Beowulf (7 page)

 

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

 

put his head to rest—around him his warriors

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steelhearted sailors settled down to sleep.

 

Not one believed they would leave Heorot

 

sail once again seek out their homeland

 

the known meadows of their native country.

 

Too many stories of that tall wine-hall

 

emptied of Danes by dark night-slaughter

 

had found their ears. But the Father of men

 

wove them battle-speed—Weather-Geats prevailed

 

reprieved from hate-death haled to victory

 

by the strength of one saved from farewell

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by a tight handgrip. It truly is known

 

that God manages men of this earth.

 

He slipped through the darkness under deep nightpall

 

sliding through shadows. Shield-warriors rested

 

slumbering guardians of that gabled hall—

 

all except one. That wandering spirit

 

could never drag them to cold death-shadow

 

if the world's Measurer wished to stop him.

 

(A waking warrior watched among them

 

anger mounting aching for revenge.)

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He moved through the mist past moors and ice-streams

 

Grendel gliding God's wrath on him

 

simmering to snare some sleeping hall-thanes

 

trap some visitors in that tall gift-house.

 

He moved under cloudbanks crossed the meadowlands

 

till the wine-hall towered tall gold-gables

 

rising in night-sky. Not for the first time

 

he came to Heorot Hrothgar's gift-hall—

 

never had he come craving a blood-feast

 

with worse slaughter-luck waiting there inside.

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He came to the hall hungry for man-flesh

 

exiled from joy. The ironbound door

 

smith-hammered hinges sprang at his touch—

 

raging then for gore he gripped in his hand-vise

 

the ruined bolt-work wrenched it away

 

leapt into the hall loomed with blood-rage

 

aching with life-lust—from his eyes shone forth

 

a fearful glowering fire-coals smoldering.

 

Near him he spied sleeping together

 

close war-brothers waiting peacefully

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prime for plucking. He exploded with fury

 

growled with greed-hunger glared all around him

 

burning to separate bodies from life-breath

 

drain blood-vessels before breaking of day.

 

His luck left him on that last slaughter-night—

 

no more after sunrise would he murder and run.

 

Wakeful and watching wonder in his mind

 

Hygelac's nephew held to his bedrest

 

anxious to measure that monster's strength.

 

Nor did that thief think about waiting

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but searched with fire-eyes snared a doomed one

 

in terminal rest tore frantically

 

crunched bonelockings crammed blood-morsels

 

gulped him with glee. Gloating with his luck

 

he finished the first one his feet and his hands

 

swallowed all of him. He stepped closer

 

groped with claw-hands grabbed the next one—

 

the watchful Geat grabbed back at him

 

gripped with his fingers that great demon-hand

 

tightened his grasp tugged steadily.

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Soon that fen-stalker found himself caught

 

grasped and twisted by a greater handgrip

 

than any he had known in the earth's regions

 

iron finger-clamps—into his mind

 

fear came nudging—nowhere could he move.

 

His thoughts yearned away he wished for his mere-den

 

devil's company—doubt pulled at him

 

a new sensation slid into his mind.

 

Then Hygelac's thane held to his boasting

 

mindful of his speech stood quickly then

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tightened his fist—fingers crackled

 

Grendel pulled back Beowulf followed.

 

That dark wanderer wished for more room

 

to be on his way back to the moor-hills

 

flee to the fens. He felt his knuckles

 

crushed in that grip. A grim visitor

 

that fate-marked fiend found in Heorot.

 

The hall thundered—to hovering Danes

 

safe hut-dwellers sounds of that battle

 

clattered and roared. They raged together

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warrior and guest—the walls rumbled.

 

With great wonder the wine-hall survived

 

twin horn-gables trembling with combat

 

towering high above—it held steadily

 

inside and out with iron log-bonds

 

forged by smith-hammers. The floor shuddered

 

strong mead-benches sailed to the walls

 

burnished banquet-seats bounced and clattered.

 

Hrothgar's wisemen hallowed counselors

 

had never believed that a living creature

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might break Heorot bring down the walls—

 

only fire's embrace flames' greediness

 

could swallow that hall. Storm-sounds of death

 

rocked the horn-gables hammered the roof—

 

shivering Danefolk shook with hell-fear

 

heard through the walls a wailing sorrow.

 

God's demon-foe ground his blood-teeth

 

howled to be gone home to the ice-streams

 

far from that hall. Hygelac's thane

 

strongest mortal mightiest of hand

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locked that hell-fiend hard within his grasp.

 

He found no reason to free that monster

 

spare him to flee far across the moors

 

nor did he consider that sinful life

 

useful to anyone. Anxious for their leader

 

men of the Geats grabbed treasure-swords

 

lifted them high to help their champion

 

fight for his life with file-hardened edges.

 

They were not prepared for this new hand-battling

 

those hard-swinging swordmen hewing with steel-bites

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slashing about them with shield-breaking cuts

 

seeking that fiend-soul—they fought without knowing

 

that the choicest of blades champions' war-weapons

 

were helpless to harm that hell's messenger.

 

He had cast his spell on keenest thane-weapons

 

finest treasure-swords though his time was short—

 

that final night-visit finished his hall-raids

 

destiny struck his damned hell-soul

 

banished it forever past boundaries of grace.

 

Then that giant ravager rejected by God

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marked with murder measured by his sins

 

finally conceived in his fiend's mindthoughts

 

that his loathsome body would bear no more.

 

Hygelac's thane held fast to him

 

tightened his grip—Grendel yearned away

 

his arm stretched thin thronging with pain—