by Will Shand
Down in the well. I found him. Look!’
Gently she laid the body on the ground in front of her. The villagers looked and saw the body. Some of the villagers began to mutter and their grip on their weapons tightened. The noise rose to an angry buzz.
‘Why have you bought it here?’ asked the first speaker. He was an old man and remembered the times before the Beer Hall, when the village and the trolls lived in peace.
‘I do not know. It came to me,
I bought him here to be with you
I wanted to find his Mother.’
Momentarily the crowd softened. They did not trust the Troll, but her words sounded true. Thwurp decided to intervene. He stepped out from his cover and walked to join the villagers.
‘Why, creature?’ he shouted, ‘did you want to kill her too?’
The villagers looked from the Troll to the man in armour.
‘Look,’ he shouted, ‘This is the beast that has been killing Men at the King’s Hall. Now it is killing children. Kill it!’
Grendel’s Mother looked up,
‘This is not so.’
‘Of course the beast lies! They eat children, they eat our kind.’
The people were unused to fighting and each feared to strike a blow, but the crowd had turned..
‘Nasty beast!’
‘Go on, get it then!’
The men edged forward.
‘I did not do this,’ protested Grendel’s Mother.
A woman in the crowd through her rock,
‘Murderer!’ she screamed. Her rock went wide, but the crowd was now able to attack. Rocks and stones flew at Grendel’s mother. They smashed into her arms as she covered her face. From somewhere she found a desperate strength and set off for the trees.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Thwurp and some of the men made ready to chase.
‘There is a cave,’ he said, ‘stop it from getting there.’
The villagers continued to throw stones and chased after Grendel’s mother, but they did not go to fast, as none of them wanted to face the Troll alone and this allowed her to reach the relative safety of the trees. She began to head for the cave, but almost immediately she saw that Thwurp and some other men had begun to cut that route off. If she was not so tired she knew she would have fought them and that they would have run; as it was, she turned and ran deeper into the forest with the stinging stones hitting her on the back and legs. She spotted a winding path that lead up and realised that the bends and the slope would help protect her.
As she started up the slope she heard the winding sound of arrows in the air. The first arrow shot past her ear. This caused her to panic and run faster, using up her air and energy. The second caught her in the shoulder; she thought it had deflected away, but when she risked a glance she saw it was stuck there. With a groan of horror she ran on, but her confidence was ebbing. She was sure the archer was finding his aim and that it was only a matter of time before a fatal blow was struck.
She was angry that the last sound she would hear was the stupid shouting of the hunters. She was angry that she had been foolish enough to try to help. She was angry that she would never see Grendel again.
At that moment an arrow hit her and she lost her footing. She crashed off the path and into a sharp patch of brambles. She felt herself rolling and crashing through the bushes, gathering speed as she slid, fell and bumped down a steep slope, hitting rocks and branches. She felt a tearing pain in her back, bruises on her arms and face. She wondered what would happen next. Then she heard a cracking sound and knew no more.
Chapter Eleven
In which two weeks pass without the occurrence of any great events or the resolution of any conflicts; however a fair amount of scheming, plotting and spying takes place. A dispute amongst the King’s Champions is resolved in an unusual and surprising manner.
Two weeks passed and nothing of great significance occurred.
King Lars sent his troops out to search for Grendel on the morning after what became known as ‘The Battle for Troll Ridge.’ After a fruitless morning searching for the troll they arrived at the small village where Thwurp was organising the villagers to search for ‘The Child Murdering Troll’ in the woods around the village. They did not find her.
When they returned to the Beer Hall that night Thwurp told an improved story of his escape from the troll. King Lars was furious with him for failing to rescue the Royal Dog and Steelstrom was furious with him for failing to point the troops into the caves where the Troll was obviously hiding. After such ferocity, Thwurp almost wished himself back in the scaly hands of the troll. The next morning the troops returned and fearfully explored the caves. They did not find a way to Grendel’s cave, as, after he had put a rudimentary bandage on his leg, he had worked to seal up and disguise the crack in the wall that led into the caves beyond. He had then rested, until he became worried about the whereabouts of his mother.
The return of the body of Puck the Pot Boy caused the Queen some apparent grief. She began to spend more of her time in the counting house where it was believed that Bjorn the Banker comforted her. The King was too busy to notice this. Firstly due to the hunt for the trolls and then due to the arrival of the armed champions, who were to defeat the troll on his behalf.
More champions arrived at the Beer Hall each morning, usually clad in their best armour and displaying their best Steelstrom weapons. They all seemed to posses large retinues of guards, retainers and camp followers, who all needed accommodation. The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built was steadily filling up with The Greatest Gathering of Spongers and Boasters Ever Assembled. The champions drank loudly into the night and King Lars felt that perhaps the good days had returned. He was also pleased that there had been no new deaths. He was puzzled that the troll seemed to have given up its resistance, but he felt grateful. He looked forward to holding a tournament for the champions and after that to them killing the troll and peace returning. There was, however, something else on his mind and this he discussed with Steelstrom and Thwurp in a secret meeting that they held in one of the small upper floor rooms of the Beer Hall that Steelstrom liked to use when he was at the Beer Hall.
‘I am worried about the security of the Royal Bed Chamber,’ Lars said. I want a special lock made that can only be opened by myself.’
Steelstrom smiled,
‘Trolls cannot open locks, your Majesty. This is well known. You have a special Steelstrom Stalwart padlock for your door.’
‘But Thwurp and the Queen also have keys. You may have a key as your men manufactured the lock.’
‘How can this be a problem, your mightiness? Thwurp is loyal, and the Queen is your Queen. I have no copy of the lock.’
Thwurp grunted his assent before adding perceptively,
‘Trolls don’t do locks. Everybody knows that.’
King Lars looked shiftily around the room as if a spy might have been listening (as in fact there was) and said,
‘It’s not the troll that worries me.’
Steelstrom and Thwurp looked blank and remained silent; the troll clearly worried them. He explained,
‘It’s Beowulf. I know the Queen asked for him and he may not come. And if he does come, which he might not, he should be on our side. I mean he is human. At least I think he is human; but he has a certain reputation.’
Thwurp nodded, wisely and then unwisely said,
‘You mean, he kills his employers and takes everything?’
King Lars glared at Thwurp. Steelstrom decide to calm things,
‘He does have a reputation, I agree; but I believe his vengeance on Hamlyn was because of an unpaid bill. I know he has acquired a number of territories, however, I have not heard that he has behaved unethically.’
‘That’s because anyone who says that would be dead.’ The King’s voice had become a furious whisper,
‘Inviting him in is a terrible thing, however if he is coming I must make sure that he can’t kill me and take the Beer Hall.’
&nbs
p; ‘And you suspect treachery?’ asked Steelstrom, who could see that this was a very reasonable fear. ‘I think a special lock could be made. I have heard of a design that has two keys, you would have one, the Queen would have the other and both keys are needed to open the lock. One from the inside and one from the outside. I could have one made.’
‘You would have to trust the Queen.’ observed Thwurp, who seemed intent on aggravating the King.
‘Of course I trust the Queen,’ he said. ‘She is a woman. She will do what she is told.’
‘Then that is settled’ said Steelstrom, ‘I will have the lock constructed at once.
‘And you will strengthen the guard, to keep an eye on this Beowulf.’ said King Lars to Thwurp.
‘Could you not un-invite him?’ asked Thwurp, who was a novice at diplomacy.
‘Not without offending the Queen, or the Duke of Jutland – he is some kind of relation to their family.’ replied King Lars.
‘Family,’ grumbled Thwurp, ‘then you probably are stuck with him!’
Their conversation was overheard by Grendel who was hiding on a balcony at the barred window. He had started to use the key he had taken from the sergeant to slip into the Beer Hall after dark. Although this gave him ample opportunity to attack the men of King Lars, he no longer wanted to do this. He thought the way to end the conflict was to kill King Lars himself and so was trying to find a way into the innermost chambers of the Beer Hall in order to achieve this aim. He was also looking for information about what had become of his mother.
All he had been able to find out about her was that a ‘Child-killing Troll’ had attacked the village and been driven off. Grendel’s impression was that the humans could not tell one Troll from another and that they had mistaken his mother for him. This did not help him find her and he was worried. King Lars would have been worried too, had he been spying on the conversation that was happening in the Counting House at the same time as his meeting with Steelstrom and Thwurp.
‘I will use Beowulf to destroy the troll and then the King.’
It made Bjorn the Banker excessively nervous when the Queen spoke like this. In fact he was reconsidering his rather rash liaison with the Queen, which seemed to have gone far further than he had at first intended. It was true that, and he had acknowledged this in the ‘assets’ column; which he kept in the ledger of his mind; that she was a fine, brave, attractive woman, however; and this had to feature in the ‘liabilities’ column; she was ambitious and reckless to a degree he had not initially perceived. While Bjorn was prepared to be ‘decisive’ and on occasion ‘bold’, he preferred to do this in a cautious way; having a tempestuous affair with a regicidal regent was not what he had planned for and while remaining ‘completely committed to the Queen’s cause’ he was secretly looking for a way to decrease his downside and ‘limit his exposure in a worst case scenario’.
‘While it would be passing pleasant to purify the realm with the disappearance of the King, are the dangers involved not sufficient to suggest that an alternative approach to the royal removal should be swiftly sought?’ he inquired hopefully.
‘What do you suggest?’ asked the Queen, ‘We wait for him to die of old age, or let the troll overrun the kingdom?’
This silenced Bjorn; these were the viable alternatives, and they were not appealing.
‘Or we could wait for him to find out about us and then we could lose our heads,’ continued the Queen, ‘Does that appeal to you?’
It did not. Bjorn was not at all keen to die. Having considered the options, he was much in favour of remaining alive. The thought struck him that, if the King was dead, then the Queen would be unattached, and he, who was attached to her, would be in a very favourable position, regarding future prospects. He speedily calculated that it would be better to help.
‘How can you trust this Beowulf?’
The Queen smiled.
‘We were children together. He is my cousin, or possibly my illegitimate brother, I’m not sure which, but I know that he will help me and he is the most feared man in the world.’
The thought of this was quite unnerving and Bjorn decided that the conversation must move on.
‘How will you get in touch with him, without the King noticing?’
‘I already have,’ replied the Queen. ‘In the letter, I explained it all. He will find a way to contact me. He will rid us of the loathsome Lars and the kingdom will be mine.’
Bjorn wanted to point out that she meant ‘ours’ but this seemed graceless so he contented himself with a nod of agreement. He understood that it was a hard, yet rewarding, task; working with Royalty.
Had the King had a spy, listening to Bjorn and the Queen, there would have been a very good chance that their treasonable words would not have been overheard, as the noise from the Beer Hall was cacophonous. Military champions do best, what military champions do best. It is alleged that what they do best is fight and kill things, however that is what they do second best; what they really do best is drink and celebrate being military champions. This is what they were busily engaged in doing every night in the Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built and their joy was very great, for not only were they mighty, military champions but all their celebrating was at the King’s expense.
The noise at this moment was particularly intense as Dunnik the Dirty had just insulted Sir Kushmore of Koln and they were happily engaged in the verbal build up to a brawl.
‘Kushmore? What kind of cowardly name is Kushmore? It sounds like “cushion” and cushions are soft!’
Dunnik the Dirty was a red-faced, portly knight who had won fame for looting from villages in the aftermath of a serious plague. His nickname was not derived from his personal appearance, even though it would have been well-deserved; but rather from his fighting techniques, which even the most sympathetic observer would have described as ‘unfair.’ His opponent was a tall, silver haired raider, who had come to prominence by discovering the uses of the crossbow more swiftly than his neighbours. Neither could be described as the greatest of champions. ‘Opportunistic mercenaries lacking any moral scruple’ would have been a more accurate description. Like many of their contemporaries they had seen the words “meal-ticket” written on King Lars’ slightly desperate proclamation and had swarmed North like wasps to a beer spill. They were hoping for an extended feast at the King’s expense and were relying on someone else to slay the beast.
‘I am as hard as iron; Dunnik, as strong as steel! I have a nobler name than “Dunnik,” but then again, who has not? Dunnik is as Dunnik does, I suspect and we all know what Dunnik does and that is nothing!’
The other champions had begun to get excited by the prospect of the fight and were egging on the contenders.
‘Strike him Dunnik’
‘Kick him out, Kushmore!’
‘He said you looked fat in your armour!’
They squared up.
‘I will strike thee, with my iron fist, Dunnik!’ bellowed Kushmore as he advanced.
‘If you are lucky, you will live to regret this!’ rejoined Kushmore. The Champions had gathered into a circle in the centre of the Beer Hall, shouting and jostling each. They had begun to throw food at the contenders and Grendel, who having sneaked in from the outside, was watching from a shadowy place on the interior balcony was unimpressed by the martial prowess. He thought they would be easily scared and decided to test his theory.
Grendel sprung from the balcony and landed between the combatants and in the middle of the circle of champions. The men were so surprised and startled (and befuddled with drink) that they were momentarily unable to react. As their brains responded to this new, large and fearsome piece of information they each spontaneously took a step backwards and looked at their neighbour to draw his sword, axe or crossbow and kill the beast. When nothing of this order happened they first looked at each other and then they looked at Grendel.
The huge troll stood, unmoving in the centre of the mass of men. He looked at them with disdain a
nd waited for them to make a move. The hall fell silent and the moment stretched out, growing ever more uncomfortable. At the point where each of the heroes knew they could stand it no more and that their honour absolutely required that, if someone else wasn’t lucky enough to get there first, they were going to have to draw their sword, axe or crossbow and kill the beast (or, more likely die trying) Grendel took a large step towards Sir Kushmore and let loose a huge, wall-shaking roar.
The heroes, to a man, lost all thought of glory and fled for the far corners of the Beer Hall. In their panic they dropped their swords, axes, crossbows, plates, mugs and shields. Their one desire was to escape from the dread Beer Hall of King Lars. They each regretted two things; firstly that they had answered the King’s call (there really is no such thing as a free lunch) and, secondly; that a Beer hall so large had so few accessible exits.
The only exception to the general exodus was Sir Kushmore. He had not fled for the exit. Instead he had fainted and had fallen helplessly to the Beer Hall floor.
Grendel stepped over his body and roared again, before climbing back onto the balcony and escaping, through the window.
Dunnik the Dirty, who had run the wrong way for the exit and had found himself trapped in a corner, was relieved to see the troll go. When he was sure it was safe, he stepped out from his corner and shouted,
‘See, Kushmore! Soft as a cushion! I would have had him if he’d stayed another minute!’
He was determined that he would be on his way out of King Lars’ lands before the sun had risen very high the next day. He walked back through the debris of the Beer Hall, looking for an un-spilled drink to help him make his travel plans.
Chapter Twelve
In which there is no contest, due to a general lack of interest. The achievements of Beowulf are reviewed. The King reaches a new low and we experience the profound disappointment of becoming reacquainted with Klug, who is offered redemption of a kind (but only of a kind that would be acceptable to Klug and therefore not likely to be redemption at all.)
There was no contest of champions. In the morning all the champions departed from The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built. It seemed that the military might of the world was united in holding the view that no man could kill the troll. The more affluent loaded up their carts, mounted their warhorses and set off down the road. The less well off loaded their mules, mounted their ponies and set off down the road. The lowest tier of champions picked up their backpacks and set off down the road. The union of fighting men were unanimous; there were easier pickings to be had elsewhere.
