by Will Shand
‘Modern warfare,’ observed Thwurp sadly, reaching for the small barrel of ale they had bought with them to the armoury, ‘I’m not all for it. I’m not even sure I understand it.’
‘Evidently,’ agreed Roscow, ‘let us talk of happier zhings; like clubs.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Thwurp morosely, ‘you know where you stand with a club and if you don’t then-’
‘You might knock yourself out!’ Roscow interrupted to complete the old guardsman’s joke.
‘But to get back to zhe clubs.’
‘The clubs, yes.’
‘Zhe clubs and all zhe other weapons, zhey are all in zhis armoury here?’
‘Zhat, I mean, that! That is correct. All the weapons, for all the guards are kept here in the armoury and I am in charge.’
‘And zhat is the key?’ asked Roscow pointing to the large iron key Thwurp wore around his neck.
‘That is the only key! And I keep it with me always. It is my key.’
‘Zho,’ asked Roscow speculatively, ‘If I vas to hit you over zhe head vith zhis reinforced extra heavy club and take zhe key, I vould, in effect, control all zhe veapons in zhe Beer Hall?’
‘Zhat is right, my large friend,’ Thwurp agreed, ‘if you were to do that all the weapons would be yours. It’s a good thing we are all on the same side isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ replied Roscow, ‘Zhat is a very good thing.’
They would have continued drinking well into the night, except the Troll hunt was due to start the next day and they both wanted to be fresh for it.
The King, attended by his many guards, sat in the Beer hall far later than this. He was still drinking heavily and hoping that it would fall to Beowulf to kill the beast. He was surprised when Beowulf entered the hall and came to sit with him.
‘Worried about tomorrow?’ asked Beowulf, ‘You shouldn’t be. We’ll get it all sorted. The troll’s no match for me and the men. We’ve sorted out plenty like this.’
‘Good,’ muttered King Lars.
‘But that isn’t the real problem, is it? How’s a King to be a King if he can’t get the job done. That’s the problem. Saving the realm from monsters, invaders, and so on. That’s the King’s real job. Inspiring confidence and wonder and awe in the general populace. That’s the ticket! I mean, if you can’t get that bit done, it doesn’t even make any sense to slay the beast and deliver the realm, because, after all, who are you delivering it for, or to? I can see that’s on your mind. And you needn’t worry.’
‘That’s good,’ slurred Lars, ‘why not?’
‘Because, your highness, I’ve got your back. I know which side of the bacon to fry. I know your job and my job and I’m pretty clear that we can square it. I do the deed, burst the bubble, trap the troll or mash the monster and I make sure that you take the credit, reap the reward or grab the glory. That way we all win! I do my trouble buster bit and you stay regal and in control. I get paid, you stay employed and we all tick along nicely. Now that’s a proper job.’
‘Why?’ asked Lars, and then could not articulate what he wished to ask.
‘Why don’t I exploit the situation and undermine the state?’
Lars nodded, that was what he had meant.
‘Bad business. I mean it is bad for business. A solutions focussed consultant like myself requires a stable base of employers to keep him in work, and the work is very lucrative! (Are you aware that I’m richer than you already? Planning my own little Beer Hall away in the neutral lands.) So I need to work for kings not depose them. Although there is a good bit of work in undermining monarchies at the behest of outside agencies. I’m not above doing that! But it seems none of your neighbours want you gone, despite the boastful Beer Hall thing. I would guess they would be worried about having your troll problem, if you were gone. I mean it’s a particularly unpleasant version of your typical kingly problem. What do you do with the indigenous population when you grab their land?’
Lars grunted.
‘Me?’ continued Beowulf, ‘I’m a traditionalist. I’d burn their corn, knock down their shacks, kill or enslave their men folk and exploit their women and young. Obvious, classic, straightforward. In the end they’re usually happier, because they know where they stand (or kneel!) I’m not for this modern, welfare kind of thing. I mean, who needs trolls? They may be an endangered species, but they should be an endangered species. That’s where I stand on this. I’m a traditional supporter of traditional, right-wing monarchies; and you sir, are a traditional right-wing monarch and I am going to take out your troll and leave you sitting pretty. And on that happy note, I will bid you good night and sweet dreams.’
Beowulf jumped up and left the hall. King Lars sat looking into his beer, then drank it and called for another cup.
Chapter Sixteen
In which dreams reveal the hearts and minds of men; and women; and trolls.
The head that wears the crown was not sleeping easy; even though the crown had been carefully removed and placed it in its appropriate place beside the royal bed. In spite of, or perhaps, because of, the King’s regal intake of beer; the King slept fitfully that night. He kept imagining he heard the trumpets to sound the start of the troll hunt, and each time the loud, martial blasts came, he fought to wake up, muttering, ‘its not time, its not time.’
Then he dreamt it was morning. He heard the loud trumpets and said, ‘I’m late, I’m late’ and when he looked for his crown he couldn’t find it. He called for the servants, but no one came and so he set off around the beer hall to look for it. The first person that he met was the Queen and he asked her if she had seen the crown, but she hid her mouth behind her hand and went of giggling. He went to follow her, but instead found Thwurp.
‘Thwurp,’ he said, ‘I can’t find my crown.’
Thwurp had looked at him in bemusement, before replying.
‘I haven’t seen it. I haven’t got it. It isn’t my job to look after everything. I’ve got enough to do. All those axes to sharpen, all those shields to polish! Do you think I have time to look for your crown as well?’
‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ said the King; and he walked on to the counting house. He tried to find Bjorn, but Bjorn was hiding behind a screen and wouldn’t come out. He didn’t say that he wouldn’t come out, but he kept on shouting out excuses, such as,
‘I’ll be with you in a minute, your Highness!’ or, ‘I’m just coming to the end of a reckoning!’
Eventually Lars grew bored of waiting and walked into the gardens. He had forgotten how beautiful they were. The apple trees were very fine and the late evening sun was pleasant, without being too hot.
‘I should spend more time in my gardens!’ resolved Lars and looked for a courtier to approve his wise and kingly resolution.
However, when he turned around a giant black shadow fell across him and the orchard. It was the troll! But it was much larger than life. This troll towered over Lars, the apple trees and even the great Beer Hall itself. For a moment Lars stood, rooted to the spot in horror. The troll was going to get him!
But then the Troll laughed; a huge booming, deep laugh.
‘Oh Lars, Oh Lars!’ laughed the Troll, ‘If only you knew what was coming! It’s not me you need to worry about!’
At this point, Lars ran from the troll, back into the Beer Hall. He ran across the main hall and up the stairs into Steelstrom’s room. As he came through the door, he found himself sat in a chair opposite Steelstrom, who was looking at him very mournfully.
‘What a to do!’ intoned Steelstrom miserably, ‘lost your crown and then forgot you lost your crown. Whatever next? Oh yes, I remember. Met the enemy and ran away. Not very kingly I’d say.’
Lars tried to interrupt, to explain about the size of the troll, but it seemed he had no power to speak. He was trapped in Steelstrom’s visitor chair. The old man continued,
‘I saw it coming. The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been! Hubris! Tempting the Gods! And, what is worse, laziness and drunkenness!
It isn’t a King’s job to stay at home and rest. It isn’t a King’s job to stay at home and drink. He’s supposed to lead! To conquer! What have you done since you built this great big shed? Lost your Queen, lost your crown, lost your kingdom! The best thing that you can do is go back out there and be eaten by the troll and save everyone else the trouble of killing you off!’
The King was ready to leave, but again he heard the trumpets. This time he was relieved, for the trumpets were real and he finally woke up.
Grendel’s mother dreamt that she was in the forest. She dreamt that she was lying in some soft grass and she could hear a gentle breeze blowing. She also thought that she could hear a trickle of water, not far away. She dreamt that she was thirsty and so she opened her eyes and slowly got to her feet. How her body ached! She was glad this was a dream. She looked at her arms in the moonlight, which was flooding through the trees, and saw that her arms were bruised and battered. She used them to push aside the undergrowth and follow the sound of the water.
She was not in a part of the forest that she recognised.
‘I must have fallen a long way,’ she thought.
She noticed that the grass and bushes were of a finer quality than the real forest. It was as if they had not been attacked by Lars’ pollution. She wondered how this could be so.
‘It is like the land of my childhood,’ she thought.
‘It is like the land of your childhood,’ a voice replied.
She looked around but could not see anyone.
‘Come to the lake,’ the voice spoke again. It was a gentle, female voice that blended well with the moonlit forest.
‘It could be the voice of the forest,’ she thought.
‘It could be the voice of the forest,’ the voice said. It was as if, whatever it was that was speaking could see straight into her mind.
At this point, she broke out of the undergrowth and found that she was by a small, still lake. The moon reflected brightly in its dark waters and at the far end a small waterfall cascaded into the pool. She was very thirsty.
‘Drink,’ said the voice.
She fell to her knees, at the side of the pool and began to drink the still, sweet water. Eventually her thirst was gone and she looked into the pool seeing her own reflection, the night sky and the moon.
‘This is as it should be,’ said the voice, ‘This is the world that should be yours.’
Grendel’s mother wept. She wept for all that was gone and would not return. She wept for the memory of the land of her childhood. She wept for her son, who would never see these things as they should be seen; and she wept for herself, for having lived long enough to see them all change and fade.
‘There are no more tears,’ said the voice, after a time, ‘There is no more time. There is what there is and your choice is now or never. Your hour glass has run dry and you have done nothing to save this, which should have been saved. You have hidden, clothed in old age and fear and left your son to fight your battle. You have nothing; you are nothing, if you are not part of this.’
Grendel’s mother felt a terrible fear that she would die before she was able to do something. What the something was she did not know, but it was to do with helping the forest and being part of the earth.
‘I am too old and too tired!’ she wept, but the voice did not reply. Eventually she said,
‘I do not know what to do.’ But again the voice did not reply. Exhausted, she crept back to sleep in the bushes.
The Queen was in her coffin. It was on the dining room table in the hall of her father, The Duke of Jutland. She could hear her father’s braying voice, coming from his seat at the head of the table.
‘Yes, a stupid girl she turned out to be! No credit to the family at all. Fixed her up with a noble king we did, but all she did was mess it up! Tried it on, you know! And with a banker! A banker! Well, she always was a greedy little thing, but you would have thought that breeding would have given her some sense, but no! She turns out to be a disgrace and a disappointment.’
Furiously, she sat up.
She was astonished to find that her father had two dinner guests, King Lars and Beowulf.
‘You must be quite put out!’ said the Duke to Lars, ‘Imagine that! A King not good enough for her! Was that Beer Hall a bit of overcompensation?’
The Duke gave a dirty laugh.
‘And you!’ he pointed at Beowulf, ‘You must feel a bit let down. I think you thought that you were special, but imagine, she jumped into bed with a banker before you came along!’
Now her anger was at its peak. She shouted,
‘That is not true!’
The men laughed. This made things worse. Beowulf must know. He must understand. They had loved each other since they were children. He must know he was special!
The Duke nudged Beowulf heavily,
‘Look! It talks! But then it always did. “Didn’t want to do this”, “didn’t like to do that!” Nothing was ever good enough for it! Well, look where it’s got itself now.’
The Duke pointed to the coffin.
‘I am here!’ she shouted.
‘We can see that,’ replied the Duke, ‘We know that! But the point is, why? Why are you here? You aren’t any use. You’re not a good Queen, wife or mother! You’re certainly no use at all as a daughter. You’re not even a good treasonous whore! So why are you here, lying on the table, messing up the feast, making a scene again. Do you think this sort of thing impresses anybody?’
The Queen jumped up and stepped out of the coffin. She could see that her father’s sword was lying in its scabbard on the table.
‘YOU WILL NOT SAY THESE THINGS!’ she shouted as loud as she could and grabbed the scabbard.
The Duke continued to laugh and point at her, while nudging the other men to join him. Lars looked happy, although perhaps a little sheepish. Beowulf looked down and would not meet her eyes. She drew the sword.
‘Careful,’ shouted the Duke, ‘You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself or spoil your pretty dress.’
He continued to laugh and jeer.
She drew the sword.
‘Do you think anyone’s impressed by that?’ he shouted, ‘A girl with a sword! How ridiculous! Do you really think a woman can change the world! Ha Ha!’
She struck his head off with one ferocious blow.
‘YES!’ she screamed, ‘I do think that!’
The Duke’s head bounced onto the table and rolled until it was looking directly at her. Then its eyes opened and it spoke,
‘Well, you’re wrong again, you stupid girl! Wrong, wrong, wrong’
She threw the sword down and ran, but the Duke’s laughter followed her down all the corridors of the castle until it was morning.’
Klug neither slept nor dreamt if he could possibly help it. It was past midnight and he was still sitting up in the Beer Hall kitchen, trying to stay awake. He did not want to see his dreams again. The Beer Hall staff all knew that Beowulf’s servant was a haunted man. He reminded them of someone, but they could not place him. He was not allowed to drink, until this was over. Beowulf had told him. He had also promised him that he knew a way that Klug could sleep again and that he would share it with him, in return for his services as the go between.
Klug knew that this was a slim hope, however it was the only hope he had and he clung to it. He could feel himself drifting off and so he got up and walked out to the stables. He had to be particularly careful where there might be outdoor guards who would recognise him, but there seemed to be none here.
He walked into the stable building and was surprised to find Beowulf, asleep in a stall.
He was wrapped up in his cloak, curled up in a foetal position. In sleep his smallness was pronounced and with his smooth bald head he reminded Klug of a baby. His brow was smooth, his breathing was regular. For a moment Klug was so angry about this that he imagined taking out his dagger and stabbing the sleeping man. But he did not do this. Instead he sat down and watched Beowulf sleep and wondered what
dreams a hero dreamt. Was he imagining his victories, reliving the fights that had bought him his reputation or was he envisioning the cheering crowds that marked his successful progress? Did he dream of love; or glory?
Klug sat and watched the hero sleep and passed the time by thinking what dreams a hero might dream, but the innocent face of the sleeping Beowulf gave nothing away and there they stayed until it was morning.
Chapter Seventeen
The Troll Hunt
The hunt began at dawn with the blasting of the trumpets. The guards of both Beowulf and Lars had been up in time to be ready for this. They had polished their armour, sharpened their weapons and made themselves ready. They were now assembled outside the Beer Hall in two big blocks, like the adjacent sides of a square. In front of the King’s men stood Thwurp and in front of the guards of Beowulf stood Roscow. They both shouted greetings as the King and Beowulf appeared on the steps of the Beer Hall.
The troops cheered as the King got ready to speak. Beowulf bowed to the King and took a step backwards. Under his breath he said to Lars,
‘You do your part. I do mine.’
Although Lars felt unwell, tired and shaken by his bad night’s sleep he was used to addressing his soldiers,
‘Men! Today we end the Troll’s reign of terror. Today we will strike him down. Today he will feel our steel and tonight we will celebrate our victory!’
This caused a good cheer to issue from his men, but after a few moments this dissipated as they were not sure exactly what they should do, or where they should go. Beowulf took the stand.
‘Your King’s plan is this. You are to search the area around the lake, always in groups of ten or more and to make as much noise as you can to drive the creature into the open. Chop down any trees you encounter, despoil any plants and decimate its natural cover. When the beast is sighted; blow your horn. One loud blast means that you can see the troll. I will then come and slay it. Do not engage the troll directly, although you may put some crossbow bolts in it if you get the opportunity.’
‘Set fire to any dry vegetation you find, they particularly dislike smoke and fire. If you see any tracks, you are to call your leader or myself and the King. We are with you on this hunt and will put the disgusting creature out of it’s misery by nightfall.’
