by C. R. May
Soon the king would arrive and he could break the news of his intended marriage to the woman he loved to his overjoyed father. The absence of his mother, still trapped in Geatland, was the only cloud on his horizon.
And of course, the fact that he thought that he was going mad.
“Do you think that his arse is tight?”
Cola had leaned across to Finn, breaking the spell of silence which had held them for most of the afternoon. They had been watching a duck travel to and fro all afternoon with a bill full of yellowing dead reed as it began to make its nest for the upcoming brood.
“Why don’t you go and ask him?”
Cola sighed and took another draught from his cup.
“I would but he looks too busy.”
As they lazily watched the exertions of the duck, the nest slowly began to take shape. A trail led directly to it through the green scum and algae which covered the surface of the water near the reed bed. Gunnar had been laid back, eyes closed, for some time and they had all assumed that he was asleep until he suddenly joined in the conversation.
“Is that a ‘he’ duck or a ‘she’ duck, birdman?”
Finn had picked up the nickname ‘birdman’ after he had revealed that a Gannet’s nostrils were to be found inside its mouth on the outward journey to Swede Land. His love of birds had been one of the reasons which had led Beowulf to doubt his suitability as a warrior. However he had proved his worth many times since and his control of a sword blade was a thing of beauty.
“That is a ‘he’ duck my tar encrusted sailor friend. All male birds are more colourful than their female equivalents.”
Gunnar opened his eyes and raised himself onto one elbow. Taking another swig of ale he belched and turned to Finn.
“Why is that?”
“So they can tell each other apart of course. Have you ever seen a birds cock?”
Gunnar coughed and choked on his ale. Finally, after much wheezing, he managed to gasp.
“No, of course I have never seen a birds cock!”
“That is because they are not only tiny but they keep them inside their bodies. A bit like Cola.”
Finn threw himself flat to the ground as Cola’s ale cup flew past his face. They all lay back, laughing, as Beowulf spluttered.
“You are learning Finn. That would have got you last year!”
They all stretched out once more and let the last rays of the dying day warm their bodies as Cola managed to drag himself off the ground and lope off to fetch his cup.
“I hope that the king takes his time coming. This is wonderful.” Beowulf sighed contentedly.
A commotion from within the hall broke into their reverie. Beowulf grimaced and rose to his feet, brushing the damp grass from his clothes.
“You know what that is all about. Sorry lads, my fault.”
A thrall approached them and bowed respectfully. As he began to announce the arrival of King Ongentheow Beowulf put up a hand to stop him.
“We know. We are on our way.”
Mid-morning the following day found them assembled with the Swedish hearth warriors on the royal jetty, awaiting the arrival of the king’s ship, Tusker. The king would join them when all preparations had been made for the journey and all others were ready and waiting.
Beowulf and the other Geats had been shocked to see King Ongentheow the previous evening. The transfiguration with the god Frey had clearly weakened his already ageing body considerably. As Gunnar had commented the previous evening; “what must Ongentheow have looked like before he rested at the temple?”
The fine weather of the previous few days had finally broken. Thick grey clouds rolled and tumbled in across the forests to the West. It was strange to think that those same clouds must have passed over Geatland only hours before. Beowulf wondered if his mother had looked up at the very same cloud earlier that morning.
Gunnar suddenly let out a long, low whistle of appreciation.
“Would you just look at that!” he exclaimed. “Now that is a thing of beauty Finn, not a ‘spotty song warbler’ or whatever it is you call them.”
They looked to see what it was which had drawn so much admiration from their companion just as the figurehead of a magnificent rowing barge cleared the promontory to their right.
Beowulf had to admit that magnificent was the only word he could find to describe the royal barge of the king of the Swedes, now slowly revealing itself to them with each sweep of the oars.
It was immediately obvious why the ship had been named Tusker. From the prow a finely carved gilded boar's head rose majestically above the foaming bow wave. Perhaps surprisingly the side strakes of the barge had been painted a uniform blue but Beowulf thought that it was a deliberate attempt to emphasise the shields which hung outboard. He also thought that the ploy had been a resounding success. Each shield had been covered in green, red or yellow gold, and the resulting shields were hung in a repeating sequence along the length of the barge. He had to agree with Gunnar’s verdict. “It’s breathtaking lord, all the way from its tusks to its golden curly tail.”
They watched as the barge slew to a halt at the end of the jetty with calm, practised, strokes. A crew man leapt ashore at each end and made it fast, ready for the passengers to board. Apart from Beowulf and his hearth warriors there were six members of Ongentheow’s personal body guard to accommodate, in addition to the king and his steward.
The two parties of warriors, the Geats and the Swedes had stood apart as they waited for the barge and then the person of the king. The Swedes looked, and clearly thought themselves to be, the flower of their nation’s warriors and Beowulf had impressed on his men the previous evening that he expected them to look their finest in the morning. He himself had decided to wear his finest mail byrnie for the trip with the king and Gunnar had spent an hour the previous evening rolling it up and down inside a barrel of fine sand until it shone.
Although he would not be wearing a full faced helm on the trip he had decided to carry it so that the Swedes would see the silver plates depicting the dancing warriors, leaving them in no doubt that he belonged to the highest class of fighting men.
Unfortunately, he had to admit to himself that their efforts had largely been in vain. Whilst he himself outshone the members of the guard it had been unrealistic to expect his men to do so. Without exception they were all tall heavily muscled warriors on which no expense had been spared on clothing and equipment. Numerous scars from old injuries indicated that these warriors were not just for show, they had clearly all seen extensive action on behalf of their king. Beowulf was hugely impressed. They were a formidable group of men.
Once the ship was safely docked the king emerged from the hall and made his way towards them. The Swedish guard drew themselves up to their considerable height as he approached. Beowulf did the same and winked mischievously at their leader as it became obvious that he was the tallest man on the jetty. The man blushed slightly but could not entirely suppress the tiniest of smiles.
Beowulf smiled in return. He knew that they would soon become friends.
The king ambled down the line of warriors, smiling and greeting each man by name. Reaching the end of the line he motioned for Beowulf to join him.
“Beowulf, I would like you to meet Kormak. He is leading the contingent of my personal warriors on this trip.”
Ongentheow turned to Kormak and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. Raising his voice slightly so that all the men could clearly hear him he continued.
“Kormak I am about to take Beowulf into my family. It would please me if you two became friends on this trip. I expect that you will fight in the same army one day so the sooner you get to know each other the better." Ongentheow glanced around at the assembled warriors, Swede and Geat. "And that goes for the men also.”
Kormak nodded dutifully to his king. “Yes, lord!” Ongentheow leaned in and smiled. “I find that a barrel of ale tends to help smooth these awkward occasions out. You can ask Beowulf about the trol
ls he killed last winter with my grandson, Eanmund, or the nithing pole he and his men erected outside the hall of King Hythcyn last Yule morning.”
Beowulf noticed the look in the eyes of the Swedish warriors soften slightly, from one of overbearing superiority to one of at least respect. It had been an effortless lesson in subtle diplomacy.
The royal barge pushed off from the jetty as soon as they were all aboard. Drifting into midstream Beowulf watched as the rowers raised and then lowered the oars in unison into the water. At the signal from the ship master the oars slid into the river and they slowly gathered speed, scattering the other river traffic before them like leaves in an autumn gale. Loud cheers and cries came from the other returning boats, the crews rising and acclaiming their king as Tusker swept through them.
Ongentheow turned to the ship master.
“Take it nice and slowly Egil, there is no hurry. I was going to try for the North Market today but decided against it. Take us to the hall at Toroborg. We shall give the Serpent crews a nice surprise when they find their king amongst them when they return this evening.”
Egil smiled at his king.
“Yes, lord. Nice and slow it is.”
Long and sleek, Tusker quickly gathered speed nevertheless. Beowulf watched as his men and those of Kormak’s guard tentatively made the first, halting, attempts at conversation. The king had placed both groups of warriors together amidships, forcing them to make the effort to speak to one another despite their obvious wishes to the contrary.
He walked to the stern of the ship. They were about to leave the inner bay. Very soon they would pass through the channel which separated Sigtun from the waterway which led out to the wider expanse of Lake Malaren. He took a last look at the barrow, still faintly visible against the skyline. Was it really the resting place of Woden’s mortal bones? He looked back wistfully at the waterfront at Sigtun. Gunnar’s words floated into his mind.
We should have died here lord.
He was right of course, he usually was.
A roar of laughter dragged him back to the present. Beside him Ongentheow, Kormak and Egil were looking down the ship and laughing as loud as any. He turned to see what was so funny.
Cola’s head was just emerging from an upturned sea chest pulling the ‘Hythcyn face’. He laughed too. No matter how many times he saw Cola’s impression of Hythcyn on the causeway at Miklaborg it still made him laugh.
Cola! If every army contained a man like you there would be no more wars and we could all sit at home in our halls growing fat!
In three days they would be at Ravenswood. He would arrange his marriage and boast to his father of his troll killing and Hythcyn baiting winter exploits. Then he would go to Dane Land, kill Grendel and return a hero.
If he had known that others were also amused at that moment he may not have been so complacent. The gods looked down from their halls and laughed at his simple ideas. Did he not realise that they had created men for their amusement? He would soon discover that their plans for his future were not nearly so benign.
The returning clouds had brought with them a spell of colder weather but it was to be an enjoyable day nonetheless. Had the Tusker carried a sail it would have been perfect sailing weather but she was sleek and well crewed and she made good time anyhow. Besides, the king had split their journey into two easy legs and Beowulf could tell that the rowers were hardly breaking sweat as they coursed through the waters of the lake.
Soon they were passing through the river which led south to the sea. It was the same route they had taken to reach Sigtun in Heardred’s ship, the Raven, the previous summer and now he was standing alongside the very king which they had sought to humiliate by their attack. The ways of the gods truly were a mystery.
As they passed through the town of Telje the people left their homes and places of work to watch the royal barge containing their king pass by. The town was an important port in the area and the sides of the river had been staked and built up so that ships could tie up to load and unload their cargoes. It had the effect of narrowing the course of the river and Beowulf could clearly see the affection which the people held for their king written on their faces.
Within the hour the river began to widen as it neared the sea. The crew increased their efforts as they fought against the incoming tidal current as the Tusker neared its destination, the fortress of Toroborg.
It was now late afternoon and the small harbour which lay before the fortress was a hive of activity as the ships bringing in supplies endeavoured to clear the jetties before the return of the serpent ships. Ongentheow winked at Beowulf and Kormak as he ordered Egil to head straight into the bay.
“This should stir things up a bit.”
They all laughed as they watched the crews of the supply boats hurriedly unloading the last of their wares and frantically attempt to clear away before the onrushing Tusker. Beowulf’s gaze drifted along the shoreline as the boats scattered before them.
“Why is a dracca beached further up the coast? Surely it should be in the bay with the others?”
They looked to where Beowulf had indicated. A small dracca had beached itself in the next bay to the one used by the serpent ships. It had obviously recently arrived as they could see members of the crew still disembarking the supplies for the evening meal as others scoured the beach for driftwood to feed the fires.
Ongentheow rubbed his beard as he thought.
“I don’t know. I agree it is strange but they couldn’t have made themselves any more obvious so they must be friendly. We shall have to ask at the hall when we arrive.”
Kormak grinned and added impishly.
“Maybe it is another Geat invasion force, lord. It is about the right size!”
“They are a group of Danes, lord. They are returning to their homeland after returning the ashes of Thorstein and his men.”
They all understood immediately why the Danish leader had asked permission to camp nearby and not avail himself of the hospitality of the hall for the evening. The Serpent ships would soon return for the evening and the hall would be filled with Swedish warriors.
The depredations of Grendel had brought shame on the Danes for over ten years now. The Danish leader had been wise not to risk a confrontation between his men and those of the Swedes, an almost inevitable outcome once the ale began to flow and tongues were loosened.
Beowulf was delighted. Here was an opportunity to speak to Danes about the monster which was terrorising them. It was an opportunity which could only have been sent by Woden himself.
“Lord, may I have your permission to ride over and talk to these Danes. You are aware of my pledge to face this troll. I should like to find out more about it if I can.”
Ongentheow nodded.
“I agree. It would seem that this is no ordinary troll. I fought alongside Thorstein many times and he was a formidable warrior. More than that, he was a good friend. If you can defeat and kill this fiend you would earn the gratitude of two kings.”
Beowulf turned and made his way towards the stables. He wanted to approach the camp as openly as he could so that there was no possibility the Danes would consider him hostile towards them. They would be feeling vulnerable enough as it was in a foreign land without feeling that they were being spied upon.
“Where are we going, lord?”
Gunner had noticed Beowulf retrieving his swords from the hall steward and had scurried across. Cola and Finn had also made their excuses and were beginning to make their way over to their lord.
Beowulf shook his head at them.
“I am going to talk to those men on the beach and I think that it would be better if I went alone.”
“Did I hear the Swede say that they were the Danes which brought back the remains of the Troll Lord and his men?”
Beowulf smiled. He had not heard Thorstein called that name for a long time. The last time that he had seen him alive was on the waterfront at Sigtun as they had attacked last year. He had only recently found o
ut the man’s real name from Heardred.
“Yes, you did. I am going to see what I can find out about this Grendel so that I can think how best to kill it.”
Gunnar nodded as Cola and Finn joined him.
“That is very wise, lord. When you do go to Dane Land to kill this thing you will be going alone then?”
Beowulf was puzzled by the conversation. He looked at his hearth warrior in confusion.
“No, of course not we will all be going.”
Gunnar, Cola and Finn stood, smiling beatifically before him and Beowulf had to laugh.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Yes, lord!” they chirped together as they fell in behind him.
The horses walked slowly along the track which led back down to the bay. Below them they could see the shape of the first of the serpent ships to arrive home for the evening. Ahead of them the first of the warriors had disembarked and were doubling up to the hall. Away to their left another of the ships was just nearing the entrance to the fjord, the late afternoon sunlight glinting and flashing from the blades as the oars rose and fell lazily.
“They are in for a shock too in a moment!”
They all laughed at Finn’s comment on the unhurried approach of the second serpent ship. Once they rounded the last headland into the bay they too would be surprised to see the sleek hull of Tusker alongside the furthermost jetty and realise that their king was amongst them.
“We will go down to the beach and follow it northwards. I want the Danes to see us clearly whilst we are still a long way off.”
As they neared the waterfront the press of Swedish warriors and their anxious looking leaders threatened to sweep them aside as they tore up the hill to the fortress. Beowulf decided that it would be quicker to cut the corner and led them across a shallow gorse strewn rise, before swinging north along the beach which led to the Danish camp.
As they breasted the small headland which separated the bays Beowulf found to his horror that he had misjudged the distance between the first bay and the Danish ship. Ahead of him a Dane was just struggling, head down, to the top of the same headland. His shield and spear made it obvious that he was about to commence the first watch of the night. He would be feeling bad enough with his lot without running into four armed horsemen within moments of reaching his post.