The crowd and the King were staggered. They had not foreseen this possibility at all, but they could not muster a logical objection. Swiftly Beowulf moved on.
‘Kneel, troll, and accept your new king.’
Grendel’s Mother had missed all of this. The route through the forest to the lake side was long and winding and she had been recently injured. She was soon out of breath and had to cease running and instead walk as swiftly as she could. She had passed the lake and the village, but still had a considerable way to go through the woods until she reached the lake side. What further hampered her was that the fires that had been started in the morning were still burning and at times she had to leave the path and scramble around plumes of smoke and flame. The smoke was also hindering her breathing. She feared that she would not get to the shore in time.
Much to his surprise, King Lars had accepted Grendel the Troll as his subject and granted him the right to live in the cave beneath the lake in return for fealty and obedience to the King and the laws of the realm. He had acknowledged Grendel as his subject. The crowd had not been keen to accept this, but none of them were prepared to challenge Beowulf in argument and so Grendel’s assimilation had occurred unopposed.
Beowulf thanked the King, Grendel and the crowd.
‘And now I think we should all go home,’ he said. The crowd were reluctant to leave, but some started to move off while Beowulf merely stood on the platform. No further entertainment seemed available.
‘You too,’ he said to Grendel.
Grendel was in a state of shock, he had faced his tormentors and they seemed to have forgiven him, or if not, they had accepted him. He was overwhelmed.
‘Thank you.’ He said to Beowulf, who smiled.
As Grendel turned towards the lake to begin his walk home, Beowulf swiftly slipped his hand under the seat where he had been sitting and produced a long steel knife. He jumped high into the air and firmly drove the knife into Grendel’s back, twisting it so that it slid through his ribs and pierced his heart.
Grendel fell instantly to the floor with blood gushing from the wound. Roscow stepped forward, as if he had been expecting this event and handed Beowulf an axe. Beowulf walked up to the fallen troll and hacked of the troll’s arm. When he had achieved this; he took the arm and began to beat the fallen body of the Troll, shouting and cursing as he battered the already lifeless creature.
The crowd stopped and watched in shock and horror, both at the twist in events, and in the savage brutality of Beowulf. Eventually Beowulf’s frenzy abated and he threw down the arm and kicked the body. Then, still entirely naked, yet covered in the Troll’s blood, he turned to the King. He grinned, and said,
‘Now that is what I call a surprise attack!’
Chapter Twenty
In which a bereft mother finds an unlikely friend, a feast ends with a twist and a close escape is not quite the blessing it appeared to be.
Klug was sat in one of the chairs on the platform by the lake. He was looking at the body of Grendel with terrible care and sympathy. It was as if he was looking at the remains of his own stupid, torn up, wasted life. Everyone else had gone. When the crowd had recovered from the shock of Beowulf’s onslaught they had cheered; at first half heartedly, for, in truth, many of the people were ashamed; but the cheering had increased as the crowd sensed that it would feel better if it could recapture the mood of the morning.
The King had declared Beowulf a hero, with a brief speech in which he praised the hero for his cunning, bravery and loyalty. He had then suggested that perhaps the hero of the hour should get dressed before an audience with the King. The laughter around this had made the crowd feel better and so Beowulf had dived in the lake, to wash of the blood, and then had modestly retired to the covered wagon to get dressed. The Royal party and the soldiers had then set off to return to the beer hall and the villagers had also set of to walk home.
Only Klug had stayed, and he could not say why. As he had listened to the dialogue between Beowulf and the troll he had been amazed at Beowulf’s skill to get the troll to reveal his thoughts and feelings. Listening to the troll had somehow reopened his own feelings. Klug was wracked with guilt. He had not intended to kill the boy; he was a bad man, he was sure of this; and worse, he was a little proud of this badness. He liked to be a bit cleverer than his fellow men and to use this to his advantage. He was not above lying and stealing; and he had always thought that a little bullying was good for the soul. He was happy to be a bit of a rogue, but he had never meant to be a murderer; somehow the dead body of Grendel made it terribly clear: there was no way back.
He was also alarmed at how evil Beowulf was. He could understand that a man might trick a troll in order to kill it and win favour with a King. That was what men did; but it was how the troll was tricked that appalled him. It was the way that goodness, kindness and truth had been used to bring about evil that most shocked Klug. He was also ashamed that he had helped Beowulf and was fearful about what this would mean for him. He suspected that Beowulf’s accomplices might not outlive their usefulness. So he had sat there thinking as the evening stretched out into the night. He was unmoved by the darkness and indifferent to the rain that had begun to fall and that was why he was there when Grendel’s mother finally reached the body of her son.
She staggered to the lake side area, already overcome with weariness, anxiety and pain. She had not recovered from the fall she had endured in her escape from the village; and the miles down the hill and through the forest had been too far for her to go. She had feared that she was too late, and then, when she had seen the people returning to the village, she had known it. Even before reaching her son’s body her grief had begun and now that she saw him; it was too much to bear. She fell onto her knees and then crawled to the platform and lay next to him groaning and crying as the rain fell onto the wooden boards.
Klug sat silently and watched.
Also sitting silently was the Queen. She was pretending to be bored with the feast; which was at least half the truth. She was bored by feasts; men shouting, drinking and boasting to impress other men. This time she was merely pretending to conceal the excitement she felt at knowing how it would end. The plan, Beowulf’s plan, required her boredom and low spiritedness. She was meant to find a reason to leave the hall early. For once, it was hard for her not be excited to be sat at her husband’s side as he made yet another speech. She was sure that if she listened it would help her feign the boredom and tiredness she required.
‘And then the mighty Beowulf grabbed the beast from behind. He hit it in the back with a fist as strong as a hammer and stunned the creature! It rolled onto its back, striking at him with its claws and talons and I feared our heroic friend had tackled his last monster, but then, but then…he gripped it by the arm and said, “You will trouble King Lars no more!” Then he ripped its arm off and beat it to death with its own arm! Ah! That made me laugh! Reminded me of a fight I had when I was younger... but enough of me! Let us toast the mighty Beowulf!’
Another toast was drunk. The King and Beowulf were recounting the day’s tale to Gnosser, so that he could accurately include it in his history. To be precise, the King was recounting the story to Gnosser and Beowulf was listening impassively. Thwurp and Roscow were to one side of the main table discussing weapons. The Beer Hall was full of the soldiers of Lars who were cheerfully drinking the health of their mighty King, who had at last overcome his sinister enemy and they drank to the health of the great hero Beowulf, who had gone in naked to the troll, bought it back and killed it. They were in great spirits and putting a substantial dent in the Beer Hall’s reserves of its favourite product.
Beowulf had left his guards outside.
Also noticeably absent from the feast was Bjorn the banker, who was unwell. ‘Not surprising!’ the King had observed contemptuously, ‘These indoor types get sick at the first sign of action. Run a mile if blood is shed!’
Also missing was Steelstrom. Apparently the old man had fallen
earlier in the day and had been ordered to rest. The King confided in Beowulf, who was his new friend, that he wouldn’t greatly miss the old man as he had Beowulf, who was his new friend; and the old man wasn’t really up to a good night’s drinking any more.
‘Really?’ enquired Beowulf in response to this. He had smiled at the King and sipped his water.
Now, at the end of the King’s toast to him Beowulf thanked the King and then quietly said,
‘I think the Queen looks tired. Perhaps she should retire and then the men could really talk.’
‘Yes! Yes!’ shouted the King, ‘Away with the woman; time for the men to talk and drink!’
As the Queen left the hall, she caught Beowulf’s eye. His smile said that it was all going to plan. She hurried down the hallway to the Royal chamber.
Klug was still watching the grieving mother. The weight of his guilt threatened to crush him, and each desolate cry she uttered was like a knife stabbing into his own heart. Finally he could bear it no more; Klug began to cry, noisily and obviously. Grendel’s Mother sat up and stared at him; noticing him for the first time. She looked at him in confusion, wondering why a lone human was here, apparently grieving for her son.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Was all that Klug could say.
Grendel’s Mother looked at him again; she shook her head in disbelief.
‘You did not do this thing to him,’ she said,
‘I can see that you grieve too, but
Why I cannot say. What was he
To you that you should be with me
In mourning him. He was my son.
Tell me, I do not understand.’
Klug was unable to reply. He kept sobbing and repeating that he was sorry. Eventually Grendel’s Mother got up. She walked over to where he sat and crouched next to him. She put a hand on his hand.
‘It was not right,’ said Klug, ‘The man, Beowulf, the one that killed your son. He tricked him. He pretended to make all the people understand what had happened, and then he did. The people would have forgiven him and then he just killed him. For no reason.’
They both sat in silence for a time. There was no comfort for either. Grendel’s Mother remembered her dream.
‘I must find a way to stop them,’ she said, ‘but I do not know how. I would get in their hall and kill them, but I do not think I would get past the guards.’
Klug replied,
‘There is a cellar where the beer comes in. You can get in the cellar if you can get into the yard. The yard key is the same as all the grounds keys.’
He knew this from his work for Beowulf and the Queen. He no longer had a key or he would have offered it to her.
‘My son had a key; he put it on a chain around his neck. He used it to get in and out.’
She went and searched his body. She showed Klug the key.
‘Show me the way,’ she said, ‘And whatever you did will be forgiven.
They started up the path to the Beer Hall.
Bjorn was tired of hiding in the cupboard. He had hidden there for the whole afternoon. Rosamunde had gone out as soon as he was hidden so he had no chance to talk to her. He had nearly given himself away when the King returned. When he heard the door open, he had assumed that it was Rosamunde returning and he was ready to greet her. Then he heard the King speak to one of his servants. For the next hour the King had been in the chambers and Bjorn had wondered if this was his opportunity; but the servants were going in and out continually as the King readied himself for the banquet.
Bjorn learned that Beowulf had killed the Troll when the Queen returned,
‘Devil of a fellow that Beowulf,’ the King told her, ‘dived into the lake, bought the beast out. Made it talk to us, made it almost seem human and the, when we all thought he was going to let it go; he let it have it! It was a good idea of ours to summon him. I wouldn’t fancy trying to get the better of him.’
The Queen had remained silent in response to this. Bjorn assumed that she was getting ready for the feast.
‘Come over here,’ said the King, ‘I think there is time before dinner.’
Bjorn gripped his knife. He did not care what the plan was. If the King was going to touch Rosamunde while he was there, then he would kill him now.
‘Nonsense,’ replied the Queen, the servants are ready to lead us in. Bjorn had breathed more easily and the King and Queen had gone out to the banquet.
Now in his cupboard he heard the door move again. It was time.
‘Bjorn?’
It was the Queen, his Rosamunde. He stepped out.
‘Quick. He will be here within the next hour. He will be drunk and afraid. When he comes in he will go to bar the door. I will sit here by the fireplace and you will hide behind that curtain. When he goes to bar the door you will be able to stab him in the back. It is time to get ready.’
Back in the Beer Hall, the King was boasting to Beowulf.
‘I nearly killed a troll once, you know. I had just won the battle of Bo Marché and we had the other army on the run. Anyway, we were going through some woods and as we went along this troll jumped out at us; bigger than your fellow. He was just a mass of teeth and claws. I think he was trying to eat the horse!’
‘Well, clearly I needed the horse more than he did, so I swung my axe and hit him. It should have taken his head clean off, but the axe twisted on the way through and so it hit him with the flat. Before I could swing again he’d run off into the trees howling, and there didn’t seem much point in following and so I let him go. You must be very pleased!’
‘I am.’ Replied Beowulf absentmindedly, he was looking over the King’s shoulder at the door that lead to the armoury.
Thwurp and Roscow had gone to the armoury to compare weapons, this being one of Thwurp’s favourite pastimes.
‘You haven’t forgotten zhe key?’ laughed Roscow drunkenly, ‘Ve need all zhe veapons this night!’
‘Of course not,’ laughed Thwurp drunkenly, ‘I always have the key; that’s why I’m the Captain of the guard. What shall we start with; the clubs?’
‘Zhat would be ideal,’ agreed Roscow happily, ‘I think I love zhe clubs best of all!’
Thwurp produced the key and they went into the armoury. They stopped at the rack of clubs. Roscow picked up a reinforced extra heavy club.
‘Do you remember our conversation of zhe previous night?’ he inquired politely.
‘No,’ laughed Thwurp, carelessly turning to look for a shield, ‘I drank too much!’
‘Zhat is good!’ Roscow agreed, happily bringing down the club on the back of Thwurp’s head.
‘Now I control all zhe weapons in zhe Beer Hall! Von’t the King be pleased vith zhis?’
He pocketed Thwurp’s key and went to signal Beowulf.
Klug and Grendel’s mother had reached the outer compound of the Beer Hall. No guards had been posted in celebration of the death of the monster.
‘This makes things very easy,’ observed Klug as they walked into the courtyard. He could see that there were guards on the doors of the Beer Hall, but they were not the regular guards who served the King. Peering through the gloom, Klug determined they were the very serious guards who had come with Beowulf. He had his first premonition that helping the troll might not be a very safe thing to do. Ruthlessly he shoved this thought aside. In his mind you were for or against something and it seemed that he was against Beowulf. The thought made him shiver, but he said,
‘The stables are this way. I think the way will be clear and we will be able to use the key to get into the beer cellar.’
They crept around the building and found the trap door that led into the cellar. As they stopped to listen against the door they could hear singing coming from the Beer Cellar.
‘I think they are drunk in there,’ said Klug, ‘If you wait here, I will go and check.’
Lars was now very drunk.
‘It’s a great life being a King,’ he was confiding to an obviously bored Beowulf, ‘You get to
rule everything and tell everyone what to do; but it isn’t easy. People think it would be easy, but it isn’t. You have all that ruling and judging and ordering about; and the responsibility. It isn’t easy holding all that. You have to think about everything and that isn’t easy, let me tell you! Its much easier being a General or a hero, you just get on and do it and no one ever bothers you, but when you’re a King, then everybody bothers you. “What do we do about this?” or “What shall we do about that?” It never stops! Endless pressure!’
At that point Beowulf saw Roscow re-enter the room. He held up a hand and made the motion of turning a key. Beowulf smiled, he relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands gently on the table before turning to look Lars directly in the face. Very quietly he spoke,
‘I think that you are a terrible King, a pathetic sad man and a blister on the face of the earth. You are a blemish, an error, a worthless, blustering boastful bag of shit and wind. I think you are a cowardly, stinking dog and I would happily gut you in front of all your guards.’
He smiled at the King. Lars was too drunk to immediately process the threat.
‘What?’
‘Clearly you are deaf, as well as stupid and drunk. I also quite like the words “diseased” and “rotten”; “putrid” will also serve, as will “festering” and “fetid.”’
Again he grinned at the King,
‘Look in my hand’ he ordered and when Lars looked he saw that Beowulf had a short, stabbing knife.
‘I’m going to enjoy this, very much.’ He said warmly, but surprisingly he paused.
Lars no longer had quite the reflexes that he had when he was an active warrior, yet something in his body remembered. He threw himself off his chair and was surprised to find himself still unharmed. He crawled as rapidly as he could manage along the beer hall floor towards the door that led to the Royal Chambers. He saw that it was guarded by two of Beowulf’s men and he thought that his situation was quite helpless. But then one of them opened the door and the other stood aside. Lars pulled himself to his feet and ran from the hall, not wishing to squander his opportunity. As he ran from the hall Beowulf stood up and said to the assembly,