Beowulf (9 page)

This protector of warriors did not at all wish
to let loose the death-bringer while still alive,
nor did he count Grendel’s life-days of value
to anyone at all. There many a man of Beowulf’s band
eagerly brandished their ancient sword-blades,
wishing to protect the life of their lord,
the widely famed chief, any way that they could.
While engaged in the fray, these brave-minded warriors
sought to strike at the foe from every side,
but could not figure how to hew Grendel down,
how to seek out his soul: nor might any war-sword,
not the strongest of irons in all of the earth,
even touch to do harm to that evil destroyer—
for Grendel wove spells round all human weapons,
on all swords of victory. Yet severed from life,
he was fated to feel misery at the end of his days,
his time on the earth, and the alien terror must now
embark on a far journey into the power of fiends.

Then that one found out, who so often before
had wrought wicked evils, terrified the spirits
of the race of men—he waged war against God—
that this time his fearsome strength would fail him,
for his high-spirited foe, the kinsman of Hygelac,
held him fast by the hand. Each hated the other,
while they both lived. The dreaded demon
suffered terrible torture, as his shoulder tore open,
a great wound gaping as sinews sprang apart,
and the bone-locks burst. To Beowulf then
was glory given in battle. Sick unto death,
Grendel could only flee to the fen-slopes,
seek his home without joy. He certainly knew
that he had reached the length of his life,
his number of days. But for all of the Danes
joy was renewed after the onslaught of death.
The hero from afar, the kinsman of Hygelac,
shrewd and strong-hearted, cleansed Hrothgar’s hall,
saved it from sorrow. He rejoiced in his night-work,
a champion’s great deeds. The prince of the Geats
had fulfilled his boast to the folk of the East-Danes,
had completely relieved them from heaviness of heart,
from sorrow caused by evils that they long endured,
from the horrible menace they were forced to suffer,
from no little affliction. That was a true trophy
which the battle-brave Beowulf set down before them,
under the hall-roof-the hand, arm, and shoulder,
with Grendel’s claw, all connected together.

Then in the morning, as I have heard,
in the gift-hall many a warrior gathered,
the chiefs of the folk, from near and from far,
traveled the wide roads to look on the wonder,
the tracks of the demon. Nor did it occur
to any of the warriors who saw those steps
that they should grieve for this one without glory—
how weary in spirit, he went on his way,
beaten in battle, put to flight by fate,
left a trail of life-blood to the mere of monsters.
There with blood the water was welling,
horrid surging of waves all swirling together,
heated with gore, and gushing battle-blood.
The one doomed to die, without any joy,
sought to hide in the fens, and laid down his life,
the soul of a heathen to be taken by hell.

From that awful scene went the old retainers,
joined by the youths, all joyful together.
High-spirited men rode horses from the mere,
bold on their mounts. There was Beowulf’s
glory proclaimed. Many a man often declared
that in the north or the south, between the two seas,
throughout the whole earth, under expanse of the sky,
there was no one better among shield-bearing men—
no greater warrior more worthy of a kingdom.
Yet they found no blame in their own friendly lord,
their gracious Hrothgar, for he was a good king.
At times the bold ones let their steeds leap forward,
urged their glossy horses to compete in contests,
over ground they found fitting for holding the races,
known as good tracks. Also there was a thane,
well-loaded with words and filled with old tales,
who had a great store of traditional stories,
in memory retained—yet could make a new tale
based on true new events. And so he began
to sing with skill of Beowulf’s adventure
and with masterful talent to perform his tale,
in words well-woven. He related all things
he had ever heard told of the legendary deeds
of Sigemund
^k
—many stories till now unsung—
the fights of Waels’ son, his far journeys,
the feuds and wickedness that were not well known
to the sons of men. Yet Sigemund would tell
somewhat of these things to Fitela by his side,
uncle to nephew, as comrades in crises,
ever faithful together in fights against foes,
having laid low a great many of the kin of giants
with their strong swords. So the fame of Sigemund
spread far and wide after his death-day
since the battle-bold hero defeated the dragon,
the guard of a hoard. Under gray rocks
this son of a chieftain took his chances alone,
a daring deed—nor was Fitela then with him.
Yet to him it was given to stab with his sword
through the wondrous dragon, clear into the wall,
where the iron stuck. Thus was the dragon slain.
The warrior won the prize by his boldness,
so he now could enjoy the hoard of treasures,
however he wished. The son of Waels
then loaded the sea-boat, bore to the ship’s bosom
the shining wealth—while the dragon melted in flames.

He was by far the most famous of heroes,
among all the nations, for his noble deeds
as protector of warriors—for that he prospered—
outshining Heremod whose glory grew less,
¹⁴
in strength and bravery. Heremod was betrayed,
while among the Jutes, into the power of enemies
and quickly slain. The surgings of sorrow
had long made him weaker among his warriors
as he had become the source of their suffering.
For often before, in earlier times, many a wise man
bemoaned the course of that strong-minded king,
had trusted in him as their relief from torments,
that he as their prince would have favor of fortune,
to follow his father as king over the people,
holding treasure and stronghold in that land of heroes,
the home of the Scyldings. In contrast to him,
Beowulf became to the Danes and all mankind
a far greater friend—while Heremod waded in evil.

At times, retainers competed by racing with horses
along the dirt road. Well beyond dawn, the morning-light
had hastened forward. And many strong-minded men
proceeded onward to reach the high hall
to see the curious wonder; and the king himself,
the guardian of treasures, great in his glory,
and famed for his bounty, walked from his wife’s chamber
with his band of warriors—and with him his queen
went to the mead-hall with her own troop of maidens.

Hrothgar spoke, when he arrived at the hall,
standing on a step, looked up to the high roof
adorned with gold and with Grendel’s hand:
“For this sight let us give thanks at once
to the Ruler of All. I have endured many afflictions,
griefs caused by Grendel. Ever may God work
wonder after wonder, as Guardian of the world.
Not long ago, I had no reason to hope
that I might receive remedy as long as I lived
from any of these woes, while the best of halls
stood stained with blood, gory from battle—
misery spread wide among all the wise counselors,
who dared not hope they might ever defend
their fortified home from hateful foes,
wicked spirits and demons. Now has a warrior
performed that deed through the power of the Lord,
which until this time none of us could contrive
how to do it ourselves. Hail to the woman
who may say, if still living, that she gave birth
to such a son among all the peoples of earth,
that the Ancient Ruler bestowed a great gift
in the birth of her child. Now I tell you, Beowulf,
the best of men, I wish you for my son
with heart-felt love—to hold from now on
in new bond of kinship. Nor will you lack any
of the worldly goods that I have the power to give.
Often for lesser deeds I have handed out rewards,
prizes of hoard-treasures, to a more lowly man,
one weaker in fighting. Yet you have yourself,
performed such feats that your fame shall live
for ever and ever. May the Ruler of All
reward your great goodness, as he has so far.”

Then Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:
“We have fought the fight, the test of courage,
with much good will, braving with boldness
unknown monstrous might. I would rather that you
could have seen Grendel himself with your own eyes,
the foe in his war-gear falling weary unto death!
As quickly as I could, I tried with strong grips
to bind him down to a bed of slaughter
so that he in the powerful hold of my hands
would lie in death-torment, lest his body slip away.
Yet the Maker of All did not wish that I might
hinder his going. I could not hold the life-destroyer
hard enough—so by a great effort of strength
he made his escape. But he did leave behind
his hand, arm and shoulder in a desperate move
to break free with his life. Yet the foe in his frenzy
could not buy relief by paying that price,
for the loathsome marauder will live no longer,
tormented for sins, but his gaping fatal wound
has caught him completely in the grip of death,
with unbreakable bonds. Thus he must wait
for the Day of Judgment, smeared with his sins,
to learn his doom from the God of Glory.”

Then the son of Ecgtheow became more silent,
no longer boasting of his deeds in battle,
while nobles looked on the sign of his strength
the hand of Grendel high up by the roof,
the fingers of the foe—and each one tipped
with a thick sharp nail, as strong as steel,
the claws of the heathen suited for slashing
in horrible slaughter. So each of the heroes
said no sword known to man, no weapon of old,
could do any harm to the bloody battle-hand
of that terrible demon or diminish its power.

—XV
—

Then was it ordered that Heorot quickly
be decorated throughout by the many hands there,
both of men and of women, who made ready that
wine-hall,
the great building for guests. Gold-woven hangings
shone along walls, most wondrous of sights
for the assembly of people staring at them in awe.
That bright building had much that was broken
all over inside, yet it still stood fast through its iron bands,
with the door-hinges sprung. Only the roof survived
completely undamaged, when the monstrous creature,
fouled with horrid deeds, sought to make his flight,
without hope of life. There is no easy way,
to flee from one’s fate—try as one may—
but every soul-bearer, every child of men,
each dweller on earth, is destined to seek
his appointed place, compelled by necessity,
with his body held fast in its bed of death,
to sleep after feasting. Then was the time fitting
for the son of Healfdene to enter the hall,
for the king wished to join in the festive event.
Never have I heard that a greater host of people
bore themselves better with their giver of treasure.
The glorious gathering sat down on the benches,
to rejoice at the feast, while in the high hall
Hrothgar and Hrothulf,
^l
the kinsmen of those
strong-hearted men, drank many a mead-cup
in great good will. All Heorot throughout
was filled with friends, for treacheries had not
yet been performed by the people of the Danes.
Then Hrothgar gave Beowulf the sword of Healfdene,
and a golden standard as sign of his victory—
a shining battle-banner—with helmet and armor.
Many looked on as they saw the great sword
borne before the hero. As Beowulf partook of the hall-cup,
he need not feel ashamed in front of the warriors
for the splendid gifts that he had been given.
Never have I heard of many among men
giving four such treasures, adorned with gold,
in more friendly fashion to others on ale-benches.
Round the crown of the helmet was a rim wound
with wires,
held fast from without, as a fortress for the head,
so a shower of swords, blades sharpened by files,
might not cause severe wounds, when bearing his shield
the warrior must go forth in battle against foes.
Then the protector of earls ordered eight horses
with gold-plated bridles led forth on the floor,
inside the hall. A saddle made with utmost skill,
richly adorned, was set on one of the horses:
that was the war-seat of the high king Hrothgar,
when the son of Healfdene wished to engage
in the play of swords. Never did his prowess
fail in the forefront where the slain fell around him.
And then to Beowulf this defender of the Danes
gave each of the gifts, conferring power
over horses and weapons that were his to enjoy.
Thus the renowned prince manfully paid
for the glory in battle from the people’s hoard,
with horses and treasures—so none could find fault
with his generous giving, if speaking the truth.

And then the Danish prince, protector of earls,
gave riches and ancestral treasures to each of the men
there on the mead-bench who made with Beowulf
the voyage over sea. He further ordered that payment
be made in gold for the man whom Grendel
had wickedly killed—and wished to kill more
if he were not prevented by the providence of God
and the bravery of Beowulf. The Creator has ruled
over all humankind, even as he does to this day.
Therefore sound thinking is everywhere best,
the pondering of mind. Many shall live through
the good and the bad who for a long time live
here in the world during these days of strife.

Then singing and music were mingled together,
performed in the presence of Healfdene’s war leader.
^m
Harp strings were strummed and tales often told
as Hrothgar’s scop, entertaining the hall,
was moved to relate, along the mead-bench,
the story of Finn’s sons
¹⁵
when fighting broke out
and the hero of the Half-Danes, Hnaef of the Scyldings,
was doomed to fall on the Frisian battle-field.

Surely Hildeburh had no reason to honor
the good faith of the Jutes, for she was without guilt
deprived of her dear ones, both son and brother,
in the shield-play: they were fated to fall,
wounded by spears. She was a most mournful woman!
Not at all without cause did this daughter of Hoc
bemoan fate’s command when the morning came.
For then she might see under light from the sky
baleful murder of kinsmen, where always before
she had worldly joy. War swept away almost all
the retainers of Finn, except only a few,
so that he could not further engage in fighting
the battle against Hengest, Danish leader after Hnaef,
in that place of slaughter, nor dislodge their survivors
by strength of arms. But peace-terms were settled:
the Jutes would provide other quarters to the Danes,
a hall and high-seat, where they could have power
over half, sharing the rest with the sons of the Jutes;
and the son of Folcwalda,
ⁿ
at each day’s gift-giving
would bestow honors on the band of Danes,
handing out rings to Hengest, and all his troop,
a great wealth of treasures, plated with gold,
given just as freely as those he gave to Frisians
whom he wished to encourage in the beer-hall.
Then on both sides they arrived at agreement,
firm treaty of peace. Finn swore to Hengest
with inviolable oaths, that he would accord
the Danish survivors the honors determined
by his wise advisors, and that not any man
should break their treaty, by words or by works,
nor through evil contrivance should ever complain,
that since the fall of their king, the Danes now followed
their ring-giver’s slayer, for necessity forced them.
If any one of the Frisian men were to call to mind
the murderous feud through foolhardy speech,
then the edge of the sword should settle the matter.
Men prepared for the funeral fire with precious gold
brought up from the hoard. The best of heroes
of the War-Scyldings was placed on the pyre.
On top of the pyre one could easily see
mail stained with blood, golden images of swine,
the iron-hard boar—many brave warriors
dealt death by wounds. Many indeed fell in that slaughter!
Then Hildeburh ordered her son to be placed
fast by Hnaef on the pyre to commit to the flames,
for burning the body, and with him positioned
at his uncle’s shoulder. The woman then wailed,
sang out in her grief, as that warrior was raised up.
The greatest of funeral-fires wound up to the heavens,
roaring from the burial mound, while heroes’ heads melted,
wound-openings burst, and blood sprang forth,
from gashes in the bodies. The greediest of spirits,
flames swallowed all whom war swept away,
both Danes and jutes, as they departed this life.