Beowulf Read online

  greedy for revenge. The good warrior-king

  unsheathed his sword then swift in its edges

  old treasure-blade. Each of those fighters

  warrior and monster was wary of the other.

  Beowulf stood still with his steep iron-shield

  death faced with death as the dragon coiled then

  swelling with fury simmering with rage.

  He burst then roaring broke from the mound

  2570

  struck to his fate. The strong iron-shield

  turned back the flames the fires of that breath

  protected that loved one too little that time

  as he found that day the first war-moment

  when wyrd turned from him took from his hands

  luck at sword-play. He lifted his sword,

  son of Ecgtheow, struck the fire-snake

  with that ancient blade—the edge weakened

  bit that fiend-bone in a feebler way

  than the king had need of though he cut strongly

  2580

  swung with heartstrength. Then the hoard-guardian

  after that swordswing slithered with anger

  spewed his balefire—that searing flame-flash

  cindered the meadow. The mighty Geat-lord

  could not boast of victory—his blade failed him there

  sharp treasure-steel betrayed by hell-bone

  bit too softly. Sad came the moment

  for that old warrior-king Ecgtheow’s son

  to yield ground-plain give to that monster—

  much against his will he would wander elsewhere

  2590

  depart from that earthland as each man will do

  give up his loan-days. Not long after that

  monster and man-king met once again.

  The hoardwarden strengthened with hot breast-roars

  the bellows of his breath—in that burning air

  embraced by fire-loops the folk-king suffered.

  Not exactly in heaps did those hand-companions

  sons of noblemen stand close to him,

  those brave swordswingers, but they bent to the woods

  sheltered their lives. There swelled in one of them

  2600

  shame in his mind. No man can deny

  claims of kinship if he cares for valor.

  Wiglaf his name was Weohstan’s son

  Aelfhere’s kin keen linden-man

  young sword-warrior—he saw his manlord

  with blistered war-mask blasted by heat.

  He remembered the bounty from his blood-kin lord

  wealthy homestead of the Waegmundingas

  all land and folk-right his father had owned.

  He could bear no shame brandished his shield,

  2610

  yellow lindenwood, lifted on high

  his old treasure-sword. That was Eanmund’s weapon

  Ohthere’s son sorrowful fugitive

  struck down in battle by brave Weohstan

  who gave his armor to Onela then

  strong mask-helmet steel-meshed mailcoat

  ancient wondersword. Onela returned them

  his nephew’s war-gear to Weohstan’s hands

  found no fault there no feud between them

  though he killed in battle his blood-brother’s son.

  2620

  He kept that armor carried it to Götland

  stored it safely till his son was ready

  grown to his shield shaped for battle-fame.

  Among the Geats then he gave to Wiglaf

  that great weapon-prize as he went from life

  forth from the earth. For the first time now

  this strong hearth-soldier stepped into war-play

  fought with his lord on that fire-black meadow.

  His mind did not melt nor that mighty gift-sword

  failed him at need—that fiery gold-serpent

  2630

  soon discovered that when they came together.

  Wiglaf spoke then words heart-heavy

  shouted with scorn this shameful message:

  “I remember the times when we took mead-drink

  when all of us promised our proud warrior-king

  by the high gift-throne where he gave us swords

  that we’d pay him back for this bright armor

  if ever he needed us, offer him at spear-time

  our helmets and swords. So did he choose us

  picked from his hall-thanes these proud shieldmen

  2640

  graced us with gifts gave me kin-treasures

  gathered us to back him good hearth-warriors

  eager helmet-men. Our old gift-lord

  decided to fight this fire-spewer

  alone once again with his great wonder-strength

  armed with a war-name earned through a lifetime

  forged now with deeds. Now the day has come

  when this heartstrong chief needs help in battle

  good sword-wielders. Let us go quickly

  fight beside him in this fiery business

  2650

  grim flame-terror. God knows in me

  I’m ready for fire to feed on my body

  cinder me with flames beside my protector.

  It’s a poor showing if we pack our shields

  haul them back now no help to our leader—

  we should fell this monster fight beside our lord

  our flame-wounded king. I can clearly tell you

  that it’s not old custom to cringe at this moment

  leave him to suffer singed and age-worn

  burning in this battle. Now both of us here

  2660

  will share swordswings shields and helmets.”

  He stepped through that hell-reek hoisted his weapons

  brought help to his kinsman kindled him with words:

  “Beloved Beowulf bear up your heart—

  you said in your youth in yore-days of glory

  that you never would allow while life held to you

  the lowering of your name. Now known through the earth,

  great-hearted Beowulf, bear up your mind-strength

  to finish this dragon—I will fight beside you.”

  After those help-words the hell-serpent came

  2670

  raging gold-miser glaring with death-eyes

  flushed with fire-fury to flash away the life

  of that hateful challenger. Hard flame-launching

  shriveled the shieldwood seared through mailcoats—

  now helpless to bear that hot serpent-breath

  the young hall-thane hid beside his lord

  held to the iron-round hoping for relief

  from those awesome flame-spears. The old battle-king

  remembered his glory-name mightily struck then

  with his sharp blade-edge borne so strongly

  2680

  that it stuck in that neck. Naegling burst then

  broke upon that bone Beowulf’s trophy-sword

  old and battle-hard. That best of honor-blades

  failed him at need finest of smith-steel

  could give him no help. His hand was too strong

  overswung each sword as stories have told me

  struck too forcefully when he stepped to battle—

  wonder-hard weapons did not work for him.

  For the third time then twisting in hate-coils

  that monstrous fire-dragon mindful of his feud

  2690

  struck past that shield with his searing bellows-breath

  went straight to Beowulf bit round his neck

  with bitter venom-teeth. Beowulf stopped then

  his life-force draining in dark blood-welling.

  Then, as I heard, that hall-king’s champion

  young kin-warrior came to that monster

  with craft and weapon-skill as his king taught him.

  He ducked past the head—hot flame-belching

 
; burned his hand then as he buried his sword

  burnished treasure-blade in that black snake-belly.

  2700

  Then that great fire-breath grew feebler at last

  that blistering blast bellowed more softly

  as the blade took hold. Then Beowulf rose

  gathered his mindthoughts grasped his shortsword

  bitter and battle-sharp broad steel-edges—

  the Geat-lord struck severed the ring-bones.

  They felled that fiend found his life-core

  kinsmen together cut him to hell-death

  king and his soldier. So should a man be

  a thane with his lord. The leader of the Geats

  2710

  fought his last blood-fight the bourne of his deeds

  daytimes of this world. Then that dragonbite wound

  burned into his blood blistered and swelled there

  a monster’s deathbite. Murderous poison

  welled within his breast baleful serpent-gall

  pushed towards his heart. The proud one wandered

  slowly by the wall sat by the barrow-stone

  lost in life-thoughts. He looked upon giants’ work

  how the stone arches stout with pillar-strength

  the old earth-hall entered the cliffside.

  2720

  Then with his hands that heart-loyal thane

  laved him with water, his beloved blood-king,

  youth knelt by age yearning to comfort

  his wound-weary lord loosened his helmet.

  Beowulf spoke then sick with a life-wound

  mortal slaughter-bite. He saw clearly

  that his long life-years could linger no more

  earth’s bright moments—all was departing

  the number of his days death immeasurably near:

  “Now I would give to my good son-child

  2730

  my armor and weapons if only a land-heir

  had been granted to me to guard my kingdom

  prince of my loins. I have led this people

  for fifty love-winters. No folk-king there was

  any on this earth of any neighborland

  who dared come to me with dark battle-rush

  goad me with spears. In this good homeland

  I lived through loan-years looked to my kingdom

  sought no treachery swore no oath-lies

  spared anger-words. For all these things

  2740

  sick with life-wound I sing in my heart.

  The Shaper of men cannot shame my going

  with murder of kinsmen at the moment of silence

  when life darkens. Leave me to rest here

  go to that goldhoard under gray cliffrock,

  beloved Wiglaf, now the worm lies cooling

  sleepened by swords stripped of his treasure.

  Hurry, my warrior, help me to see

  this serpent’s wealth-hoard wound gold-collars

  bright wonder-gems—bear them before me

  2750

  to ease my heartbane help me to leave

  this life and people that I long have held.”

  Charged with those words Weohstan’s son-child

  obeyed his beloved life-weary kinsman

  stepped through the stench of stilled dragon-breath

  entered the rock-vault of that ancient barrow.

  Enclosed there by pillars piles of heirlooms

  glinted in the gloom gleaming treasure-heaps

  glittering gemstones by the gray rockwork

  wonders by the walls in that worm’s gold-den

  2760

  the old dawn-flyer’s ancient wine-vessels

  rich silver-cups bereft of polishers

  stripped of ornament. There were swordstruck helmets

  old and rust-laden arm-bracelets tarnishing

  curiously twisted. A king’s treasure-mound

  gold upon the ground will grab at the minds

  of all hall-warriors hidden though it be.

  High above the hoard like a hovering glow-lamp

  hung a golden banner greatest of handworks

  laced with limbcraft—light shone from it

  2770

  gleamed through the darkness a guide for his eyes

  to stare at wonders. Of that serpent’s coil

  no trace could be seen—swords had removed him.

  Then, as I heard, that hoard was plundered

  smith-wonders gathered by a sorrowing warrior

  who piled in his arms plates and jewel-cups

  to his own liking and the old gold-banner

  brightest of standards. Biting steel-edges

  fire-hardened swordblades freed that treasure-trove