Gods of War

by C. R. May

Slipping wearily from the saddle, Beowulf secured the horse to a nearby tree and approached the camp of the stranger.

  “My name is Beowulf. I am the son of the ealdorman, Ecgtheow,” he announced. “I ask for your hospitality for this night.”

  “I offer it gladly,” replied the man. “I have travelled far and wide and have been known by many names, some men call me Hrani. I trade in curious things and gather knowledge. You look as if you may have a tale to tell, I should be interested to hear it.”

  Hrani gestured to a place next to the fire and Beowulf gratefully took it. Even the hard earth was an improvement over a precarious branch.

  “Have you eaten, Beowulf Ecgtheowson? I have already, but there is plenty of food left in the pot for guests.”

  Hrani produced a bowl from the pack lying at his side, ladling in a meaty stew from the smoke-blackened pot nestling at the edge of the fire. Beowulf thanked him and wolfed the broth down, feeling the warmth and renewed energy coursing through his body. When he had eaten his fill, Beowulf sat back and regarded his host for the first time.

  Hrani sat with his back to the wizened trunk of what, the boy decided, must be the oldest tree in the forest. A cloak of the finest wool was gathered at his neck and a wide brimmed hat typical of the well travelled was pulled low, casting his features into deep shadow. Although he could not see the man's face clearly, Beowulf sensed an amused and keen intelligence in his companion.

  “So what brings the son of an ealdorman out on a night like this? Travelling alone through the domain of wolves and trolls; where are your hearth companions, Beowulf?”

  “They are... nearby,” Beowulf replied cautiously, suddenly aware of his vulnerability. If the man really was a wulfes-heafod, a wolf-head, an outlaw, he would give a good account of himself before he fell, despite his weariness.

  Hrani chuckled, and Beowulf had the uncomfortable feeling that the man could read his thoughts. Laughter danced across the older man's features as he indicated the leather sack containing the chicks.

  “You will need to feed them soon if they are to survive. Even eagles enjoy Hrani’s stew.”

  Beowulf gaped in surprise. “So, you saw me?”

  Hrani remained silent and took a sip from his cup as he studied the boy closely. Beowulf shifted uncomfortably as the mood in the clearing subtly changed. As if in response, the sounds of the night seemed to diminish and the shadows crept closer.

  “I see many things Beowulf, sometimes I am lucky and I see something special, maybe a boy with the potential for greatness.” He gave a small shrug. “Those days are all too rare, but when they do come along it makes my journeying through the lands of Middle-earth all the more rewarding.”

  The air felt heavy, cloying, and Beowulf blinked in surprise as a coterie of mice scampered from the long grass and disappeared inside his host's shirt. His lids felt heavy, and Beowulf dimly came to realise that he had been hexed. He cast an anxious look at the bowl of food and saw Hrani follow his gaze with undisguised amusement, but gentle laughter rolled from the man and the spell was instantly broken. Hrani continued brightly as if nothing untoward had occurred. “But I also recognise the sound that a hungry chick makes, and yours are very hungry!”

  Unnerved but excited in equal measure, Beowulf retrieved the pack from the horse and returned to the fireside. He had met several wizards and cunning women before, but none had come close to matching Hrani's aura of wisdom and power. Unfastening it, he withdrew the larger of the chicks and bound its legs tightly with the resinous material before removing the binding to its beak. The chick began to tear hungrily at the meat as Beowulf tended to its sibling. Hrani watched the birds as they ate.

  “The smaller of the two looks like it has been roughly handled. May I look at it? Some consider me to have certain skills where injured creatures are concerned.”

  Beowulf hesitated for a moment before handing over the chick but decided that the man could easily kill him and take them both if he had a mind. In reality he had little choice. Hrani purred softly as he examined the eaglet.

  “Beautiful! I have watched the Goths use these birds to hunt and kill wolves, even drive off bears.”

  As he spoke he slowly ran his hands over the body of the chick which had become still and calm, almost as if it were entranced. Returning the bird, Hrani watched as Beowulf fed and returned them to the bag for the night. Hrani filled a cup and handed it to his guest.

  “It is wine. I hope that you like it. It is not so easy to find in the North but I always try to obtain enough to last me when I am in the warmer lands to the South.”

  Beowulf took the cup and drank deeply. In truth he preferred the honest taste of good ale to wine, ‘a drink for Francs and women’ his father had once told him, but he was thirsty and he did not wish to offend his host. Hrani waited until he had drained the cup and, reaching forward, refilled it to the brim.

  “So,” he continued, “tell me how a young man comes to be travelling alone at night carrying two eagle chicks, and I will consider it a handsome payment for the use of my food and fire.”

  Beowulf recounted the story of his raid and the planning which had gone into it as Hrani sat back and sipped his wine. The older man nodded at the conclusion and seemed impressed.

  “That is a tale fit to grace any hall, Beowulf. Are you Woden born?”

  “My mother’s father is King Hrethel of the Geats, so yes, the Allfather's blood flows in me, but I fear that I am not living up to the hopes of my own father.” Beowulf smiled thinly and looked into his cup. “I am his only son and I know that I am a disappointment to him.”

  Hrani snorted and shook his head.

  “All sons feel that way at some time my friend. We have a night ahead of us and I sense the potential for greatness in you. Let us talk and I will see if I can share some of my wisdom with you. Ask away, for no better burden can a man carry on his journey through life than a store of common sense. Believe me,” he chuckled, “it can be worth more than a bag of gold in a strange and unfamiliar place.”

  Beowulf looked up.

  “How can I prove my worth to my father and my kin? That is my dearest wish Hrani.”

  Hrani snorted again.

  “That is easy little one. Be true to yourself Beowulf, you have no need to prove anything. It would be no true father who said only pleasant things. Ecgtheow may seem aloof but he has many worries and responsibilities. He protects you from the troubles of the world until you are old enough to fend for yourself. It is what fathers are meant to do, and if you were honest with yourself you would not want it any other way.”

  The fire flared suddenly as Hrani pushed a branch with his foot, releasing a cloud of sparks which curled lazily upwards. Settling back he sniffed and continued.

  “I will give you good advice on how to live your life, advice you would be wise to heed. Remember Beowulf, generous and brave men live best but a cowardly man is afraid of everything. Be thoughtful and cheerful, brave at the clash of shields. The foolish man thinks that he will live forever if he keeps away from the fighting, but death will still seek him out just the same.” Hrani leaned close, and Beowulf was startled to see that one of his eye sockets was withered and empty. The old man fixed him with his remaining eye and the boy trembled under the intensity of his gaze. “Mark these words above all Beowulf. They are the most important that you will ever hear. All things eventually die and pass from this world, but glory and reputation never die for the man who is able to achieve it in his lifetime.”

  Hrani entertained Beowulf long into the night with tales of the gods, how they had tricked the wolf Fenrir and left him bound and gagged where he lies in wait for the chaos at the end of the world. Tales of the gods Tiwaz and Thunor, of the eorthan modor Nerthus, and of how he should use their teachings as a guide to live his own life.

  As the night drew on Beowulf sat entranced as Hrani regaled him with tales of honour and wisdom.

  “You have been a noble and generous host and I have been found wanting
in my payment to you,” Beowulf declared after Hrani had talked long into the night.

  Rising to his feet he made his way across to where the bag containing the eagle chicks had been placed near the fire for warmth. Reaching inside he removed the larger of the chicks and held it towards his host.

  “Hrani, I should like to make a gift to you of this eagle, in gratitude for the hospitality and advice which you have given me.”

  Hrani’s face beamed with pleasure at the gesture.

  “It is a noble gift and worthy of your character. I accept it, gladly.”

  Hrani produced a coarsely woven bag from inside his cloak and placed the chick inside. Beowulf watched as the older man hesitated. He was clearly thinking deeply on a matter of some importance to him. Finally he seemed to have reached his decision and he turned back.

  “There is one more thing I wish to do for you, Beowulf Ecgtheowson.”

  Picking up the staff which lay at his side, Hrani broke a short piece from it and handed it across to him.

  “Keep this on you at all times and it will help to keep you from harm. Look on it as a loan. One day we will meet again and you can return it to me.” He nodded towards a cleared space beside the fire. “Now you must sleep Beowulf. You have had a tumultuous day and I have kept you up far too late. Tomorrow you have a long ride ahead of you if you are to regain your father’s hall before sunset, and you will need to make an early start.”

  Hrani moved back against the tree as Beowulf rested his head, the old traveller merging with the shadows as sleep finally reached out and claimed the boy.

  * * *

  Beowulf awoke as the first rays of the sun splashed pink on the eastern horizon. It had been a cold night and a hoar frost had dusted the ground around him and painted the branches of the trees a milky white. Casting about, he was unsurprised to find that his host had already departed and he was once more alone.

  Struggling from the folds of his cloak, Beowulf stretched and rubbed his muscles in an attempt to instil some warmth into them. His foot brushed gently against something and, glancing down, he noticed a supply of raw meat and food had been left for him. Beowulf chewed on a piece of meat, softening it, before removing it from his mouth and feeding the chick. The eaglet hungrily bolted down the offering and called for more as Beowulf held him close.

  The chick seemed far more comfortable being held today. Svip had said that golden eagles were trainable but Beowulf had been sceptical, especially when the falconer had been forced to admit that he had never seen a tame example himself and he had, he claimed, travelled through many lands in the North plying his trade.

  Keen to put as many miles between the eyrie and his prize as soon as possible, Beowulf doused the fire and secured the bag to his saddle horn before untying the gelding’s forelocks and leaving the site of his strange encounter.

  Riding south along the track, Beowulf was able to reflect on the events of the previous night. Hrani had said more to him in a few hours than any adult had ever taken the time to say before. The boy had felt for the first time that he had been part of a conversation and not the subject of a lecture.

  He passed the time by attempting to recall the main lessons he had been taught, ‘a framework for a good life’, Hrani had called them.

  He decided to try and list the main points before they passed from his memory and fortunately, despite the number of tales which Hrani had used to illustrate each piece of advice, they seemed to fall quite neatly into a list of dos and don'ts.

  Beowulf closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the morning sun and the rhythmic movement of his horse to relax his mind, and he amused himself as the words returned like swallows in the spring.

  Use the years you have been given wisely. Obviously…

  Build a reputation before age or death brings you low. Definitely!

  Be generous and cheerful in all your dealings. Maybe…

  Make and keep good friends. Yes…

  Honour and protect your kin. Always…

  Never drink to excess or be a glutton. Hmm…

  Don’t amass wealth for its own sake. Never…

  Or trust the words of a woman...

  A shout interrupted his thoughts. Beowulf quickly scanned the tree line and was relieved to find Bjalki, one of his father’s shield men riding towards him.

  Bjalki called out cheerfully as he drew closer.

  “I wouldn’t like to be you boy. Not when we get back!”

  Grinning, Bjalki’s features radiated warmth and good humour, and Beowulf could not help but return the smile as he fell in beside him. He was glad that Bjalki had been the first to find him and couldn’t help but think that Hrani would have approved of the jovial warrior.

  “Where have you been? Your mother thinks that a troll has taken you and your father’s getting ready to ride out against the Wuffingas to rescue you!”

  Bjalki reached across and tousled his hair affectionately.

  “What’s in the bag, little man?”

  “An eagle, big man.”

  Bjalki laughed at the retort, and Beowulf’s heart leapt at the sound. It was as warm and homely as his father’s hearth or his mother’s spindle, and the boy shot the big man a grin as he replied. “You’ll see.”

  See SORROW HILL on Amazon

  Also by C.R.May

  WRÆCCA

  MONSTERS

  DAYRAVEN

  TERROR GALLICUS

  NEMESIS

  FIRE & STEEL

  About the Author

  Born in London and raised in Essex, Cliff May now lives with his family near the coast of Suffolk, East Anglia.

  Discover more about myself and my work at:

  @cliffordrmay

  671558369524813

  www.cliffordmay.com