Beowulf's Return (Tales of Beowulf)

by Tim Hodkinson

  Close up he could see them better. He could also smell them. The air was thick with the stench of decay and putrefaction. Their armour was held together by rust and rotting leather and clogged with dirt. Their helmets and shield were old fashioned and made from similar decaying wood and leather. Some had faces that were little more than dry yellowed skin stretched taught over the skull bones beneath, others had skin like a normal man but it was a weird pale blue pallor. All had eyes that were wan and baleful, seeming to somehow reflect the silver moonlight.

  Angry that such abominations should not only exist, but had invaded the palace of the King of his homeland, Beowulf stepped forward, driving his great sword straight through the body of the nearest undead warrior. It smashed the rings of its rusty mail coat and skewered straight through the thing's chest with a dry, rasping sound. Beowulf felt like he had stabbed nothing more than a dry husk. The blow- one that would have been fatal to a living man-had little effect on the creature who swung its old sword in a counter attack. Beowulf stepped away from the blow, wrenching his sword out of the revenant and unleashing a backhand swipe that severed the creature's head from its shoulders.

  "Let's see how you get on with no head," he spat and the creature stumbled forwards then collapsed onto the ground. Beowulf immediately set to work on its companions, delivering a series of sword cuts that severed legs and disconnected heads all around him until he was surrounded by a pile of bodies and body parts.

  Through the gates more of the enemy came. Beowulf noticed among them were now were also men clad in new chainmail with wounds that still dripped bright crimson blood. Not only were the dreag killing Hygelac's warriors but the dead men were now coming back to life and joining their ranks. While the King's ranks diminished, those of the attackers swelled and he and his men were facing ever increasing odds.

  "Beowulf!"

  He heard his name being called and looked over his shoulder. Weohstan stood a little way off, the rest of Beowulf's warriors and some of the King's thanes gathered alongside him, formed into a shield wall.

  "We must fall back to the hall," Weohstan called over the top of his shield, as usual calling it as it was. "The rampart is overrun, the gate breached. We can't hold them here. We might have a chance in the hall."

  Beowulf shook his head. If the shield wall broke and they turned their back on the enemy slaughter would ensue.

  "I'll try to hold them," he shouted. "Get the King back to the hall and barricade the doors."

  Weohstan frowned but he knew better than to contradict his lord. As Beowulf prepared to renew his assault on the gate, the shield wall broke and the last of the King's men turned and began to run for the hall as their final defensive position.

  The gate butted away from the wall again and the huge black dog, evidently recovered from the crack Beowulf had given it, forced its way out. The creature stalked forwards, its long red tongue lolling out of its mouth and its breath visible in the cold night air. Two grey eyes fixed on Beowulf. The open gateway was filled with advancing undead warriors.

  Beowulf strode forward and launched an assault on the nearest of the enemies, cutting them down with devastating strokes that destroyed their bodies and smashed their bones, giving them no capability to rise again. He pushed his ways forwards, forcing the enemy back towards the gate by simply destroying them.

  A huge figure loomed beyond the gate. Through the entranceway stalked the giant walking corpse of Ecgtheow, Beowulf's father. Beowulf felt a moment of despair. His father had always been stronger than him, a greater warrior and more dexterous swordsman. Now on top of that he had risen from the dead. Could he really not only fight his own father, but hope to defeat him?

  He was aware of a vicious snarl and a movement out of the corner of his eye and knew the dog was coming at him. Beowulf braced his right leg behind him, dipped his left shoulder and couched his sword before him.

  The beast hit him, jaws wide and snapping towards his face. Its hot, evil-smelling breath washed over him provoking an involuntary gag. Beowulf thrust upwards with his sword but incredibly the beast twisted its body and the blade missed its mark. The dog clamped its teeth down over Beowulf's right shoulder. The rings of his mail shirt held, but he could not help gasping in pain at the immense pressure that the bite put on him. The creature pushed forwards, its own considerable weight and the controlling hold it had on him forcing him to drop to his knees.

  Desperately he tried to stab the creature but his arm was trapped under its chest. His sword was too long a weapon for such close quarters fighting anyway. He did not have room to swing it enough to cause serious damage.

  As the creature held him in a kneeling position the revenant of his father came stalking over, sword raised, knocking several of its own warriors out of the way as it did so. Beowulf looked for the first time into the wide, staring, baleful eyes like two full moons set in the undead man's face and knew that the creature may have the physical presence of his father and the basic remnants of his fighting prowess but any shred of his personality was gone. He could hope for no mercy from him. The dreag raised the sword high above its head. It was over.

  The dog suddenly gave a yelp and the pressure on Beowulf's shoulder disappeared. He had no idea what had happened but he took advantage and rolled away from the creature. As he did so he heard the swoop of his father's blade as it cleaved the air where he had just been, embedding itself with a dull thump into the frozen earth instead of his flesh.

  The dog was twisting its head, trying to reach around at something that protruded from its shoulder. To his surprise Beowulf saw that it was the hilt of a dagger.

  Standing a little way off was a figure in a dark hooded cloak, the same person he had seen creeping out of the Queen's chamber earlier. The person's hand was still open and this was evidently who had stabbed the dog. Where he or she had come from he could not tell.

  The person pulled down the hood of the cloak revealing the pale, very frightened but equally determined features of Hygd, Hygelac's Queen.

  Beowulf was astounded. The last person he would have expected to see in the middle of the battle was the Queen, and certainly not intervening on his behalf.

  "I was hiding at the edge of the gate," she said. "I could not leave you alone against these creatures."

  Beowulf had no time to respond as the walking corpse of his father raised his sword for another attack. Beowulf held his own blade above his head to counter. The blow that landed was stunning, its power driving the locked weapons down onto the crest of Beowulf's helmet and giving him a thump that made his ears ring.

  The corpse of Ecgtheow struck again, this time aiming a sideways blow designed to take Beowulf's head off. Beowulf countered, sword gripped in both hands. The jarring impact sent him staggering sideways, almost smashing the blade from his grasp. Beowulf retreated a step, desperate to gain a moment's respite. The power of his father's blows were incredible. He would not be able to withstand too many more.

  The great black dog had managed to get its jaws into the knife in its shoulder and wrench the weapon out. It began to advance on him once more and Beowulf realised he would have to fight both these creatures at once: an impossible prospect.

  "Run," he shouted to the Queen, who stood rooted to the spot beside him. "I was wrong about you, I am sorry. At least you can still get away."

  At that moment realisation dawned on him. As she was standing here with the dog, he knew now that the Queen was not the weaver of this evil magic. With a flash of inspiration he realised who was. He also knew that the advice he had given the Queen was also his own best chance of survival. He was strong, much stronger than normal men, but strong as he was he had never been able to match his father in that power. The same went for fighting prowess. However Beowulf's mother had been swift and foot and could run like the wind. This was something he had inherited from her. His father had never been able to match him at running. Even though he balked at the idea of running from a battle, he knew that if he did there was n
o way his father could catch him.

  The dog was another matter. It would be on him and bring him down before he got too far, then his father would come and finish him off. He had to do something about the creature.

  With a strange moan, his father swung his sword again. This time Beowulf sidestepped completely, turned a circle and jumped towards the dog. He flipped his sword over, seized its grip in both hands then drove it downward with all his power. The blade tore through the dog's right fore-paw and into the ground to the depth of half it's length, impaling the creature to the spot. As the beast let out an anguished howl Beowulf turned and sprinted away. As he passed the Queen he grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him.

  "Where are you going?" Hygd said, her voice filled with concern when she saw that they were not heading for the hall were the rest of the King's warriors had taken refuge.

  "The temple," Beowulf shouted, glancing over his shoulder to see the corpse of his father beginning to lumber after them, along with a band of undead warriors. The dog was still thrashing around with its paw skewered into the ground. "I thought you were behind all this," Beowulf continued. "But now I know who is."

  "I've been creeping out at night to try to find out myself what is going on," the Queen panted as they ran, headlong, towards the big wooden building with its triple spires. "Hygelac would never have let me out so I made up the story about the nightmares to explain why I was so tired in the mornings. I found nothing though."

  The arrived at the heavily carved large double doors of the temple of Frey. Beowulf booted the doors open and pulled the Queen after him inside.

  Quickly he closed and barred the doors behind them then looked around. The interior was silent and gloomy. Long shadows hung around the edge of the room and on the tiered benches that lined the room on three sides for worshippers to sit during ceremonies. The room was lit by a great fire pit that sat in the centre of the room, where like in all temples, a blaze called the eternal flame was kept perpetually lit. The altar of Frey stood beside the fire along with a towering, carved wooden statue of the Lord God. Beside that was a tall wooden pillar reaching up into the darkness of the ceiling.

  His heart sank as he saw that the building was empty.

  Behind them the door rattled as the undead creatures began battering against it. They were trapped inside with no weapons and surrounded by overwhelming odds.

  Beowulf looked around once more and realised that the pillar was not in the centre of the room, where it would have been if it held up the roof.

  "The pillar," he said to the Queen, whose look of bewilderment showed him she had no idea what he was talking about. "It's not really a pillar: It's a seithr post. There will be a platform at the top for a witch to sit on and cast spells."

  Without further explanation Beowulf charged across the floor of the temple and threw all his weight against the tree-trunk like pillar of wood. It swayed a little but no more. He turned and placed his back against it, bracing his legs before him and heaving with all his might backwards. This time the pillar moved further, tilting into an angle accompanied by the sound of cracking and splintering wood.

  A similar sound came from the doorway and the Queen turned to see the undead attackers smashing their way in, their swords and axes breaking the doors to pieces. A huge foot smashed the remnants of the door frame in then the lumbering corpse of Beowulf's father lurched through the smashed portal. The huge black dog, its tongue lolling and torn, bleeding fore paw held before it, limped in after him. The Queen gave an involuntary cry of fear and horror.

  Beowulf turned again, put his shoulder against the pillar and pushed with every last reserve of strength he had. Sweat coated his face and stung his eyes as he gasped for breath, veins protruding on his forehead.

  There was a loud splintering crack and the pillar toppled over. As it crashed to the ground a startled cry came from the top of it as from someone rudely awakened from sleep. As it fell into the firelight, a square platform on the top of the pillar came into view.

  It smashed down into the tiered benches and Beowulf ran along the length of the pillar to reach the top. A dishevelled figure in white robes tumbled off the platform at the top of the pillar and fell into the benches with a cry of pain. The man rolled up onto his feet, a look of confusion and anguish on his face, cradling his right arm in his left. There was no visible sign of a wound, but he held it as though it was injured.

  It was Ingeld the priest of Frey.

  Beowulf was on him in an instant. He grabbed the man by the throat and trailed him up. Ingeld's eyes widened and he tried to speak but Beowulf had no time to argue. He grasped the man's neck in both hands and squeezed with everything that was left of his enormous might. Ingeld's neck bones popped then cracked, his face constricted in a silent rictus of agony as his throat and windpipe were mashed to pulp by Beowulf's massive grip.

  The Queen blinked, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her or not. One moment the huge shaggy dog had been limping into the temple and the next it simply was not there. It had vanished like a flame being blown out by the wind. The huge corpse of Egctheow gave a gasp, dropped to its knees, then collapsed face forwards onto the ground. The other undead warriors who crowded through the broken door also tumbled into heaps of bones and rusting armour, some giving off great clouds of grey dust as they hit the ground.

  Beowulf let go of the priest whose still-warm corpse, its neck broken and ruined, slithered onto the floor like a half full sack of grain.

  "I think we can safely say his spell is broken," Beowulf said.

  Part 5

  The cold grey light of dawn gave a perspective to the damage that had been done to Hygelac's Royal burgh. The settlement outside the rampart was devastated. Nearly a quarter of its buildings had been burned. Some still smouldered, sending clouds of smoke up into the chilly morning sky. Dead bodies littered the ground. The gate of the breached rampart remained open and the enclosure within was scattered with the now inanimate corpses of the attackers beside those of the King's thanes who had died defending it. The hall remained un-breached.

  "They hit us hard. They have done much damage," Hygelac said. He stood with Beowulf, Weohstan and the Queen on the rampart, taking stock of the carnage.

  "Yes, but who were 'they'?" Weohstan sighed, pulling his helmet off to unleash a tangle sweat matted bond hair. The fighting had finished some time before but only now were men beginning to relax.

  "I believe my kinsmen were behind this," the Queen said quietly. "The Wulfings."

  "Why do you say that?" Hygelac asked, his eyes hard and questioning.

  "The dog," Hygd said. "It is dark seithr, evil magic of my people. An adept witch can project their spirit from their body when they sleep. It can take the form of a wolf of big dog and roam abroad causing harm. Ingeld must have been very advanced in the lore of the Wulfings."

  "I was a fool to trust him," Hygelac shook his head. "But he was born of our people and served for years in the great temple of Frey in Gotaland. He had the personal backing of Dag, the former chief priest of Frey."

  "Do not blame yourself," Hygd said. "Dissembling is the chief virtue of an adept of the God Woden. He fooled everyone."

  "He was a dissembler, alright," Beowulf said. "Ingeld made that phantom dog appear in your chamber, my Lady, so as to put suspicion on you."

  "Lucky for me no one fell for his evil plan," the Queen responded with a hint of a smile.

  Beowulf blushed and looked down. "I apologise for my earlier suspicions," he said. "Somehow the Wulfings must have converted Ingeld to their faith, then used him to weaken our kingdom so they can attack us and finish us when they want to." Beowulf said. "They probably offered him wealth or power."

  "More likely access to forbidden knowledge," Hygd said. "For a man like Ingeld, that is more valuable than gold. He learnt the darkest secrets of my people."

  "Where does this leave you, my Lady?" Beowulf asked.

  "I forsake the Wulfings," Hygd said through gritte
d teeth. "Since coming here I have seen the true virtues of the Geats and that the peace of Frey is better than the war of Woden."

  "What was that weird column Ingeld was up on anyway?" Weohstan asked.

  "It was a seithr post," Beowulf said. "It's a pole with a platform at the top used in magic. The witch climbs to the top and lies on the platform. He or she then goes into a trance and the magic flows from there. Ingeld's also had the added advantage of hiding him from view up in the rafters of the temple."

  "We must bury our dead and prepare for whatever is coming next from the Wulfings," Hygelac said. "Beowulf I am sorry you have lost your father, my brother, for a second time. We will bury all the bodies with honour, even those of the dreag. They were our kin. Once they fought bravely for us. We shall bury them back in the grave mounds they should have been allowed to rest in."

  All nodded their agreement.

  Hygelac turned and looked Beowulf and Weohstan directly in the eye. "You realise, of course, that this means war?" he said.

  Beowulf returned his gaze and nodded again. He looked to the east where the land of the Wulfings lay.

  "Good," he said.

  END