Not Quite Beowulf

by Will Shand

  There was a pause while Thwurp considered this information. He was not keen on the phrase, ‘vital organs’, it made him feel vulnerable.

  ‘You are appropriately armed?’ Steelstrom inquired.

  ‘I am,’ replied Thwurp. ‘I have a Steelstrom ‘Ironman’ breastplate complete with triple forged steel and reinforced metal grease. I have a brand new Steelstrom ‘Technology’ Anti-Troll Axe and, as a backup, I have a Steelstrom ‘Sliver’ armour penetrating dagger. I have a Steelstrom ‘Invincible’ neck brace, Steelstrom ‘Giantkiller’ greaves and gauntlets and I have a full face Steelstrom ‘Steeltower’ helmet.’

  ‘I am,’ he continued with his confidence rising as his speech began to fit in with the marketing theme the old man had started, ‘ a fully armed, impregnable fighting machine. I am a super protected warrior capable of cheating death while destroying my enemies with my superior Steelstrom firepower. I am a ring of steel, an iron tower a man-made metal colossus!’

  ‘You’ll want to upgrade to the ‘Steeltower two helmet.’ Steelstrom interrupted. ‘There is no finer helm available in all King Lars’ lands. There has been significant reinforcement of the crown and tests have shown it significantly better in battle than the Steeltower one. It is far superior at withstanding crushing, scratching or penetrating and these are important qualities considering the situation. You will get no time to chop the monster up with your Steelstrom ‘Technology’ Anti-Troll Axe with your head ripped off.’

  ‘Thank you,’ gasped Thwurp, taking the proffered helmet that somehow seemed to have appeared in the old man’s hands.

  ‘That will be three hundred crowns.’

  ‘Can I pay on credit?’

  Steelstrom thought for a moment.

  ‘Considering where you are going? I think not. Cash in advance. But you get out there and smite that monster for King and Country. God is on your side. Your cause is just. We are counting on you. The very moral fabric of society is under threat. We must all stand together.’

  Thwurp was outgunned. He took the helmet, handed over his money and sadly set off for the guards’ quarters to raise his patrol.

  Steelstrom double checked the money and reflected that now would be a good time to put into production the highly expensive spiked breastplate that his engineers had been working on for a time when the ‘free world’ would need ‘real men’ to protect it.

  Chapter Five

  In which the Queen puts an important matter in motion, an old lady contemplates the past and the mighty ‘Battle for Troll Ridge’ is decisively fought! Regrettably, we also experience the disappointment of meeting Klug.

  The Queen was back in the counting house. This time, instead of Bjorn the banker she was attended by Puck the Pot Boy. Puck the Pot Boy adored the Queen. He knew that he was a scrawny six year old whelp from the kitchen and that she was a Daughter of the Duke of Jutland and the Queen of all of King Lars’ conquered lands. He knew that he was poor, weak and dirty, while she was rich, strong and beautiful; she was like a dark angel, gorgeous and terrible at the same time. It was almost too much for him to be in her presence, but whenever he could he sought her out and the Queen recognised, understood and exploited his devotion. He knew if he ever spoke of his adoration for the great and terrible Queen to the other pot boys he would be scorned and tormented beyond belief; however this only enhanced his adoration. He stood respectfully gazing up at her sharp featured beauty, oblivious to the voice of King Lars that was booming out in the hall below.

  ‘Men!’ a more attentive and less enamoured pot boy would have heard his sovereign exclaim, in something like the martial tones that inspired the troops at the now famous ‘Massacre at Malmo’,

  ‘Men of the Kingdom; men of the Great Kingdom of the Great King Lars the first, builder of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been; men who armed with Steelstrom Steel, know no fear. Men, whose enemies quake as the earth trembles at their very approach. Men, who can burn, pillage and kill as easily as breathing; the time has come for battle!’

  ‘Here on this land I raised up The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been as a glorious monument to my conquest, a towering edifice of indulgence created that all who look upon it shall know my majesty and magnanimity and be amazed. Here I invited my companions (of a certain level of wealth and social standing) to drink and dine with me until the end of the world, secure in our might of arms, our strength of purpose; our mighty greed that has carved out this Empire on the earth and has subjugated man, woman and beast to bear our burdens and bring the fruits of their labour to be devoured by us. Here I made my stand and planned to stand in peace consuming the fruits of the world as is my God-given right.’

  ‘But this peace has been taken! A brutish, cowardly subhuman enemy threatens to destroy this righteous way of life. A shadow falls upon our mighty doors and hangs hovering over the Beer Hall, where all should be serene. A dark and subversive, criminal creature; a creature that dwells in a swamp and gorges itself on the flesh of men has proclaimed its sinister intent to rip the bowels of our peace open and devour what lies within. This must not be!’

  ‘Men of the kingdom, as I am your King, I command you, as God surely intends, to go out beyond the walls of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been, seek out the beast in its’ lair and there smite it and all who dwell with it and all its descendants and relations. Burn its’ home, lay waste to all its’ dominion and with its’ head, proudly mounted on a pike as a token of your triumph return to me that I may reward you (in a manner befitting broadly to your station in life) that the feasting in my mighty hall may never cease from now until the end of the world. Men of the Kingdom of Lars, do your duty, go forth and slay the Beast!’

  The Queen listened to the loud lusty cheer of men who had briefly forgotten they were being sent out to die. She listened to the clatter of arms and armour as the guards banged and clattered their way out of the lower hall, she listened to the footsteps of King Lars moving away from the throne where he had addressed the guards and then; very quietly she beckoned to Puck the Pot Boy.

  ‘Puck,’ she whispered, ‘I have a message for you to take down to the harbour. Here, take this.’

  The Queen produced a long, cream coloured envelope, sealed with her maroon seal and wrapped with a shining maroon ribbon. She handed over the message and Puck the Pot Boy set off quickly for the harbour. The Queen stood for a while thinking and then went to check on the royal children.

  Grendel’s mother was fast asleep in a warm patch of sunlight, sheltered from the wind by a pile of rubble and weeds. She had been feeling better since Grendel had begun to bring home regular food and, as she felt her strength returning, she had become bored of sleeping in her small cave in the lake and she had decided to swim to the surface and enjoy the fine summer’s day.

  Earlier she had walked on the shores of the once beautiful lake and she was saddened by the pollution and destruction of the area. She remembered how as a younger troll she had fished on the banks and seen her reflection in the clear water. She remembered meeting Grendel’s father there, how they had laughed and swum in the cool water and basked on the clean, short grass that had grown beside the lake. She remembered teaching Grendel to fish; sitting in the shallows watching him as a child while he dived clumsily, with the fish leaping and jumping as they evaded his claws. For a moment the memories bought her peace and contentment, but this was a short-lived pleasure. As she surveyed the ravaged landscape and smelt the stench of the brewery runoff; she looked again at the waters that would never clear and the feeling hardened into a small black diamond of hatred and bitterness. Men had done this! Her anger had made her feel cold, tired and old and so she had found a place to sleep. She had curled up behind the pile of rubble and weeds and hoped that her sleep would be free of dreams.

  Thwurp’s men were tired and angry; it was much harder hunting trolls in the wasteland around the lake than it was guarding the Beer Hall. There were no proper paths or trails and the only landmark that was consistently in s
ight was the stinking lake. The lumpy and pitted landscape kept repeating and the sense of déjà vu was unnerving the fearless fighting men of King Lars. They had started out energised by his inspiring speech and had stealthily hunted through the rocks and shrubs, but after several hours their enthusiasm and adrenaline had begun to fade. The effort of carrying a significant weight of Steelstrom armour and weaponry was beginning to take a toll, and many of the men would have liked to lag behind; however no one wanted to be too far behind in the land of the trolls. As their energy lapsed, Thwurp’s authority eroded and the troop steadily ground to a halt. It was the noise of their argument that awakened Grendel’s Mother. Her secluded spot was at the head of a small ravine and it was here that some of the guards began to press Thwurp to return to the Beer Hall.

  ‘It’s starting to get dark.’

  ‘The troll isn’t here.’

  ‘I think the trolls live on the other side of the lake.’

  Thwurp had heard all these arguments before. He regarded it poor management to take proper notice of the views of his inferiors and so he persevered.

  ‘The other side of the lake is too far. If the troll lived there he couldn’t get to the Beer Hall and back. It is late afternoon and will not be dark for hours and the troll is certainly here…somewhere.’

  He stopped and surveyed the guards. An example was needed.

  ‘You!’ he pointed to a guard whose armour seemed a little more dented and shabby than the others. His shield was also beaten out of shape and Thwurp thought he would be the weakest target.

  ‘You there, scramble up that ridge and tell us what you can see!’

  Grendel’s Mother was now wide awake and worried. She was not afraid of the first guard, who was slowly dragging over to the foot of the slope, but knew that if she were seen by the others, she would not be able to make it back to the lake without being captured or killed. She pressed herself down behind the rock and tried to think of a plan.

  The guard, whose name was Klug, shuffled resentfully towards the edge of the ravine. He was, as Thwurp had noticed, one of the smaller, weaker guards. He was tired and hot and his Steelstrom ‘Thunderbolt’ crossbow (‘penetrates plate armour at up to one hundred paces!) was rubbing against his arm. He dropped it in the dirt and began to climb the slope, using his hands to pull himself up on the boulders and hummocks of coarse grass.

  ‘Halt!’ commanded Thwurp, ‘What are you going to do, if, when you get to the top of that slope the Big Nasty himself is waiting for you, soldier?’

  The other guards laughed half-heartedly, glad that someone else was the Captain’s target. Klug climbed reluctantly down the slope and picked up his crossbow.

  Grendel’s mother looked to see if she could slip unnoticed through the bushes away from the ravine. While Klug was picking up the crossbow she rolled onto her stomach and began to slither across the rocks. There were some scrubby bushes a short distance away. If he was very slow she thought that she might be able to reach them and hide. She began to edge along the ridge.

  ‘Go on, then. Get up there!’ ordered Thwurp.

  Klug was having difficulty trying to climb while holding the crossbow and made little progress as he slipped and slid each time he tried to climb. Thwurp began to lose his patience.

  ‘You are meant to be a soldier not a slider!’ he bellowed, ‘Soldiers can climb! Soldiers are not slow or weak!’

  Klug slipped and fell. Grendel’s mother felt confident that she would reach the bushes and began to crawl on all fours.

  ‘Any soldier, Any MAN in my command should be able to run up that hill. Any soldier who is not a weakling or a coward could do this. Get up that hill!’ Thwurp was steadily working himself up into a frenzy. He shook his fist at Klug, who rushed at the hill and tried to gain enough momentum to reach the top. He made it half way before he slipped. His heavy armour caused him to come crashing down to the derision of his colleagues and the wrath of Thwurp.

  Thwurp so furious that he was inspired to personal action, and, in an almost exact replication of the golden moment of his military career, when, as a much younger Thwurp, he had charged a group of bowmen on top of a rampart at the ‘Bloodbath at Bucharest’, he put his head down and rushed to the top of the ravine coming face to face, much to their mutual surprise, with Grendel’s Mother.

  ‘Troll!’ he screamed and reached for his Steelstrom ‘Technology’ Anti-Troll Axe.

  ‘Trespasser!’ shouted the old lady and pushed Thwurp firmly in the middle of his chest. Thwurp cannonballed down the slope landing with a stunning crash in the midst of his men.

  ‘Troll Ambush!’ shouted Klug, whose crossbow discharged involuntarily, narrowly missing the leg of the now prone and unconscious Thwurp.

  ‘Run!’

  The guards needed no second bidding and they ran, discarding weapons with a haste that would have delighted Steelstrom ( as he calculated the cost of each replacement) had he been there to watch.

  Grendel’s mother looked down with contempt at the group of running men and the large, armoured unconscious body of Thwurp lying in the ravine below. Feeling considerably younger and happier than she had in years; she slipped into the bushes and began to make her way home.

  Chapter Six

  In which Puck the Pot Boy betrays a trust with terrible, unforeseen consequences and the survivors of ‘The Battle for Troll Ridge’ formulate a plan they scarcely have the wit to conceive, let alone realise. We are very disappointed with Klug (despite having previously held no positive expectations of him at all!)

  Puck the Pot Boy was not where he was meant to be. After having handed over the Queen's message to the Captain of 'The Duke of Jutland' in the harbour, he should have returned at once to his duties in the kitchen. He had not. The reason for this unlikely defiance was that he had already committed what he thought of as a terrible crime, and he wanted some time to reflect on what it meant to have crossed that line. He had already walked twice around the harbour and had begun to attract the notice of the townspeople, who were clearly beginning to think that he was 'up to something.' He needed somewhere to hide and think about things and, as evening approached, he thought of a place and made his way to the old well that stood, outside of the town, at the crossroads where the roads to the harbour, lake and Beer Hall met.

  The old well was backed against a steep rock face that was overgrown with bushes and ferns. Puck knew that a few feet up the slope there was a small cave hidden in the ferns and that this was protected from the view of road users. No one used the well any more as it had run dry some years ago and he had always found it a safe place to hide. He scrambled up the slope and slipped out of sight and into the hollow of the cave.

  His problem was this; he had stolen the Queen's ribbon. This was the terrible crime that he had committed. He had not meant to. He knew in his heart that he was a loyal boy. In respect of the Queen he was a fiercely loyal boy. He was unable to see how temptation had overcome him. He had set off quickly for the harbour, with his heart full of the pure desire to deliver the Queen's message and return; however, as he went on his way, he had felt the ribbon begin to slip from the envelope. It had begun to work itself free from the wax seal that held it in place. By the time he had reached the harbour it was loose.

  He was not sure what to do. When he reached the quayside he had sat down on a barrel and tried to repair the damage. He had to be very careful, so as not to damage the wax seal, or make the letter dirty. He thought he had achieved his goal but, to his horror, the ribbon came off in his hand.

  At that moment the owner of the barrel had returned and chased Puck away. He had no choice but to put the ribbon in his pocket and run. After that, he had moved as if in a dream. He had handed over the letter without the ribbon and then began to wander. Now, in the safety of his hiding place, he lay down and pulled out the ribbon to guiltily examine it.

  It was soft and beautiful and as he touched it he was reminded of the soft and lovely skin of the almost magical Queen. His heart
beat faster and he was full of a strange, unknown emotion. He was afraid of discovery, but his love of the Queen overcame this and he boldly decided that he would keep the ribbon, close to his heart, forever. He also decided that it was too late to go back to the Beer Hall and that he would sleep overnight in the cave and slip back to the kitchens in the morning.

  Feeling very satisfied, he had begun to drift off to sleep when he heard the obvious commotion of a group of men trying to move quietly along the road. He was surprised to see the group of guards who had gone out with Thwurp that morning. He was even more surprised to see that they were led by Klug, whom he knew to be a cowardly weakling. He had been sure that Thwurp would follow the King’s command and bring back the head of the Troll (on a stick!) and he began to wonder what had happened.

  The men came to a halt at the crossroads, and he sat up ready to listen.

  ‘Hold it lads,’ said Klug, ‘We don’t want to go any further.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked one of the larger, stupider guards who was looking forward to being back in his bed in the barracks.

  ‘Why not?’ hissed Klug, ‘Why not? If we go back, we are dead men, that’s what we’ll be. Do you think the King wants us back with no Troll, no weapons and no Commander of the guard? Do you think he is going to say, “Welcome back lads, nice bit of running away that was. I feel real proud of the way you throws down your weapons and runs like rabbits. I’ll give you all a load of gold and a day off?” Is that what you think he is going to say to us? I don’t think so!’

  The guards thought about it. Although it was a slow process, and although it took them considerably longer than it had Puck the Pot Boy, they inevitably arrived at the same sorry conclusion; that was not what the King was going to say to them if they came back with no weapons, no commander and no troll’s head on a stick.