Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race Part 3

"Grieve not, O prudent King! Better it is for each That he avenge his friend, than that he mourn him much.

Each man must undergo death at the end of life.

Let him win while he may warlike fame in the world!

That is best after death for the slain warrior."

"Arise, my lord; let us scan the track left by the monster, for I promise thee I will never lose it, wheresoever it may lead me. Only have patience yet for this one day of misery, as I am sure thou wilt."

Hrothgar sprang up joyously, almost youthfully, and ordered his horse to be saddled; then, with Beowulf beside him, and a mixed throng of Geats and Danes following, he rode away towards the home of the monsters, the dread lake which all men shunned. The blood-stained tracks were easy to see, and the avengers moved on swiftly till they came to the edge of the mere, and there, with grief and horror, saw the head of Aschere lying on the bank.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Beowulf finds the head of Aschere]

"The lake boiled with blood, with hot welling gore; The warriors gazed awe-struck, and the dread horn sang From time to time fiercely eager defiance.

The warriors sat down there, and saw on the water The sea-dragons swimming to search the abysses.

They saw on the steep nesses sea-monsters lying, Snakes and weird creatures: these madly shot away Wrathful and venomous when the sound smote their ears, The blast of the war-horn."

As Beowulf stood on the sh.o.r.e and watched the uncouth sea-creatures, serpents, nicors, monstrous beasts of all kinds, he suddenly drew his bow and shot one of them to the heart. The rest darted furiously away, and the thanes were able to drag the carcase of the slain beast on sh.o.r.e, where they surveyed it with wonder.

The Fight with Grendel's Mother

Meanwhile Beowulf had made ready for his task. He trusted to his well-woven mail, the corslet fitting closely to his body and protecting his breast, the shining helm guarding his head, bright with the boar-image on the crest, and the mighty sword Hrunting, which Hunferth, his jealousy forgotten in admiration, pressed on the adventurous hero.

"That sword was called Hrunting, an ancient heritage.

Steel was the blade itself, tempered with poison-twigs, Hardened with battle-blood: never in fight it failed Any who wielded it, when he would wage a strife In the dire battlefield, folk-moot of enemies."

When Beowulf stood ready with naked sword in hand, he turned and looked at his loyal followers, his friendly hosts, the grey old King Hrothgar, the sun and the green earth, which he might never see again; but it was with no trace of weakness or fear that he spoke:

"Forget not, O n.o.ble kinsman of Healfdene, Ill.u.s.trious ruler, gold-friend of warriors, What we two settled when we spake together, If I for thy safety should end here my life-days, That thou wouldst be to me, though dead, as a father.

Be to my kindred thanes, my battle-comrades, A worthy protector should death o'ertake me.

Do thou, dear Hrothgar, send all these treasures here Which thou hast given me, to my king, Hygelac.

Then may the Geat king, brave son of Hrethel dead, See by the gold and gems, know by the treasures there, That I found a generous lord, whom I loved in my life.

Give thou to Hunferth too my wondrous old weapon, The sword with its graven blade; let the right valiant man Have the keen war-blade: I will win fame with his, With Hrunting, n.o.ble brand, or death shall take me."

Beowulf dived downward, as it seemed to him, for the s.p.a.ce of a day ere he could perceive the floor of that sinister lake, and all that time he had to fight the sea-beasts, for they, attacking him with tusk and horn, strove to break his ring-mail, but in vain. As Beowulf came near the bottom he felt himself seized in long, scaly arms of gigantic strength. The fierce claws of the wolfish sea-woman strove eagerly to reach his heart through his mail, but in vain; so the she-wolf of the waters, a being awful and loathsome, bore him to her abode, rushing through thick cl.u.s.ters of horrible sea-beasts.

"The hero now noticed he was in some hostile hall, Where him the water-stream no whit might injure, Nor for the sheltering roof the rush of the raging flood Ever could touch him. He saw the strange flickering flame, Weird lights in the water, shining with livid sheen: He saw, too, the ocean-wolf, the hateful sea-woman."

Terrible and almost superhuman was the contest which now followed: the awful sea-woman flung Beowulf down on his back and stabbed at him with point and edge of her broad knife, seeking some vulnerable point; but the good corslet resisted all her efforts, and Beowulf, exerting his mighty force, overthrew her and sprang to his feet. Angered beyond measure, he brandished the flaming sword Hrunting, and flashed one great blow at her head which would have killed her had her scales and hair been vulnerable; but alas! the edge of the blade turned on her scaly hide, and the blow failed. Wrathfully Beowulf cast aside the useless sword, and determined to trust once again to his hand-grip.

Grendel's mother now felt, in her turn, the deadly power of Beowulf's grasp, and was borne to the ground; but the struggle continued long, for Beowulf was weaponless, since the sword failed in its work. Yet some weapon he must have.

"So he gazed at the walls, saw there a glorious sword, An old brand gigantic, trusty in point and edge, An heirloom of heroes; that was the best of blades, Splendid and stately, the forging of giants; But it was huger than any of human race Could bear to battle-strife, save Beowulf only."

This mighty sword, a relic of earlier and greater races, brought new hope to Beowulf. Springing up, he s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the wall and swung it fiercely round his head. The blow fell with crushing force on the neck of the sea-woman, the dread wolf of the abyss, and broke the bones. Dead the monster sank to the ground, and Beowulf, standing erect, saw at his feet the lifeless carcase of his foe. The hero still grasped his sword and looked warily along the walls of the water-dwelling, lest some other foe should emerge from its recesses; but as he gazed Beowulf saw his former foe, Grendel, lying dead on a bed in some inner hall. He strode thither, and, seizing the corpse by the hideous coiled locks, sh.o.r.e off the head to carry to earth again.

The poisonous hot blood of the monster melted the blade of the mighty sword, and nothing remained but the hilt, wrought with curious ornaments and signs of old time. This hilt and Grendel's head were all that Beowulf carried off from the water-fiends' dwelling; and laden with these the hero sprang up through the now clear and sparkling water.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Beowulf shears off the head of Grendel]

Meanwhile the Danes and Geats had waited long for his reappearance.

When the afternoon was well advanced the Danes departed sadly, lamenting the hero's death, for they concluded no man could have survived so long beneath the waters; but his loyal Geats sat there still gazing sadly at the waves, and hoping against all hope that Beowulf would reappear. At length they saw changes in the mere--the blood boiling upwards in the lake, the quenching of the unholy light, then the flight of the sea-monsters and a gradual clearing of the waters, through which at last they could see their lord uprising. How gladly they greeted him! What awe and wonder seized them as they surveyed his dreadful booty, the ghastly head of Grendel and the ma.s.sive hilt of the gigantic sword! How eagerly they listened to his story, and how they vied with one another for the glory of bearing his armour, his spoils, and his weapons back over the moorlands and the fens to Heorot. It was a proud and glad troop that followed Beowulf into the hall, and up through the startled throng until they laid down before the feet of King Hrothgar the hideous head of his dead foe, and Beowulf, raising his voice that all might hear above the buzz and hum of the great banquet-hall, thus addressed the king:

"Lo! we this sea-booty, O wise son of Healfdene, Lord of the Scyldings, have brought for thy pleasure, In token of triumph, as thou here seest.

From harm have I hardly escaped with my life, The war under water sustained I with trouble, The conflict was almost decided against me, If G.o.d had not guarded me! Nought could I conquer With Hrunting in battle, though 'tis a doughty blade.

But the G.o.ds granted me that I saw suddenly Hanging high in the hall a bright brand gigantic: So seized I and swung it that in the strife I slew The lords of the dwelling. The mighty blade melted fast In the hot boiling blood, the poisonous battle-gore; But the hilt have I here borne from the hostile hall.

I have avenged the crime, the death of the Danish folk, As it behoved me. Now can I promise thee That thou in Heorot care-free mayest slumber With all thy warrior-troop and all thy kindred thanes, The young and the aged: thou needst not fear for them Death from these mortal foes, as thou of yore hast done."

King Hrothgar was now more delighted than ever at the return of his friend and the slaughter of his foes. He gazed in delight and wonder at the gory head of the monster, and the gigantic hilt of the weapon which struck it off. Then, taking the glorious hilt, and scanning eagerly the runes which showed its history, as the tumult stilled in the hall, and all men listened for his speech, he broke out: "Lo! this may any man say, who maintains truth and right among his people, that good though he may be this hero is even better! Thy glory is widespread, Beowulf my friend, among thine own and many other nations, for thou hast fulfilled all things by patience and prudence. I will surely perform what I promised thee, as we agreed before; and I foretell of thee that thou wilt be long a help and protection to thy people."

King Hrothgar spoke long and eloquently while all men listened, for he reminded them of mighty warriors of old who had not won such glorious fame, and warned them against pride and lack of generosity and self-seeking; and then, ending with thanks and fresh gifts to Beowulf, he bade the feast continue with increased jubilation. The tumultuous rejoicing lasted till darkness settled on the land, and when it ended all retired to rest free from fear, since no more fiendish monsters would break in upon their slumbers; gladly and peacefully the night pa.s.sed, and with the morn came Beowulf's resolve to return to his king and his native land.

When Beowulf had come to this decision he went to Hrothgar and said:

"Now we sea-voyagers come hither from afar Must utter our intent to seek King Hygelac.

Here were we well received, well hast thou treated us.

If on this earth I can do more to win thy love, O prince of warriors, than I have wrought as yet, Here stand I ready now weapons to wield for thee.

If I shall ever hear o'er the encircling flood That any neighbouring foes threaten thy nation's fall, As Grendel grim before, swift will I bring to thee Thousands of n.o.ble thanes, heroes to help thee.

I know of Hygelac, King of the Geat folk, That he will strengthen me (though he is young in years) In words and warlike deeds to bear my warrior-spear Over the ocean surge, when arms would serve thy need, Swift to thine aid. If thy son Hrethric young Comes to the Geat court, there to gain skill in arms, Then will he surely find many friends waiting him: Better in distant lands learneth by journeying He who is valiant."

Hrothgar was greatly moved by the words of the Geat hero and his promise of future help. He wondered to find such wisdom in so young a warrior, and felt that the Geats could never choose a better king if battle should cut off the son of Hygelac, and he renewed his a.s.surance of continual friendship between the two countries and of enduring personal affection. Finally, with fresh gifts of treasure and with tears of regret Hrothgar embraced Beowulf and bade him go speedily to his ship, since a friend's yearning could not retain him longer from his native land. So the little troop of Geats with their gifts and treasures marched proudly to their vessel and sailed away to Geatland, their dragon-prowed ship laden with armour and jewels and steeds, tokens of remembrance and thanks from the grateful Danes.

Beowulf's Return

Blithe-hearted were the voyagers, and gaily the ship danced over the waves, as the Geats strained their eyes towards the cliffs of their home and the well-known sh.o.r.es of their country. When their vessel approached the land the coast-warden came hurrying to greet them, for he had watched the ocean day and night for the return of the valiant wanderers. Gladly he welcomed them, and bade his underlings help to bear their spoils up to the royal palace, where King Hygelac, himself young and valiant, awaited his victorious kinsman, with his beauteous queen, Hygd, beside him. Then came Beowulf, treading proudly the rocky paths to the royal abode, for messengers had gone in advance to announce to the king his nephew's success, and a banquet was being prepared, where Beowulf would sit beside his royal kinsman.

Once more there was a splendid feast, with tumultuous rejoicing. Again a queenly hand--that of the beauteous Hygd--poured out the first bowl in which to celebrate the safe return of the victorious hero. And now the wonderful story of the slaying of the fen-fiends must be told.

Beowulf was called upon to describe again his perils and his victories, and told in glowing language of the grisly monsters and the desperate combats, and of the boundless grat.i.tude and splendid generosity of the Danish king, and of his prophecy of lasting friendship between the Danes and the Geats. Then he concluded:

"Thus that great nation's king lived in all n.o.ble deeds.

Of guerdon I failed not, of meed for my valour, But the wise son of Healfdene gave to me treasures great, Gifts to my heart's desire. These now I bring to thee, Offer them lovingly: now are my loyalty And service due to thee, O hero-king, alone!

Near kinsmen have I few but thee, O Hygelac!"

As the hero showed the treasures with which Hrothgar had rewarded his courage, he distributed them generously among his kinsmen and friends, giving his priceless jewelled collar to Queen Hygd, and his best steed to King Hygelac, as a true va.s.sal and kinsman should. So Beowulf resumed his place as Hygelac's chief warrior and champion, and settled down among his own people.

Fifty Years After

When half a century had pa.s.sed away, great and sorrowful changes had taken place in the two kingdoms of Denmark and Geatland. Hrothgar was dead, and had been succeeded by his son Hrethric, and Hygelac had been slain in a warlike expedition against the Hetware. In this expedition Beowulf had accompanied Hygelac, and had done all a warrior could do to save his kinsman and his king. When he saw his master slain he had fought his way through the encircling foes to the sea-sh.o.r.e, where, though sorely wounded, he flung himself into the sea and swam back to Geatland. There he had told Queen Hygd of the untimely death of her husband, and had called on her to a.s.sume the regency of the kingdom for her young son Heardred. Queen Hygd called an a.s.sembly of the Geats, and there, with the full consent of the nation, offered the crown to Beowulf, the wisest counsellor and bravest hero among them; but he refused to accept it, and so swayed the Geats by his eloquence and his loyalty that they unanimously raised Heardred to the throne, with Beowulf as his guardian and protector. When in later years Heardred also fell before an enemy, Beowulf was again chosen king, and as he was now the next of kin he accepted the throne, and ruled long and gloriously over Geatland. His fame as a warrior kept his country free from invasion, and his wisdom as a statesman increased its prosperity and happiness; whilst the vengeance he took for his kinsman's death fulfilled all ideals of family and feudal duty held by the men of his time. Beowulf, in fact, became an ideal king, as he was an ideal warrior and hero, and he closed his life by an ideal act of self-sacrifice for the good of his people.

Beowulf and the Fire-Dragon

In the fiftieth year of Beowulf's reign a great terror fell upon the land: terror of a monstrous fire-dragon, who flew forth by night from his den in the rocks, lighting up the blackness with his blazing breath, and burning houses and homesteads, men and cattle, with the flames from his mouth. The glare from his fiery scales was like the dawn-glow in the sky, but his pa.s.sage left behind it every night a trail of black, charred desolation to confront the rising sun. Yet the dragon's wrath was in some way justified, since he had been robbed, and could not trace the thief. Centuries before Beowulf's lifetime a mighty family of heroes had gathered together, by feats of arms, and by long inheritance, an immense treasure of cups and goblets, of necklaces and rings, of swords and helmets and armour, cunningly wrought by magic spells; they had joyed in their cherished h.o.a.rd for long years, until all had died but one, and he survived solitary, miserable, brooding over the fate of the dearly loved treasure. At last he caused his servants to make a strong fastness in the rocks, with cunningly devised entrances, known only to himself, and thither, with great toil and labour of aged limbs, he carried and hid the precious treasure. As he sadly regarded it, and thought of its future fate, he cried aloud:

"Hold thou now fast, O earth, now men no longer can, The treasure of mighty earls. From thee brave men won it In days that are long gone by, but slaughter seized on them, Death fiercely vanquished them, each of my warriors, Each one of my people, who closed their life-days here After the joy of earth. None have I sword to wield Or bring me the goblet, the richly wrought vessel.

All the true heroes have elsewhere departed!

Now must the gilded helm lose its adornments, For those who polished it sleep in the gloomy grave, Those who made ready erst war-gear of warriors.

Likewise the battle-sark which in the fight endured Bites of the keen-edged blades midst the loud crash of shields Rusts, with its wearer dead. Nor may the woven mail After the chieftain's death wide with a champion rove.

Gone is the joy of harp, gone is the music's mirth.

Now the hawk goodly-winged hovers not through the hall, Nor the swift-footed mare tramples the castle court: Baleful death far has sent all living tribes of men."