Beowulf Read online

  stem this heart-sickness sweep it away.

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  Often my hall-thanes hearts strong with beer

  bold in their ale-cups boasted in firelight

  that they would linger lie here in waiting

  for Grendel’s ravaging ready with swordswings.

  Then was this meadhall at morning’s raven-call

  dark with their doom as the day shoved forth,

  benches and bolsters black with battle-gore

  hall-rafters trembling. Heorot grew cold then

  stronghearted warriors were snatched into night.

  But sit now to banquet bear us good news

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  tell us good tidings in time as you wish.”

  Benches were bared the beer-hall made roomy

  Geats were gathered together with all.

  There the stern-hearted settled by the fire

  welcome and ready. The warden of ale-cups

  brought to their hands the bright hall-drink

  taught them greetings. At times the minstrel

  touched his harpstrings. They were happy together

  a great band of them Geats with the Danes.

  UNFERTH (meaning “discord” or “nonsense”) is a complex character who is twice called a thyle (“orator” or “jester”) and sits at Hrothgar’s feet, a position of counselors or jesters or poets. Here he is the traditional “court challenger,” enabling Beowulf to establish his credentials as a monster killer and giving him license to insult both Unferth and the Danes with impunity. Beowulf calls him a fratricide who will suffer either “in hell” or “in the hall,” depending on how the manuscript is interpreted, and it is later said that he was “not honorable towards his kin in swordplay.” This may mean that he found himself serving one lord and his brothers another, or he may have refused to support his brothers in battle. In any case, Unferth is well tolerated by the Danes and lends his respected sword to a grateful Beowulf.

  Before and after the killing of Grendel, Hrothgar leaves Heorot to sleep in his “bower,” an outbuilding within the palisade compound characteristic of many Anglo-Saxon “burgs.”

  Then up spoke Unferth Ecglaf’s swordson

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  held to his station at Hrothgar’s feet

  unbound battle-runes. Beowulf’s errand

  boasting of sea-strength burned in his heart—

  never would he grant greater adventures

  on land or sea to sailors or hall-thanes

  than he had survived, hale sword-champion:

  “Are you that Beowulf who with Breca swam

  on the broad sea-swell struggling together

  proud wave-wrestlers wagering your lives

  with reckless boasting risking for praise

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  deep water-death? Not one counselor

  friend or enemy could force you to cancel

  that sorrowful swim—shipless wanderers

  rowing with your hands reaching for salt-swells

  measuring the sea-road with stroking arms

  embracing the ocean broad water-fields

  wintry with waves. You worked at your folly

  for seven nightfalls—he outswam you there

  stronger than you. The sea at dawning

  heaved him ashore on Heatho-Raemas’ ground.

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  He found his way then fared to his home

  beloved country land of the Brondingas

  proud timber-hall where his people waited.

  That son of Beanstan beat you at swimming

  bettered your boasting brave sea-warrior.

  Now I expect, proud though you swagger,

  brave at battle-rush bragging as you go,

  a grimmer contest with Grendel here

  if you dare sleep now in this darkened hall.”

  Beowulf spoke then son of Ecgtheow:

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  “Unferth my friend you find much to say

  eased with beer-cups all about Breca

  his seafaring ways. I say to you now

  I was greater in swim-strength gliding through waves

  longer with arm-strokes than my lagging friend.

  We boasted together—boys eagering

  young in judgment yearning for renown

  game for water-wolves—that we would gamble

  lives against the sea loud ocean winds.

  With naked swords we slashed through the waves

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  ready with warblades for wandering whales

  dark sea-monsters. No swifter than me

  could Breca swim there—I stayed beside him

  unwilling to leave him alone against all.

  Through five nightfalls we floated and swam

  on the ice-hard waves till an angry sea-flood

  broke out above us—blackening sky

  and freezing northwinds forced us apart

  towering salt-swells struck between us.

  Strange sea-creatures surfaced around me—

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  the mailcoat I wore woven with gold

  hard and hand-locked held me from death

  laced by wonder-smiths linked against carnage.

  To the deep sea-floor something pulled me

  hard gripfingers hauled me to sand

  with grappling-tight claws—it was granted to me

  to reach this devil rush him to sleep

  with sharp sword-point—swift blade-slashing

  strong in my hand haled him deathwards.

  Then more came at me many a water-sprite

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  seagoing demons—I served them all

  with quick sword-thrusts sent them to hell.

  They missed their supper sea-bottom banquet

  squatting on the sand serving their hunger

  with my tasty corpse cold ocean-feast.

  By gray dawnlight lapped with salt-foam

  rolled by tidewaves they rested on land

  sleepened by swordswings—the sailpath was cleared

  sun-bright waterways washed of their blood.

  Light from the East lifted the storm-clouds

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  God’s bright beacon burnished the sea—

  looming headlands leaned high above,

  wind-scoured cliffwalls. Wyrd often spares

  an undoomed man when his mind-strength prevails.

  With sword’s edges I sent into death

  nine sea-monsters. I have not yet heard

  of a harder struggle under heaven’s archway

  a riskier night in narrow ocean-streams.

  From dark water-death waves bore me up

  weary of swimming—the sea lifted me

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  led me to shore in the land of Finns.

  I have never heard tell tales of yourself

  strong with swordplay swimming through nightwaves

  with gnashing sea-demons. Never has Breca

  fought through darkness in deep waterways—

  and you were never known for such deeds

  nothing to brag of renowned as you are

  for killing your brothers bringing them down,

  your own blood-kin. You’ll answer for that

  wandering in hell though your wit be strong.

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  I’ll say one thing son of Ecglaf—

  never would Grendel grieve all of you

  mangle your hearts with murder in Heorot

  torture your lord in this tame meadhall

  if your courage held strong as you claim it does.

  Grendel has learned through long winters—

  no need to bother with brave Shield-Danes

  no interruptions of his nightly visits.

  He takes what he needs no one stopping him

  finds no contest with cowering Danes

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  snares and slashes safe in Heorot

  owning you all. But I’ll show him

  sooner than he knows a new kind of battle

 
with men of the Geats. On the morning after

  when southern sunlight shines on this hall

  we will lift our meadcups to merciful peace

  bright bench-laughter banishing your grief.”

  Grief-heavy Hrothgar murder-stunned king

  heard in those words hard promises

  news of deliverance from long heartbreak

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  found in Beowulf fair morning-thoughts.

  Laughter and song leapt to the rafters

  warm welcome-words. Then Wealhtheow came forth

  folk-queen of the Danes daughter of Helmingas

  Hrothgar’s bedmate. She hailed all of them

  spoke her peace-words stepped to the gift-throne

  fetched to her king the first ale-cup

  warmed his mind-chill wished darkness away

  from the tall high-seat—he took from her hands

  the gleaming cupful gave her his thanks.

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  Through the high meadhall went Hrothgar’s queen

  offering hall-joy to old and to young

  with rich treasure-cups till time brought her

  where Beowulf sat. She bore him a cup

  with gold-gleaming hands held it before him

  graciously greeted the Geats’ warleader

  gave thanks to God for granting her will

  sending her mercy a man to believe in

  hope from abroad. He held the meadcup

  high in his hands hailed the queen there

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  brought to Wealhtheow battle-strong words.

  Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:

  “I swore to myself when I sailed from home

  mounted my ship with my men around me

  that I alone would ease your heartgrief

  settle this feud here or fall deathwards

  in Grendel’s grasp. I’ll give you his lifeblood

  deliver his fiend-soul or finish my days

  here in Heorot high treasure-hall.”

  His words were welcome to Wealhtheow’s heart

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  that bountiful boast—then back with her lord

  the proud folk-queen found her station.

  Cheers from the benches chased night-shadows

  strong warrior-songs soared through the hall

  rose to the rafters till ready for sleep

  Healfdene’s son heavy with thane-grief

  yearned for evening-rest. Years had taught him

  that Grendel roamed raging with envy

  Heorot on his mind from the moment that sunrise

  flushed towards the sky till final nightshades

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  dark with shadow-shapes shoved across the meadows

  wound around Heorot. Hall-feasters rose.

  Their weary war-king wished for Beowulf

  luck in the night left him the gift-throne

  that great meadhall gave him farewell:

  “Never have I offered to any other man,

  from the first moment I found shield-strength,

  this hall of the Danes house of our nation.

  Have now and hold these havoc-stained walls

  remember your strength stand against darkness

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  with luck and courage. You will lack for nothing

  if you risk this nightfall and rise with the sun.”

  He left the hall then Healfdene’s son

  lord of the Shield-Danes beloved treasure-king

  went to his bedrest Wealhtheow beside him

  to comfort his sleep. The King of glory

  granted for that night a guard against helldeath

  a strong hall-warden holding in darkness

  a keen house-watch for the king of Heorot.

  The Geats’ champion gathered his men

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  matched against evil the Measurer’s strength.

  He stripped off his armor steel-meshed mailcoat

  gilded mask-helmet gold-handled sword

  set them aside to serve him elsewhere

  rich war-weapons wonder-smiths’ handwork.

  He kindled their courage with keen boastwords

  as they bent to bedrest in that best of halls:

  “No meaner am I in mortal combat

  grim hand-wrestling than Grendel himself.

  I will not send him to sleep with my blade

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  carve out his life though I could easily.

  He has learned nothing of linden-shield play

  fighting with armor fearless though he be

  in dark thane-murder—on this dangerous night

  we’ll have no swordplay if he seeks me here

  no clear weapon-fight—then the wise Deemer

  will show his mercy the Shaper of all

  will measure us both, bring judgment here.”

  He bent to his bolster Beowulf the Geat