by C. R. May
“Even against your father?”
“Against my father? He has no claim to the throne!”
To Beowulf’s astonishment Heardred snapped at him for the first time ever.
“Keep your voice down! You need to start acting like an adult and not some overgrown child. You are involved in big boys games now and the losers die. Your father is on friendly terms with the kings of the Danes and the Swedes, the two biggest boys in the hall. He now seems to be gaining a granddaughter of the Swedish king as a daughter in law. That makes his position very powerful and mine much weaker despite my superior claim as the son of an ætheling. I love you like no other kinsman but my life is at stake. I need to know where you stand in all of this. Think on it and let me know what you decide. You have my word that I will not kill you if you decide for your father.”
Heardred reined in his horse and waited for the others to come up. Falling in at their head he was his old jovial self once again.
Beowulf felt sick. At moments like these he even envied the likes of the washer women they had passed. They seemed happy and carefree despite their thraldom. They were well fed and had no responsibilities. Even the occasional ploughing from a drunken lord or warrior could not be that bad, surely?
Suddenly, without warning, a searing pain cut through his head like a hot knife and he vomited as the onset of another attack overtook him. He had always had sufficient warning before to either control the attack or move to a place out of sight of others but they had started to become more severe and with less warning.
Allfather, what is happening to me?
As the now familiar tingling returned to his arms and legs he grew more terrified as his vision became blurred for the first time. He just had enough strength left in his arms to feel the side of his head. Something was moving there. He looked in horror at his blood stained hand as his mind slid into the abyss.
Slowly he opened his eyes. He was looking at the blue sky, high above. A dove flew across his vision. Why was he lying here?
“He’s awake! Lord…. Lord.”
Beowulf looked around the cluster of faces which surrounded him. All were ashen, most looked as though they had been crying.
What was going on?
Another man pushed his way to the front of the group and cradled Beowulf’s head in his hands. He looked as though he had been crying too.
“Cousin, thank the gods. Are you all right?”
Am I all right? I don’t know. What is going on?
A big man with red hair and redder eyes was holding his hand and nearly crushing it.
“Cola?”
“Yes, lord?”
“You are crushing my hand.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Would you stop?”
Cola seemed to have been unaware that he was even holding his hand he was so shaken. Another man was leaning over him, wiping his face and neck with a wet cloth. He looked up. He was beginning to remember who these people were again.
“Gunnar, what are you doing?”
Gunnar smiled. He remembered the smile he had seen it many times.
“I am just wiping the blood off you, lord. You fell off of your horse and hit your head. We thought that you were dead.”
I fell off my horse? No, there was blood before that.
Beowulf was horrified as it became obvious that he had experienced one of his attacks in front of his men and Heardred.
They will think that I am weak and unworthy to be called a lord.
No! They all think that I fell and hit my head.
Play along or you will never get to marry Halldis.
“Finn, check my saddle and harness. We don’t want it to happen again, do we?”
Finn smiled broadly. His lord was not as badly injured as they had feared.
“Yes, lord!”
Beowulf forced a smile and tried to regain his composure.
“Well? Are you going to help me up or not?”
Heardred and Cola smiled with relief and hauled him to his feet. As Gunnar brushed the grass from his back Heardred hugged him.
“I thought that you were dead. You were completely lifeless and there was blood coming from your ear.”
Finn returned, shaking his head.
“I can’t find anything wrong with your horse, lord. I checked everything it’s all as tight as a ducks arse.”
Beowulf nodded.
“Thank you, Finn. I will have to bow to your superior knowledge as to the tightness of a duck’s arse. I always suspected that was what fishermen got up to whilst they were waiting to pull in their nets.”
The group all laughed as Finn’s face broke into a smile at Beowulf’s response. They were all relieved that he seemed to be back to his old self.
“Come on, let’s get going.” Beowulf said. “I have had enough of Uppsala for now. No wonder they only hold the disablot every nine years.”
They rode south, past the town of Uppsala and joined the main road. The first few people were leaving the celebration now and beginning to return to their homes all over Swede Land. Most looked as though they shared the Geat's verdict on the disablot, nine years was indeed not too long to wait for the next one. Carts carrying produce from the countryside to sell to the crowds moved respectfully aside as they approached.
I may be on the point of losing my mind but I still look like a lord!
They reached the royal hall in Sigtun early in the afternoon. Thralls appeared and took their horses away to the stables as they deposited their belongings with the hall steward and arranged benches for the evening.
King Ongentheow had requested that they remain at the hall for the duration of the disting and the following leidang. Eanmund had indicated that the events usually took between ten and twelve days so they would have plenty of time to relax and enjoy their freedom. Although the Swedes had been excellent hosts they were all still aware that they were in a potentially dangerous position, completely in the power of a king who was virtually at war with their own kingdom. Indeed, they had themselves led the attack on the Swedes at this very place not so long ago and their uncertain future gnawed at them constantly.
Beowulf spent the next few days recovering from his attack while the others made use of the various attractions which Sigtun had to offer. Cola remembered the way to most of the drinking dens which Ohthere’s hearth warrior Alf had led them to the previous autumn, before they had left for Svartvik on the Sea Otter.
Ohthere’s ship was of course still moored nearby and, although the senior members of the crew were with their lord in Uppsala, the men who had been left with the ship were overjoyed to see the return of the Geats. Beowulf smiled as he watched them wander, noisily, off into town together. It was difficult to imagine them as enemies.
The following week the weather turned unseasonably mild. The last of the snow finally cleared away from the hollows in which it had desperately sought refuge from the coming of spring. The mood was reflected in the inhabitants of the town. Women set to, clearing the dust and ash which had accumulated throughout their homes during the long winter months. Doors and wind holes were thrown open once more bringing light and air to the interiors of the dingy rooms.
Beowulf bribed the hall steward with a small disc of gold for a clay jug of the king’s finest wine and, retrieving his swords, made his way through the town. It was a shame he had particularly liked that gold disc. It bore the face of a strong jawed, heavy set man, surrounded by several shapes which Hygelac had told him were ‘letters, a bit like our runes’ when he gave it to him a long time ago.
A trader had told him that the letters said the disc had been produced during the time of the Roman Emperor Vespasianus and Beowulf had always wondered if this Vespasianus had been a warrior. He certainly looked as if he could have been. Perhaps he had been the original owner of Troll Killer?
It had been a necessary sacrifice and he was glad that he had made it. If Woden would accept the sacrifice maybe he would help him to get better. The pressure in
his head was constant now and although it worsened during times of stress it never entirely went away any longer. He had picked up a chicken from the kitchens on the way through the compound, and the bird squawked and flapped noisily as he carried it tightly by the legs.
Making his way through the town he once again trod the path to the burial mound which lay silhouetted on the top of the hill beyond. A faint path led directly to the summit through a gently waving sea of white May Lily. Obviously he was not the only person to visit the place he realised. As he crested the ridge he saw that there were several small offerings laid alongside the barrow. Small corn dolls and empty bowls their contents long since gone, rubbed shoulders with tiny spears and bones.
He sat down and regarded the town spread out below him. Beowulf grinned as he saw his own and Ohthere’s men tumble from the door of a building, closely followed by a wildly gesticulating woman. Cola led them off to their next venue as one of the crew men bared his arse to the woman before scampering after his companions.
In the bay which lay before the town a dracca was drawing slowly towards the wharf. It was a fine ship. Obviously it belonged to an important man and it was surprising that he was arriving so late. The disablot was an important event in the Swedish kingdom and the owner would not be a happy man that he had missed it.
Beowulf took his seax from its scabbard and knelt before the mound.
“Allfather. Spear-shaker. I ask you to make me well again. I am afraid and I need your help. If you desire me to kill this creature which cannot be harmed by metal show me how to find it. Send a sign and I will try my best, but I need this pain to go away. Accept these offerings which I make to you.”
The blade flashed as Beowulf severed the head of the chicken. Firmly gripping the still twitching body he walked slowly around the mound, splashing the ground with its blood as he went. He placed the torso with the other offerings and removed the stopper from the wine jug, repeating his actions. Kneeling down he kissed the grass and turned to leave.
At first the town looked no different. Slowly he became aware of a commotion down at the dockside. People were streaming towards the waterfront, to the place where the dracca had just found a berthing place near the royal hall. Beowulf squinted as he tried to make out the cause of the excitement. He started back down the hill, quickening his pace as he too became swept up in the general mood of the town.
As he reached the waterfront he saw the other members of his group a short distance ahead of him.
“Heardred!”
Heardred turned and pushed his way back to his cousin through the throng.
“What is going on kinsman?”
“Thorstein has returned with his men, well what is left of them!”
“Thorstein? Who is Thorstein?”
Heardred looked surprised.
“I thought that you knew him. You fought against him at the river and Sorrow Hill. He was with Ohthere and Onela.”
Beowulf was confused for a moment until he remembered the gnarled warrior who had accompanied the brothers on that campaign. The man had promised to kill Beowulf then but he had seemed friendly enough the last time that they had met, near this very spot the morning they had arrived to sack Uppsala.
“You mean the Troll Lord. His name is Thorstein is it?”
Heardred looked at Beowulf with concern.
“Are you sure that you are recovered kinsman? Thorstein was a relative of Onela’s wife, Yrse, who is?”
Heardred could see from his expression that Beowulf was still obviously no wiser. He put his arm around Beowulf’s shoulder and guided him away from the crowd.
“I am sorry. I thought that you knew all of this, obviously I was mistaken. I forgot that you spent most of the winter chasing Trolls and Hythcyn. Whilst I was at Onela’s hall, Yrse had a visit from a party of Danes. Her brother is their king, Hrothgar.”
“He is?”
“Just listen. Although they were reluctant to discuss it with us at first it seems that the king’s new hall, Heorot, has been cursed. Whoever stays in the hall overnight is attacked and killed by a monster they call Grendel. This has been going on for over ten years now so the Danes are running short on champions, which is not a thing you necessarily wish your neighbours to know!”
Beowulf’s face lit up as he gripped Heardred by the sleeves and hugged him.
“A monster which cannot be killed!” he exclaimed.
He glanced up at the barrow on the skyline.
“Thank you, lord!”
Heardred glanced over his shoulder to see who Beowulf was talking to before looking back uneasily.
“Beowulf, I am worried about you. You have not been yourself since the fall last week.”
Beowulf shook his head, dismissing his cousin’s fears.
“It is all fine now. I understand completely. Thorstein persuaded Onela to let him have a crack at killing Grendel and the result lies in those cremation urns which are being carried ashore behind you.”
Heardred’s face dropped as Beowulf spoke.
“Kinsman; Say that you are not considering going to fight this monster. We have enough troubles as it is. Are you forgetting the small matter of an upcoming war to replace Hythcyn?”
Beowulf gripped Heardred by the head and planted an ostentatious kiss on his startled forehead.
“Yes, I am going to kill Grendel. It is my destiny. These men died because they did not know the secret of how to kill the monster.”
“And I suppose that you do?” Heardred asked incredulously.
Beowulf flashed his cousin a wicked grin. Even the pain in his head seemed bearable.
“Well no, not yet…” he admitted, “but I do know what not to do!”
12
Ohthere and Onela arrived the next morning bringing with them the devastating news that the leidang had decided that the Geats were not to be their overriding priority for the coming campaigning season.
It would seem that a ruler to the East, on the other side of the Baltic, had taken a liking to disrupting the Swedish merchants travelling to and from the lands of the Goths and the Eastern Romans in the South. This could not be tolerated as the Swedes derived most of their wealth and therefore power from the profits from this trade and a ship army was already being assembled to crush the troublemaker.
Ohthere had laughed at the glum faces of Beowulf and Heardred when he broke the news to them.
“Never mind, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to extend your reputation in our army. You will be coming of course?”
Heardred brightened immediately.
“What do you say kinsman? We always said we wanted to go to those lands, and then you can come back and give Halldis a good…”
His voice trailed off as he remembered that he was standing before the girl’s father, the Swedish ætheling, Ohthere.
Luckily Onela came to the rescue as his brother’s laugh ended abruptly.
“Of course, that is a great idea. Campaign with us in the East and then you can see Halldis again. Add to your reputation with us while you still can. There will be time enough to wish he were abroad once he is married, eh brother!” He laughed and dug Ohthere, playfully, in the ribs.
Heardred quickly added to the conversation, obviously seeking to put as much distance between the current conversation and his embarrassing slip.
“That’s settled then, we are all off to the middle of nowhere for the summer. Providing that you can postpone your monster hunt, kinsman?”
Ohthere and Onela shared a look of surprise.
“You wish to try your luck against Grendel, Beowulf?”
“There is no luck involved, Onela. It is my fate, my wyrd as we say in Geatland, to kill this monster. Woden has told me so.”
Ohthere looked surprised.
“You converse with the Allfather then?”
Beowulf shook his head.
“You told me so yourself, last summer.”
“I did?”
Ohthere’s eyes narrowe
d as he cast his mind back to their conversations over the course of the two days of fighting. Suddenly his eyes widened in astonishment as the memory came flooding back.
“By the gods, you are right! Asgrim asked me to tell you that you would, what was it…” Beowulf prodded his memory. “I would cross the sea to fight a creature…” they both smiled as they finished the sentence together, “…which could not be killed or harmed by metal blades!”
Both men laughed aloud as they shared the moment.
“You are right, Beowulf. It is your ‘wyrd’ to fight this creature. Of course you have my full support, I am sure that the army can manage with one less Geat this summer.”
Only Heardred seemed not to share the mood of the moment. When they had calmed down again he gloomily put in.
“I hate to spoil the fun but was I the only one to notice that this Asgrim predicted that your wyrd was to ‘fight’ not ‘kill’ the monster?”
Heardred and his men left later that day and returned to Uppsala. The dockside at Sigtun had descended into chaos as the Swedish jarls and their hearth warriors returned from the leidang and headed for home to prepare for the coming campaign. The æthelings would return home once conditions had returned to normal, taking Heardred back with them.
King Ongentheow had sent word that Beowulf was to await him at Sigtun. He would arrive in a few days and they would travel south together to the hunting lodge at Ravenswood where the cwen was being entertained by Beowulf’s father Ecgtheow. Once there he would discuss the proposed marriage between Beowulf and Halldis and formalise the betrothal.
Beowulf, Gunnar, Cola and Finn spent the rest of that day sitting outside the hall overlooking the waterfront. Food and ale had been served to them outside so that they could continue to take full advantage of the warm spell. It was, Beowulf decided, one of those ‘perfect days’ which people discuss with their friends during moments of boredom.
He was luxuriating in the warm sunshine after a long, cold, winter. Delicious hot food was being regularly brought out to them from the kitchens and the supply of ale and mead seemed endless. What was more he was relaxing amongst some of his closest friends.