All Things Medieval

The first duty of a Germanic king was to give gifts wisely. All of the loot from any raid belonged to the king, and from this hoard, he handed out rewards in accordance with each man’s effort and standing. The formal feast was his gift-giving occasion, and his chair was generally called the “gift-stool.” The queen, too, handed out rewards, as she walked around the room with the official mead-cup.

The rewards fall into roughly three categories. The most common was the ring, probably an arm-ring, as well as other treasures of a non-weapon nature. The more gold and jewels these used, the higher they stood as a reward. The next category of reward-gifts was weaponry, including swords, shields, chain-mail and helmets, and perhaps also the more common spears and bows. Less common, horses or ships would also be in this weapons category. The greatest reward category, given least commonly, was land itself. The young men, after they had proven their worth and were into their 20’s, could expect one day to receive a grant of an estate from the king, probably announced at a formal feast like this one.

All three kinds of reward are mentioned at different points in Beowulf. Much later, back home in Geatland, Beowulf will recall that at these feasts in Heorot, both the queen and her daughter were giving out rings to the warriors. Beowulf himself, in Geatland, will receive an estate from his king at a formal feast of welcome.

Here, at the second feast at Heorot, the main point is to reward the hero himself with the richest weapons-gifts. The poet takes delight in describing these to us: a golden banner, a helmet, a “byrnie,” or chain-mail shirt, and a sword. The banner has the insignia of a boar on it, the sign of the pagan god Frey, and a common totem for battle.

The helmet, perhaps also decorated with boar-pictures, has a feature so interesting to the teller that he takes five lines to describe it. The ridge of the helmet’s top is wound with wire to strengthen it, perhaps as a guard against a sword-blow shattering the joints of the helmet-plates. The chain-mail shirt is later called gray, made of tiny, forged iron rings. Beowulf later explains that it had belonged to Hrothgar’s brother and nephew, presumably both deceased now.

The sword is a “treasure-sword,” perhaps, depending on the meaning of a doubtful phrase, it may be the sword of Healfdene (Hrothgar’s father) himself. This treasure-sword is almost certainly decorated in golden designs, and inlaid with jewels. The Germanic peoples of this time knew the art of cloisonné, which produces an effect like stained glass. Some sword-hilts have survived in the great royal burials such as the one at Sutton Hoo; they are so magnificent that it is hard to imagine using them in the dust, dirt and blood of a real battle.

So much would be a large reward for any hero, but Beowulf has done something more magnificent than usual. Hrothgar might be considered stingy if he cannot do better than this, and so after all these, into the feast-hall itself come eight horses, one with a priceless jeweled saddle. This is Hrothgar’s own mount, we read, and he is giving all this to Beowulf.

Lesser treasures are not named, but Hrothgar gives rewards to Beowulf’s men, also, and a sum of gold to be returned to the dead man’s family as blood-money. The Geats are fully satisfied with their pay for the risks they ran, Beowulf most of all.

The fight ends with an event that seems to us particularly savage. Beowulf’s men gather around, and as Beowulf appears to be essentially unhurt and rejoicing, they take from him the arm he still holds. Perhaps we are to imagine this arm as about six feet long, or longer. It is thick, and its fingers are claws. The narrative suggests that they saw it “under the curved roof,” and this may indicate that they hoisted it up with rope so that all could see it without pushing or shoving. “It was a clear sign,” says the poet (833).

In line 837, the sun comes up and it is morning. The people in town are already awake but have not dared to come out. Who knows if the monster may flee, taking one last victim as he passes? But they heard his dying screams as they faded into the distance, and in the morning quiet, perhaps they can hear the Geats talking and calling out the news. Many people all around the Heorot neighborhood came to see what had happened. Not only that, but from far away, land-owning earls arrived on horseback to see what had happened. Grendel’s footprints and arm are the talk of the countryside. In fact, many of them set out to follow the tracks and see if they can find the dead troll. The tracks lead them to a pool of water that is welling and boiling with blood.

An impromptu horse race seems to stem from the field-trip to see Grendel’s tracks to the end. How many of these warriors would have dared to take this path, only the day before? While any gathering of fighting men on horses must have quickly included a competitive, drag-racing element, this race has a different feel. They are taking back the ownership of the land from the monster who has terrified them. Like the people of Oz as they realize that the witch is dead, they want to swarm over the paths Grendel used and set their horses’ hooves right into his footprints in triumph.

Then the king pays a formal visit, coming in a parade with all his surviving thanes and the queen with all her maidens. Hrothgar, looking on the bloodied arm of Grendel, makes a heartfelt speech. First, he simply states that he can’t quite believe his eyes. Is it real? They never thought this day would come, and now a man has conquered Grendel. He blesses Beowulf’s mother, if she is still alive, for if so she can celebrate having such a son. But what reward can Hrothgar give for this immense deed? Hrothgar proposes to adopt Beowulf, at least “in my heart,” and perhaps more formally. He will give him great riches, having given treasures for much lesser deeds.

Like a true warrior, Beowulf seems to be still too full of the fight for ceremonial words. Telling Hrothgar that he took on the challenge for free, he breaks out in enthusiasm, “I wish you could’ve seen him yourself! He was covered in blood! I tried to pin him, but he got away!”

Looking on the torn arm with its immense claws, Unferth is silent. Some translations may follow the Old English text and call him the “son of Ecglaf,” but this is Unferth himself who gazes at the arm. Confronted with the wrecked hall, a torn, bloodied Beowulf, and the awesome claws of the monster, he faces more clearly than ever before the difference between words and deeds. The last words of the episode are given over to the viewpoint of the watching thanes, as they gaze for the first time at the dreadful, steel-like claws that killed so many of their friends.

The narrator tells us, also, that a poet sings for them. Instead of telling us the songs, he tells us about the songs: gives sketchy summaries of the content. The most that historians can say is that the singing poet chooses to remind the Danes of a warrior who was great like Beowulf, and another who was strong — but ended badly. One is to serve as a point of praise, the other perhaps as an example of what not to do.

Sigemund and Fitela (called in Norse “Sinfiotli”), uncle and nephew of the Volsunga Saga, are cited first. After doing many great deeds and traveling about together, the most glorious battle for Sigemund arrives without Fitela at his side. Sigemund alone is able to kill a dragon, pinning him to the wall to melt in his own heat, and then is able to load his ship with the dragon’s treasure. Sigemund was a very famous legendary warrior, and to be compared to him was as high praise as comparing an American President to George Washington. It is clear that the singing poet has selected this song for the occasion, in order to imply that now, in their own time, they have found Sigemund’s equal.

The second song is very difficult to understand. While we have the stories of Sigemund in full form in other Germanic literature, the story of Heremod is difficult to piece together. Heremod appears to have been an earlier king of the Danes. He may have been a relative, or he may have been the king who was in power before Scyld arrived; perhaps his downfall left the Danes ready to accept the miraculous baby in a boat as their next king, since their royal house had come to disaster. The song of the poet in lines 898-915 tell a fractured, confusing story that appears to imply Heremod’s downfall through his own flaws. He went into exile, having struggled to keep his throne but finally lost. Among a foreign people, probably the nearby Jutes, he was betrayed and met death at the hands of his enemies, perhaps the avenging relatives of people whom he had killed.

The rest of the song expresses the disappointment of his people at his downfall, for he had come to power at a young age, and they had hoped he would turn out well. While the story is hard to understand, the moral is given plainly. Beowulf became a friend to all mankind by ridding them of a monster, but sin possessed Heremod and he came to a bad end. So may all young men take warning: don’t be like Heremod.

Grendel arrives at the hall (720) and we see that the hall was not left entirely unlocked, but that someone had tried to lock the door.  Grendel is stronger, and with a flick of his wrist, he swings the door wide open.  The creature from the black mere now steps onto the paved floor of civilization.

The camera shows us the hall through Grendel’s eyes, as “he saw in the hall many a soldier” (728).  These are the same men we had just left, chatting and stretching, pulling their bolsters under their heads, but through Grendel’s eyes they look different.  To Grendel, this is like a smorgasbord, and he intends to fill several plates with the juicy fresh meat he sees under the heat-lamps.  If this were a Looney Tunes show, we might see the sleeping Geats turn into roast turkeys for a moment.

A reader who sees this poem as a primitive, random affair must appreciate fully the dramatic care in the scene.  Both sides are represented now, and we know the thoughts of each.  Grendel’s thoughts are plain, and we can see him, standing near a cooling fire pit, looking from side to side to choose where to start.  No one has yet moved, but the narrator reminds us of a pair of open eyes in the hall.  Beowulf is watching Grendel’s every move (736-8), while not moving a hair himself.  He intends to measure Grendel’s movements and see how best to come at him.  Two are awake in the hall, but only one is aware of both.  It only remains for the narrator to bring them together in full awareness and contact.

The contact is sudden and violent.  Perhaps Beowulf intended to wait until Grendel had turned his back, but Grendel makes a lightning strike before Beowulf is ready.  In one move, Grendel has killed and eaten one of the Geats.  Like a film slow motion shot, we see in gory detail as he slits, drinks, bites and swallows the last pieces.  Grendel, as a large creature, must take very big bites indeed.  Beowulf has not even had time to react.  Perhaps he saw instantly that it was too late to save his friend, and that he could only make use of the short time, while the monster was distracted, to make his own plans.  In any event, Grendel hardly pauses for breath, and his next victim is a large, meaty-looking fellow who appears to be asleep:  Beowulf himself.

The fight is over almost as soon as it has begun.  Grendel’s sense of shock, at meeting someone as strong as himself, ends any real struggle for mastery. Grendel’s reeling semi-intelligence can only think of escape from a situation he had considered impossible, unthinkable.  Beowulf is immediately master of the hall, and the only question is whether Grendel will be able to pull away, or not.  As we know, he finds he cannot. 

Beowulf, with the grip of thirty men, is able to hold to him as he thrashes about.  Grendel probably picks up anything he can find, to try to smash on Beowulf and loosen his grip.  Beowulf, on his side, recalls his boasts and focuses everything he has for the task of not letting go, although his fingers feel like they are breaking (760).  We have a brief picture of the flight-pursuit dance, as Grendel moves back, and Beowulf steps forward, Grendel steps outward, Beowulf turns inward (761).  The town around Heorot is woken up by the noise, and we can imagine the Geats pressed back into the corners of the hall, trying to avoid the flying benches. 

The narrator leaves off giving comic-book style detail of every blow, but wants us to understand that the struggle was so violent that any other hall would have collapsed from the shock.  Perhaps the inner pillars have collapsed, splintered from Grendel’s weight suddenly thrown back, to catch Beowulf off balance.  Heorot, fortunately, was built with iron reinforcements, vulnerable only to fire.  The circle of reaction to the fight spreads until, we learn, the entire neighborhood of the Danes has been wakened by the horrible screams of Grendel.  Beowulf is trying to crush the life out of Grendel, and has pinned him fast. The struggle clearly lasted longer than anyone imagined that it would. 

The Geats, who knew that Beowulf intended to fight alone, finally begin to draw their swords and take shots at Grendel as they may.  Although they are not able to make any dent in Grendel, due to Grendel’s magic curse against weapons, it is important to realize that Beowulf’s intentions are not enough for his men to stand by and see him hurt.  He may have vowed to fight Grendel alone, but they have vowed to back him up in any fight.  They would not be fulfilling their vows, to let him manage his alone.  This is important to remember when later, in a third fight, Beowulf will need back-up help from his thanes, in spite of a vow to fight alone.

The end comes suddenly, as their very souls are matched against each other, hate for hate, life for life, and it seems that it cannot go on any longer.  In a desperate move, Grendel pulls away, and leaves his arm behind.  Perhaps he has been slowly crushed and wounded; he probably bears internal injuries and several broken bones.  His shoulder may be dislocated earlier in the struggle.  In any case, in one last screaming tear, his shoulder comes apart.  Either Beowulf was only holding his arm at that point, or the sudden severing throws Beowulf off balance.  Grendel runs free, howling into the night, to his wilderness home.

In line 662, Hrothgar and his men leave the hall in a procession. We can imagine the quiet and dark they left behind, as the last door closed and only fifteen young men occupied a much larger hall than they had ever seen. It was customary for the fighting men to sleep in the hall. Benches were moved back, tables set aside; commonly, at the side of a hall there were raised platforms like window-seats, running along the walls. Fighting men were used to sleeping on the floor or on these platforms, and perhaps carried with them a cloak or blanket, like a cowboy with his bed-roll. Line 688 suggests that the Danes provided pillows of some kind, probably stored in chests along the wall.

The narrator takes a moment to show us Beowulf getting ready for bed. For the feast, he has been wearing his full armor. Now, with the fires dying down, and the scraps of food cleaned up by the last dogs, the feast is over and he can take this off. He gives his helmet and chain-shirt to his servant (did the fifteen warriors travel with servants, or was this servant a squire among the warriors?). We can almost see Beowulf stretch, perhaps comb the wind-blown tangles out of his hair, and prepare to sleep. Few of us would be able to sleep, in these conditions. Beowulf, says the narrator, did not.

But he puts aside his sword to make it a fair fight. The narrator suggests a deep faith in God in this passage. Both Beowulf, and then the narrator’s voice, state that God rules over all and will give the victory as he wishes. In this we can probably hear the voice of the poet more than the voice of a historical Beowulf, if such existed. Perhaps the poet does not want Beowulf to be accused of pride, and so he is careful to remind the audience that as much as Beowulf trusts in his own strength, he has a greater reason to be confident. Surely God will not let down the champion who pursues the feud of Seth against Cain! And so all (but one) of the Geats fall asleep after their journey, and are fast asleep when the moment comes.

The camera’s eye swings outside the hall, as though we are watching a movie. We have watched the Danes fall asleep, and seen one glimpse (702-3) of Grendel’s slow creep in the dark. The camera moves back into the hall, to check on the men, and as they are motionless, the camera now moves outside again. It follows Grendel’s point of view…

“Then out of the night/Came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift…

…In off the moors, down through the mist-bands/God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping./The bane of the race of men roamed forth,/Hunting for a prey in the high hall./Under the cloud-murk he moved towards it/Until it shone above him, a sheer keep/Of fortified gold…”

(translation by Seamus Heaney)

Line 499 gives the name of a new character: Hunferth, or Unferth. He’s a noble in Hrothgar’s court, and he’s called a þȳle. There’s multiple uncertainty here, because his name is spelled “Hunferth” but it’s alliterated with vowels, as if it were “Unferth.” Then a “þȳle” (thee-lee) is either an orator or a jester. Some translators suggest that “Unferth” means “anti-peace,” but if it’s spelled with an H, it wouldn’t mean anything special. When Hunferth begins to speak, instead of “unlocking his word-hoard,” he “unbinds his battle-runes.” Is this meant to suggest that he’s a Woden priest, since runes were the special province of Odin/Woden? Is he a counselor or a jester, a priest or a clown?

But we don’t really need to resolve those conflicts to understand the scene. Unferth (I guess I’ll settle into the spelling most modern translators use) plays a specific role in developing Beowulf’s character, and he plays this role whether he’s a counselor or a jester. It’s his role to display for us Beowulf’s back story while also showing us his character, and it’s not against Hrothgar’s will for Beowulf’s story to be tested in public. Hrothgar wouldn’t do it himself, but Unferth can say anything.

It’s key to understand that there was an insult-trading ritual in Germanic society. When we see this ritual preserved in later Scots poems, it’s called “flyting.” In this kind of contest, it’s important that the audience already knows the truth value of whatever anyone says. You can’t win by lying. To illustrate how it works, in my book I suggest a mead-hall insult contest between Richard Nixon and Jack Kennedy, at the time when they were both running for President. I chose such an outdated match-up because it doesn’t depend on current fads and personalities.

In my sample flyting contest, Kennedy begins by insulting the cut of Nixon’s suit, suggesting it fits badly and has been mended. “Aren’t you used to buying anything new?” he asks. Nixon’s comeback begins, “I certainly didn’t grow up in the lap of luxury as you did. What were you doing while I was doing farm chores and helping my father run a store? Were you out playing tennis and having servants pick up after you? You didn’t even know the Great Depression happened, while I was studying law and living in a house without running water. The way you spend money, this country wouldn’t last long, since we don’t all have Daddy to bail us out!”

Kennedy responds, “It’s true that I grew up in a rich family, but I don’t vote for irresponsible spending. But I see you can’t hold your liquor very well, or you wouldn’t attack my father. I’d rather have my father helping me out in campaigns than what you’ve leaned on, a professional campaign manager who disgusts everyone with his cynical attitudes!” Nixon says yes, he depends on a professional, but then that man likes to say “Truth is the best weapon we can use.” “Maybe,” Nixon adds, “you’d like to tell the truth about your father’s attitude to Hitler? Wasn’t he for appeasement?”

Kennedy comes back, “There you go about my father again. What about me? I served in the Pacific on a PT boat…I was under fire while you were overseeing price controls in California.” Nixon replies, “I may have started out in the Office of Price Administration, that’s true, but I served in the Pacific. And unlike you, I didn’t have to deceive a medical board to do it!” While this sounds like a put-down, Kennedy wins by replying, “Now I know you’ve drunk too much. What’s shameful about concealing my illness and pain so that I could serve and do my duty?”

You see the pattern. They never say “You lie!” the way a modern insult-politician would. Each admits the truth of the charge, but turns it around so that it becomes praise for himself. Then he levels a charge of something shameful, and the pattern repeats. There’s a theme of “where were you when I was doing my duty?” It’s about how well someone can “spin” an apparently negative fact.

Unferth begins by contradicting Beowulf’s claim of superiority in his youth. “I heard,” he says, “that when you had a swimming contest against Breca, Prince of the Brondings, you lost.” Further, he says, it shows that Beowulf has a history of reckless boasting that will just get him and others into trouble. Beowulf doesn’t reply by saying it isn’t true, but he suggests Unferth is too drunk for good judgment. He retells the story of the race, but now he explains that he was attacked by sea monsters after he and Breca were separated by the waves. Breca reached shore first, but Beowulf was fighting for his life. He and the (dead) monsters washed up in the land of the Finns!

After he retells his story, Beowulf turns to Unferth. “Have you fought any monsters? I guess not. I’ve never heard a word about you doing anything heroic. Oh right, you killed your brother! Grendel would never have had a chance to do any mayhem if you were really as fierce as you like to think you are!” He concludes that soon Grendel will be here, and it will be time to test courage.

Unferth doesn’t reply. We should picture him looking deflated; he had heard this scuttlebutt about Breca and he hoped it would shame this rival. Beowulf comes out looking like a champion, and shames him instead. Unferth will enter the story later, still chastened.

Hrothgar’s acceptance of Beowulf’s offer to fight the monster for him comes quickly and easily. For, it turns out, long ago he did a big favor for Beowulf’s father. Ecgtheow had killed the prince Heatholaf while he was living among the Wylfing tribe. No more detail is given, and it’s not suggested that Ecgtheow was either right or wrong. It may have been an accident, or it may have been the result of a quarrel. They didn’t hold it against a man that he had killed someone. But the Wylfings would require Ecgtheow’s life for Heatholaf’s life, again just as a matter of procedure as much as of grief.

And so Ecgtheow fled to another tribe, the Weder Danes, for refuge. But the Wylfings made it clear that they would attack the Weders to exact their price. The Weders told Ecgtheow to leave, and he came then to the Scyldings. Hrothgar tells how his older brother had just died, leaving a baby son, and so brother Hrothgar had become the king. This was not treason, as it would later be considered; it was a tragedy for any nation to be ruled by a child. The Council would have met and elected Hrothgar to succeed his brother.

Hrothgar had enough wealth at hand to settle the feud. The Wylfings would accept blood-payment instead of more blood; this had always been the second option among Germanic tribes. By Anglo-Saxon times “weregild,” the sum of money that a man’s or woman’s life was worth, had been standardized by legislation. All of the Anglo-Saxon kings pushed people to accept weregild instead of actual blood. Because Hrothgar settled Ecgtheow’s feud for him, it is right that the family of Ecgtheow would offer help now.

With help offered and accepted, there had to be a feast. Kings expected to host large meals for their men; the feasting system was a linchpin of loyalty. As soon as the visitors had arrived, someone would have set in motion the mechanism of a feast. By now some sheep have been slaughtered and women are working to get sufficient round, flat bread loaves into production. It would take longer than this to be ready, though.

But to start off the feast, all that is needed is to make room to seat the Geats in the hall. They used benches, not chairs, around their tables. It says that they cleared a bench for the Geats. Since we have already been told that the mead-hall is empty these days, it seems unlikely that they had to tell people to leave. Maybe they got a bench from where it was stored by the wall. Halls like this were lined with storage chests and stacks of other things.

The feast begins with a ceremonial drink of ale to pledge “Waes thu hal!” to them. Eventually, the drink used to welcome guests became known in English as “wassail” for that reason. And then the king’s poet steps out to sing heroic stories for their entertainment. As Liuzza’s translation puts it, “The scop sang/brightly in Heorot — there was joy of heroes,/no small gathering of Danes and Geats.”

The word “scop” is worth looking before moving on. It’s pronounced like “shop,” and other “sh” words are spelled like it: scip, scield, sceap (both “sheep” and “shape”) and scoh (our “shoe”). “Scop” is formed by the verb “sciepan,” to create. Of course, our modern form is “shape.” The Germanic strong verbs used a changing middle vowel to show tense; the “o” vowel generally went with the past or already completed meaning. The scop has shaped something; he can sing because he made it already, and now you will hear it.

(Link to Seamus Heaney’s translation online)

When the Geats, in their admirable gear, arrive at King Hrothgar’s hall, the coast guard leaves them to follow the path to the hall. Here, the poet includes a realistic detail, telling us that the exhausted men saw benches outside the hall and immediately collapsed. They unslung their shields and stacked them along the wall; their spears were leaned against each other, perhaps in a sort of umbrella-stand for spears.

They meet Wulgar (Wolf-spear), a prince of the neighboring Wendel tribe (probably the same as the Vandals). He is a nobleman in the court, and his job is to make sure nobody unworthy is permitted inside the hall. Tolkien borrowed this scene for the arrival of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli at Meduseld.

Mainly, Wulfgar wants to be sure that they are not exiles. Because every king operated within a network of alliances, it was all too easy to welcome someone who had made an enemy of an allied lord — and therefore should have been treated as an enemy. Much later in the poem, Beowulf will tell an anecdote of a young king who helped an exile and got himself killed. They don’t have the look of exiles, since they don’t come in haste and fear, but openly and with swagger.

Beowulf now gives his name: “Beowulf is min nama,” and identifies that they are of Hygelac’s band. Satisfied, Wulfgar goes into the hall to ask Hrothgar if he will see them. It turns out that Hrothgar remembers who Beowulf is, because he traveled when he was young and met the father Ecgtheow. He even knows who Ecgtheow married, because keeping track of extended families and alliances was the first duty of diplomacy. Hrothgar immediately guesses why they are here: to rescue them from Grendel.

Wulfgar can now invite the party inside, but gives the same warning that Tolkien uses at Meduseld: “You are free now to move forward/To meet Hrothgar, in helmets and armor,/But shields must stay here and spears be stacked/Until the outcome of the audience is clear.” We know how that worked out in Tolkien’s story. Here, it’s simpler.

“Wæs þu, Hroðgar, hal!” Beowulf introduces himself, and right off, he needs to boast. The only explanation for why he has come to challenge an indomitable monster when others have failed is that even at his young age, he has done some amazing things. He raided a trolls’ nest, he battled and bound five fiends, and he wrestled sea monsters in the water. “Now I mean to be a match for Grendel,/Settle the outcome in a single combat.”

Beowulf’s sole request, in fact, is to be given a free hand to do the job himself. To bring greater glory to his lord Hygelac, he vows to fight the monster without weapons. He will grapple with the monster in single combat, and may the better man win! In fact, he goes into some gory detail about what might happen:

“If Grendel wins, it will be a gruesome day;
He will glut himself on the Geats in the war-hall,
Swoop without fear on that flower of manhood
As on others before. Then my face won’t be there
To be covered in death; he will carry me away
As he goes to ground, gorged and bloodied;
He will run gloating with my raw corpse
And feed on it alone, in a cruel frenzy,
Fouling his moor-nest.”

Weaponless he will fight, but not entirely undefended: he plans to wear his mail-shirt. And here we have the first of the “famous and old weapons” theme that we’ll hear more of; Hrethel his grandfather gave him his mail-shirt, but it’s even older than Hrethel. It was made by Weland (or Wayland), the mythical smith of Norse tales.

Wayland the Smith appears in some Old Norse sagas. His name means “Crafting One,” and he is the ultimate craftsman. Enslaved by a king, Wayland finds a way to escape. He make a flying cloak (parallels to Greek Daedalus and Icarus), but before leaving, he kills the kings’ sons. In Germanic stories, any great and famous weapon will be credited to Wayland. The swords in The Song of Roland are attributed to him.

Beowulf asks only that this famous shirt be recovered and sent back to Denmark. He closes his speech with the proverb: “Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel.” (Goes always Wyrd as she/it shall.”) Wyrd, the “fate” of Germanic mythology, is like the Greek Fates: a force and a goddess, both destiny and personality.

Seamus Heaney’s translation is online.

On the Swedish mainland, the Geats (yahts) of this time are ruled by King Hygelac (hee-ye-lahk). His supporting warriors are here called thanes, so the hero is first introduced as “Hygelac’s thane.” His proper name, Beowulf, won’t be introduced until he comes to the door of Hrothgar’s hall. But we learn that Hygelac’s court knows about the monster harassing the Danes, and this young man has decided that the quest has his name on it.

Our hero’s first action in the story is to hire a shipbuilder to make a ship for crossing to Denmark. Old English poetry often uses “kennings,” phrases to stand for an ordinary noun. In this passage, he commands them to build a “wave-crosser” so that he can take the “swan’s road (or riding).” With omens consulted and the ship finished, he takes fourteen men with their gear and sets out, and the ship is said to fly like a bird.

It doesn’t seem to take long to cross to Denmark. They’re on the water for one overnight, and then they sight land. Like England, the Sjaelland Island of Denmark has chalk cliffs facing the sea.

On the cliffs, a guard sees the ship coming. If it were a fleet, that would signal an attack, but just one ship isn’t a great danger. When the ship comes to shore, the men drag the keel up on the narrow beach, and the watchman has ridden his pony down a path to meet them.

We don’t know the watcher’s name, he is just a thane of Hrothgar. On horseback, he shakes his spear to challenge them. He asks them, “Who are you and where have you come from?” He notes that they are in battle-gear and seem noble, but he’s also sure that they are not arriving by invitation. “Now I must know your lineage, lest you go hence/as false spies, travel further/into Danish territory.” (here I’m quoting R. M. Liuzza’s translation, used in my book)

“The eldest one answered him,/leader of the troop, unlocked his word-hoard.” This is a common phrase in Old English poetry. As a “kenning,” it’s a perfect image from their culture, because everyone kept his valuables in a locked wooden chest. A man has words locked up as treasures inside his chest; to speak, he must unlock the word-hoard.

The “eldest one,” “leader of the troop,” now explains that they are thanes of Hygelac of the Geats, and that his own father was Ecgtheow. The name “Ecgtheow” is, like most Old English names, a compound of two words. “Ecg” means “sword blade,” and it’s pronounced like “edge.” “Theow” means “servant.” They have come in friendship to Hrothgar, to help him with the fiend, the hidden evildoer, the corpse-maker.

The dialogue they have with the coast guard seems familiar to fans of the Lord of the Rings, because Beowulf was Tolkien’s model when he composed the dialogue between Aragorn and any of the Rohirrim who are meeting him. The guard answers Beowulf by stating a proverb that a good warrior must judge both words and deeds. Because they are stating a friendly intent, his men will guard their ship while he guides them to Hrothar’s hall.

The poem has been broken into parts counted in Roman numerals. Part I was about Scyld Sceafing, to set the stage. Part II introduces Hrothgar and Heorot, the grand mead hall he has built. We hear of Grendel, a monster descended from Cain, who hates the joy and fellowship of the hall. Part III begins the action. Link to antiquated but free version: here.

“When the sun was sunken, he set out to visit/The lofty hall-building, how the Ring-Danes had used it/For beds and benches when the banquet was over./Then he found there reposing many a noble /Asleep after supper; sorrow the heroes,/Misery knew not. The monster of evil/Greedy and cruel tarried but little,/He drags off thirty of them, and devours them/Fell and frantic, and forced from their slumbers/Thirty of thanemen; thence he departed/Leaping and laughing, his lair to return to,/With surfeit of slaughter sallying homeward.”

So many questions come to my mind, but the poem doesn’t answer them. How could he take thirty men without some of them waking up and fighting back? Or at least running away? How was this only discovered when the sun rose? Didn’t any of the men scream? The whole thing seems to play out silently, and yet later we read that his killing method (at least sometimes) meant sucking the blood out right there in the hall. He didn’t smother each one silently, then gather them all up to sneak out.

The next night, we read, he came back again. And after that, men were afraid to sleep in the hall, so they tried outbuildings. He picked them off one by one, easily. He can’t surely have taken 30 at once every night, unless Heorot had at least the population of Copenhagen, if not Shanghai. Because this went on for twelve years, or twelve winters. Was Heorot only their home in winter because the men spent time away in the summer? Maybe, but that wouldn’t help the race to survive if Grendel was wiling to eat women and children, which surely he was.

The Danes seem to have been helpless. Again, the modern mind boggles: couldn’t you build something, invent something? Couldn’t the men of the shield wall develop a way to defend? Did they really just go to sleep every night and wait? The poem doesn’t give more details, except that the Christian poet writing in Old English must remind us that this is history (or at least historical fiction) and happened before conversion:

“At the shrines of their idols often they promised/Gifts and offerings, earnestly prayed they/The devil from hell would help them to lighten/Their people’s oppression. Such practice they used then,/Hope of the heathen; hell they remembered/In innermost spirit, God they knew not,The true God they do not know./Judge of their actions, All-wielding Ruler,/No praise could they give the Guardian of Heaven,/The Wielder of Glory.”