on either side of the neck. The horse staggered and fell to its knees, its eyes wide in terror as its blood soaked the forest path. Crouching low, Beowulf slammed the gladius straight into the horse’s heart. Blood gushed from its gaping mouth as the organ exploded under the impact of the heavy steel blade.
Quickly Beowulf slit the belly of the horse open along its centre line and on up to its jaw. He stepped smartly back as a pile of blue-grey entrails slid steaming onto the cold forest floor. Meanwhile Gunnar and Finn were removing the skin from the front and rear legs and soon the horse had been completely flayed.
They quickly dragged the now headless and skinless body of the mare into the open and placed it clearly within sight of Gefrin. Beowulf retrieved the rune cut bough from the pathway and rammed it into the still steaming rib cage of the animal. He mounted the head of the horse on the end of the pole and draped its hide over the shaft. When all was ready he stood back and uttered a curse, turning the horses’ head slowly in the direction of Gefrin as he did so.
“Here I set up a nithing pole. This curse I turn on Hythcyn and on the guardian spirits which inhabit this land. May they wander and find no rest or home until they have driven Hythcyn from this life!”
He looked to the East just as the first glimmer of light began to appear, heralding the start of the year, Hythcyn’s last. He had witnessed the lights of the procession the previous evening as Hythcyn and this year’s chosen few had been guided across the causeway to the Hill of Goats for the ceremonies which must now be drawing to a close. Any moment now the horses would pull the sun free of the earth to shine once again, directly through eye of the goat head shaped branch. The timing was perfect.
“Quick, get down there now and fire the ships. I will bring Cola and the horses.”
He watched as they sprinted across to the half dozen ships which lay moored in the deeper water of the near bank, thankful that no guards had been posted.
Who would be mad enough to venture abroad on this night of all nights?
He ran back into the trees and called to Cola. The horses bridled as they passed the blood and gore of their erstwhile companion but they calmed them and rode swiftly across the clearing. It no longer mattered that they could be seen, in fact the more people that saw them the better.
Already two of the ships were in flames and a third was beginning to smoke heavily. Beowulf watched, satisfied, as Finn made a pile of everything flammable on the ships ready for Gunnar to torch.
A cry of alarm came from the ramparts of Gefrin, high above.
They have awoken at last!
He looked up as Gunnar and Finn completed the firing of the ships and more and more faces began to appear on the stockade.
“That is enough. Let’s go!”
Gunnar and Finn left the ships, leapt upon their mounts and joined Cola. Digging in their heels they spurred the horses away, along the main route to the coast. Beowulf wheeled his horse and stared up at the causeway which linked the temple to Gefrin.
There!
A familiar face appeared at the parapet. Beowulf coaxed his horse nearer the flames of the now raging conflagration which until very recently had been some of the finest ships in Geatland. He swept his hair back to make certain that there could be no doubts in those above as to his identity. As the flames lit his features he was gratified to see the king’s mouth drop open in surprise.
You know who I am you bastard.
Did he see the woman to his right, the dark haired woman, smile as she also recognised him? He was sure that he had.
Best that I make sure!
He reined in his horse and watched as the parapet filled with faces. Taking a deep breath he called out to them.
“I am Beowulf Ecgtheowson. Hythcyn, I accuse you of murdering Herebeald and Hrethel your own brother and father. I accuse you of plotting to murder the remainder of your male kin. I declare in the presence of witnesses that there is a feud between us!”
He swept his arm back up the rise to the place where his nithing pole stood accusingly for all to see.
“I have a Yuletide present for you uncle. It stands beside the body of yet another man who has died because of you. Enjoy it. It will be your last.”
His warriors had noticed that he was missing and had returned to guard him. They hovered on the edge of the clearing, waiting for their lord.
A mast crashed down, releasing a shower of flaming embers which swirled and danced upwards in the early morning gloom.
Beowulf wheeled his horse and walked it slowly away, back into the shadows.
10
Beowulf sighed contentedly and rested his shoulders against the searing heat of the bath cabin wall. Experience told him that his skin would soon acclimatise itself but it still made him wince each time he did it just the same. Gunnar purred beside him.
“You must get one of these built when you have your own hall, lord.”
They had been back in Ohthere’s hall on Froson less than one hour and already they had made their excuses to their hosts and sought out the place which had quickly become their favourite on the island.
Beowulf watched as the globules of sweat began to form on his body. Running a finger along his forearm he was gratified to see the amount of filth and grime which the heat in the cabin was drawing from his travel weary body. He calmly inspected the filthy water on his finger before idly flicking the grey sweat onto the heated stones where it sizzled and dried, leaving only a fine dust.
He opened his eyes and looked across to the bench opposite him.
&nbs
p; “Cola, do the face again.”
Cola’s eyes remained closed as his mouth fell open and his features took on a look of absolute shock and horror.
Beowulf, Gunnar and Finn roared with laughter once again at the big Englishman's imitation of Hythcyn’s face which had appeared at the causeway on Yule morning outside Miklaborg.
The journey back to Swede Land had been long and hard. To their relief the Puffin had still been riding at anchor just offshore when they arrived back at the beach on foam flecked horses. They had ridden as hard as they dared through the early morning shadows but thankfully the main road to the coast from Miklaborg was well maintained and the forest which skirted the majority of the route was kept cut well back.
They had soon boarded the ship and were beating back to sea. As the coastline of Geatland had receded they had caught a last glimpse of the smoke which hung in the air, marking the position of the royal hall of the Geats. Would they ever see it again?
Helgi had taken the Puffin back out into the German Sea before swinging north east. Gunnar had once again become a vital sixth member of the crew as they had to constantly adjust the sails in the screaming gales to keep them from being dashed to shreds. Often it was just not possible to use the sails at all and Beowulf and his warriors huddled in the open hold and prayed to their gods that Helgi had the strength to hold a steady course as he fought with the steer board against the power of the mountainous sea.
It had been the first time that any of them, including Gunnar, had looked up from a ship and found themselves dwarfed by angry green waves which towered above the height of the mast. They had even envied Cola who lay stricken in the bilges for most of the trip having succumbed once again to seasickness. At least he no longer cared if he lived or died.
They had spent several days as guests of Helgi and his family at Trondelag before tackling the pass back into Swede Land. Beowulf had, as promised, rewarded the man handsomely for his services. He had been all that his brother Hjalti, the smith in Ost Sund, had promised and more.
The journey back from Trondelag to Ost Sund had been far more difficult than the outward journey. The snow had finally arrived whilst they had been in the South and, although not impassable, the horses had struggled in places through snow which rose to the height of their chests. Progress had been painfully slow and it had taken the best part of a month before the welcome sight of the glittering ice of the Great Lake containing the island of Froson, Frey's Island, had suddenly emerged through the heavily snow clad pines one morning.
Beowulf had had to admit that the welcome which they received when they finally arrived back at the Eyrie had made the discomfort of the journey worthwhile.
They had been allowed a day’s rest while a formal gathering was arranged, a symbel, where they would tell the tale of their adventures back in Geatland and, unusually, the women would be invited. Beowulf was sure that it was for Halldis’ benefit. She had obviously been as pleased to see him on his return as he had her. He had delighted her with a small gift which he had bought for her in Trondelag, a gold pendant of Frey and Freya, the Lord and Lady, embracing. He had been overjoyed when she had immediately hung it around her slim, pale, neck and shown it proudly to her mother.
The timing of their arrival could scarcely have been better. Eanmund’s brother Eadgils had finally managed to return home from his wanderings just before Yule, so there had been a double celebration in the hall. He had left several days previously and was expected back the next morning accompanied by Ohthere’s thegn, Hoskuld and his hearth warriors. The Geats had enjoyed Hoskuld’s hospitality on their original journey from Svartvik the previous autumn and they looked forward to repaying him with some entertainment of their own.
Beowulf shuddered as a blast of cold air swept across him. Although he still had his eyes closed he was aware that somebody had joined them in the room. He knew who it would be.
“Hello Eanmund. What kept you so long?”
He leaned his head back against the hot pine and relaxed in the all enveloping heat. It was too much effort to open his eyes, even for his friend.
The door opened again, for longer this time. Irritated, he murmured.
“Come on hurry up, close the door. You are letting all the heat out!”
The door closed softly and he relaxed again as the heat began to build up. The bench beside him creaked as Gunnar shifted position.
“Are you going too? Hurry up with the door it’s just warming up again!”
Suddenly he jumped and his whole body jerked in shock as he felt someone softly kiss his ear.
“Shit! What are you doing?”
His eyes flew open and he just had time to take in the fact that everyone else had left the bath cabin before Halldis swung her naked body astride him.
She kissed him tenderly on the lips and moved her hand down to guide him inside her.
Spring came slowly to the northern lands, but still it came. Snow still lay thickly on the hills but the roads had been cleared and life was beginning to shake itself from its enforced slumber. Soon the traders would return and the towns would hum with purpose again. In Geatland it was soil monath now, mud month, as the snows melted and released their water into the land.
Beowulf rode at the head of the column of warriors alongside Ohthere. Behind them rode Ohthere’s sons Eanmund and Eadgils and at the rear rode the hearth warriors. Cola and Alf were sharing a joke and Beowulf smiled as their laughter rang out amidst the snow covered trees. They really were like a pair of overgrown boys when they were together.
The fact that Beowulf had been selected to ride in the place of most honour in the party, alongside the Swedish ætheling, had been lost on none of them. Ohthere was making a clear statement to all, both amongst their number and to any who saw them pass, that he held Beowulf in high esteem.
“I have spoken to my family and all agree that Halldis and you are a good match. I will speak with your father and mine, the king, when we reach Uppsala and settle the business.”
Ohthere turned in the saddle and smiled at Beowulf.
“She is lucky, not many women of her rank get to marry the man she loves.”
“I am honoured that you would consider me worthy to become a member of your family, Ohthere.” Beowulf replied earnestly. “I truly do love Halldis and I promise to do everything in my power to keep her as happy as she is now.”
“Make sure you do or Valeska will find you, I promise!” he laughed.
They were on their way to the great disting, the meeting of all the Swedish tribes. It was held at this time each year on the plain outside the temple at Uppsala. The Swedes would sacrifice for the fertility of the land at the temple and then King Ongentheow would take advice from his most important subjects and appoint leaders to the armies.
Beowulf was looking forward to seeing the other wreccan, the other Geats in exile, his father Ecgtheow, Alfhelm and of course his cousin Heardred. In fact most of the Geatish men he knew or cared about were now in Swede land. He looked forward to describing his journey home to Geatland over Yule and the setting up of the nithing pole. He had tried to persuade Hudda to take his crew and join them in Swede Land but he had steadfastly refused, explaining, ‘I need to stay and take care of your mother while your father is away, lord.'
They could drink together and he would get Cola to pull the ‘Hythcyn face’ again. The assembled warriors and women had been helpless with laughter at the symbel as he had vaulted over the bench and used it as a stand-in stockade. First two hands had appeared and gripped the top before Cola’s impression of Hythcyn’s horrified face had slowly risen into view. It was always popular, although in truth, the gods had given Cola a helping hand with his impression when they had created his own features.
The women had been less impressed when Gunnar had described farmer Hrapp’s death although the warriors had found it hilarious. Gunnar had described the death and then pulled his ears out and dumbly asked, ‘what?’ before continuing with a more than passable impre
ssion of Beowulf, ‘Cola, you idiot! I just wanted you to make sure that he didn’t call out or run off, not cut his head off!’
The icy road ahead reflected the rays of the setting sun and seemed to light their way, the great banks of cleared snow drawing them ever eastwards. Soon they would be warm inside Hoskuld’s hall. The next day they would reach the shipyard at Svartvik. He was looking forward to meeting Ohthere’s ship master Eirik again and riding the Sea Otter south. The waters of the Helsingjabotn would be passable again now if they travelled with care. There would still be bergs of ice but nothing to trouble a seaman of Eirik’s experience.
Beowulf felt rested and rejuvenated after the rigours of the Yule trip home. Soon he would discover what plans King Ongentheow had made to overthrow Hythcyn. His betrothal to Halldis would be formalised and the wedding plans made. Even the strange feelings in his arms and legs had disappeared. He smiled to himself. This was going to be a good year.
Beowulf and the men of his comitatus had, almost without realising they had done so, gravitated to the bow of the Sea Otter as they had approached the wharf at Sigtun. The last time they had been in this position they had been crouched in the bows of Heardred’s ship, the Raven.
It had been almost half a year ago and they had been the spearhead of the Geatish attack force, tense and waiting to leap ashore spreading fire and destruction in the pre dawn darkness. Now the sun shone brightly and, although it remained cold, the mood of both themselves and the rest of the crew could scarcely have been more different.
They watched as Eirik expertly guided the Sea Otter to Ohthere’s private berth through a forest of masts belonging to the ships of those of lower rank. They would have to jostle amongst themselves if they were to secure any mooring place at all. The ships were packed with Swedish warriors dressed in their finest war gear. They had travelled from near and far to honour their gods and king at the disting and were determined to impress their peers.
Beowulf watched as Eanmund and Eadgils hailed friends on other ships, and all turned to loudly acclaim Ohthere as they swept past. He was glad to see that many of the warriors pointed him out as they passed. He had clearly established a reputation amongst the Swedes at least. He would have to increase his reputation abroad if he was to gain immortality in the tale of his people. He was getting old now, he reflected. He would be eighteen soon and he could be cut down whenever the norns decided that his time on middle earth was at an end.