Beowulf's Return

by Tim Hodkinson

Copyright © Tim Hodkinson 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion

of brief quotation in review, without permission from the author

There was a time when heroes and monsters walked the earth. After the great Roman Empire fell and before the high days of chivalry arose, the peoples of Europe fell into darkness. The tribes of the north began great migrations across seas and continents, fighting others and themselves, taking lands by the sword and founding mighty kingdoms. In those days men worshipped heathen Gods: Woden, Frey and Thunor. It was a time of ruthless kings and valiant heroes who fought enemies both human and supernatural.  In the wastes and wildernesses, the freezing tops of the mountains and the misty, murky bogs dwelt the demons who haunted and tormented these people: man devouring Ettins, blood drinking thyrsar, dark elves who worked evil magic and dreag, the revenants of dead men who returned from their graves. In this time came the hero Beowulf. An epic poem tells how he travelled from his home in the land of the Geats and defeated the terrible man-eating creature Grendal in the land of the Spear-Danes. When Grendal's mother sought revenge Beowulf killed her too. The poem tells also how many years later Beowulf fought against a dragon but in the decades in between Beowulf had many other adventures. This is one of them.

This was the time of the Middle Earth.

Part 1

The longship scythed through the grey waves like a spear blade. It had no mast or sail, instead its swift progress across the grey freezing waters of the Northern Sea was propelled by the twenty hardened warriors who manned its ranks of oars.

At its dragon-carved prow stood a bear of a man, broad chest and powerfully built. He savoured the taste of salt in the air. The cold wind stung his skin and whipped his long blond hair behind his head over the black bear's pelt he wore as a cloak around his shoulders. His tunic and britches were of the highest quality but he wore no armour or helmet, because he was on his way home.

A cheer rose from the warriors toiling at the oars as the sight of land arose from the waves ahead. They had been away from home for years now. Too long.

"We're nearly home lads," the big man shouted over his shoulder, his words loud and clear despite the buffeting wind. The warriors responded with eager glances over their shoulders. Ignoring their aching shoulders, fatigued from the long voyage, they redoubled their efforts on the oars.

The beach was a couple of ship lengths away and through the mist and spray that rose from the freezing waves a group of figures could be seen moving on the land.

"Beowulf, look: A welcoming committee," Weohstan, the warrior who stood beside the big man said, pointing at the figures on the beach.

"Our friends and relatives," Beowulf grinned. "It will be good to see everyone again."

His grin faded a little as he narrowed his eyes, squinting against the morning sunshine. There was something not quite right about the people waiting for them. The glint of sunlight on armour made it suddenly clear.

"That's no welcoming committee," Beowulf growled. "That's a war party."

 Weohstan started and looked again. The men on the beach were armed to the teeth. Burnished chainmail glittered in sunlight that also glinted from helmets, swords and spear tips. Brightly painted shields were locked together in the unmistakable defencive formation of a shield wall. The message was clear. What awaited on the beach was not a welcome but a confrontation.

"Prepare for battle," Beowulf shouted to the rest of the men in the boat. The warriors from Beowulf's war band at first looked confused then their training took over. They dropped their oars and reached for weapons, armour and helmets. There were several moments of frantic activity as the warriors scrambled into their fighting harness and unhitched their shields from the side of the ship. Beowulf grabbed his own helmet as the boat shuddered and a loud grinding sound announced that they were grounding on the stones of the beach. He looked up and saw the warriors on the land already advancing towards them.

Beowulf turned to yell orders to his men when suddenly he froze. Intense pain stabbed through his right arm. He cried out in surprise and anguish and bent over, grabbing the limb with the other hand.

"I'm hit!" he cried out, looking down and expecting to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his arm or a spear in his shoulder. His face creased with bafflement when he saw no evidence of injury.

Beowulf suddenly gasped again as another acute pain seized his left thigh. Cramp-like and just as crippling, the big man dropped to his knees, unable to support himself while his leg spasmed.

"By the Lord!" the Beowulf exclaimed, his face contorted with agony and confusion. "I'm hit again but there is no wound."

Weohstan looked down at his leader, worry etched on his face.

"This is seithr," he said. "Witches' work." He looked at the beach and saw that the warriors were about twenty paces away and closing fast. There was no time to tend to Beowulf further. They would have to fight without him.

The fifty men on the beach outnumbered the crew of the ship more than two to one. Beowulf's men swarmed over the prow, jumping into the surf and wading urgently up onto dry land. It was imperative they got onto a defensible position before the defenders reached them as they would slaughter them in the shallow water. Once all were on the pebbles they formed up, locking shields side by side to form a wall.

"I must go."

Beowulf looked up and saw through the haze of his agony that Weohstan bent over him. Through gritted teeth he nodded and his second in command leapt off the prow.

With a roar of war cries the two bands of warriors closed on each other. Shields thumped against shields and swords rang against armour. Men growled and screamed curses at each other from behind the visors of their helmets.

 Hearing the start of the battle and knowing his men were fighting, outnumbered and without him, Beowulf swore. He called for strength on his God: Ingvi, the God of his people who was commonly called Frey, the Lord. He dragged himself up onto the prow to see what was going on. On the beach his men had formed an arrowhead formation to stop the defenders coming around their flanks but their inferior numbers were already telling. They had put five of the defenders down but four of his men lay on the pebbles, whether wounded or killed he could not tell.

Despite the pain in his arm and leg, rage began to boil in him. They had ventured across the icy northern sea, they had fought-and defeated-Grendal the ettin, a monster from the marshlands. Then when Grendal's mother had come to avenge her son they had killed her too. After surviving all that they were now dying on the very shores of their homeland at the hands of faceless enemies who had attacked them for no reason.

He had to join his men, even if it was just to die alongside them. With a roar he dragged himself to his feet though bent double from the pain, his crippled arm hugged close in to his stomach. He lurched up onto the prow of the ship and as he did so another stab of pain shot through his body, this time in his right thigh. It felt for all the world like a spear shaft going through his leg, yet there was no weapon visible, no blood and no wound. Unable to stop himself he screamed out in agony, his back arched and he tried to grasp the limb. Losing his balance Beowulf tumbled off the prow and into the freezing surf below.

For a moment all other sensation was drowned by the shock of hitting the cold water. He lay flat on his back in the shallow water, gasping to control his breathing and racing heart. At first he thought the icy water had numbed the feeling, but then as his other senses returned to normal he realised that the mysterious debilitating agony in his limbs had vanished when he hit the waves. A wave closed over him, completely soaking him, and he decided that the strange enchantment was definitely gone and if he did not get up, he would drown.

In a second Beowulf was on his feet, soaked to the skin and his hair trailing water. He had no time to consider what had happened to him: his men needed his help. Spray flying, he charged up out of the water roaring his defiance in an incoherent war cry. He ripped the great ring sword-the trophy he had won for killing the shadow walker Grendal's fiendish mother-from its sheath. The polished metal of the blade gleamed in the misty morning sunlight. Heedless of the fact that he wore no armour or helmet, Beowulf plunged straight into the fight. Weohstan, who was at the point of the arrow formation, heard his lord bellowing and instinctively stepped aside. The big warrior ploughed past him, dipping his shoulder into the shield of the first man in his way. Even though he had been braced against Weohstan, the force of Beowulf's charge sent the man sprawling onto his back. Beowulf stormed forwards, standing on the man and swinging his sword in a deadly arc that connected with the helmet of the warrior to his right. With a startled cry the man collapsed, knees buckling as he dropped to the pebbles.

The arrow formation could serve equally well in attack as defence. With a hole battered through the shield wall of the opposing force, Beowulf's men surged forward behind their leader, splitting the defenders ranks completely in two and surging up the beach to higher ground.

A horn blared out a loud signal from further up the beach. As one, the defenders disengaged and fell back from their assault. Beowulf and his men took the opportunity to regroup and formed another shield wall, this time they were higher and with the advantage. The defenders peered at them over the tops of their shields but none of them advanced.

The sound of hooves crunching on pebbles made Beowulf turn around and he saw mounted figures coming down towards them. This was no cavalry attack however. Only one of the three horse riders was ready for war. He was a large, broad chested man like Beowulf who sat tall in the saddle. From under a magnificent, gold covered, visored helmet his white hair spilt across his shoulders and a long beard the same colour cascaded down the front of his burnished mail coat. His shoulders were wrapped in a heavy fur cloak. All his equipment was of the finest quality and in his gauntleted right fist he bore the huge gilded war horn that had signalled the cessation of hostilities. Beside him rode a young woman in a deep red, fur trimmed cloak and long, linen dress. She was striking in her beauty and her long blond hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall. The third rider was a middle-aged man wrapped in a dark brown, hooded cloak who wore no armour and bore no weapon.

"Beowulf!" the helmeted rider called. "Is it you? It is good to see you my nephew!"

Part 2

A blaze crackled in the fire pit at the centre of the great feasting hall of Hygelac. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, slaves hurried around, laden with dishes while musicians played tunes to entertain the dining warriors. Beowulf's men sat on benches beside the long tables, filling their hungry bellies with meat and fish, all washed down with ale that came from the best vats in the King's kitchens. Their wounded were in a different building receiving treatment for their injuries. Now the men sat alongside the warriors who only that morning they had been locked in deadly combat with. Now the beer and fellowship meant that all that was being exchanged were jokes and songs.

It had all been a terrible mistake. Hygelac, the King of Geatland and Beowulf's uncle, had explained the situation as they travelled from the beach where the battle had taken place to his royal burgh, the fortress and dwelling of the King, his court, his thanes, servants and the many others who supported to royal household. The Geats had been expecting an attack and when the coastguard spotted a strange ship approaching they had assumed the worst. As they passed through the countryside, the settlement that surrounded Hygelac's royal compound and now in the great feasting hall itself, Beowulf noted plenty of signs that his homeland was not a country enjoying the peace and prosperity that had prevailed when left it several years before. Bands of warriors, armed and ready for war patrolled everywhere. Even the peasants and merchants they passed were all armed in some way. Several times they passed through settlements and villages that had recently been destroyed by fire. The only sign of the former inhabitants were some freshly dug grave mounds. Even now they were in the feasting hall of Hygelac at the centre of the burgh, Beowulf noted that the King's men were far from relaxed. As the afternoon darkened into evening the doors were shut, barred and a squad of warriors remained armed and on guard by them. Those men who sat down to eat at the benches also drank their ale, but drank it sparingly. This all made Beowulf uneasy so when the opportunity arose, he had pulled Weohstan aside and told him to order his own men to do the same.

At the top table, set on a raised platform at the head of the room, Hygelac the King apologised to his nephew for the third time. Hygelac was a proud man, and Beowulf appreciated what it must take for his to say sorry once, never mind three times.

"Our land faces a time of crisis, Beowulf," Hygelac said. "Our borders are under attack. Villages have been burned along the coast and no survivors left to say who did it. Raiders have been seen in ships out to sea but they fly no flag. A dark force of warriors are abroad in the night. They attack a village then vanish by dawn. We are ready for war but do not know when it is coming or where from. The coast guard have orders to attack any strange ship approaching our land, which is what happened to you today."

"It must be the Wulfings,"- Beowulf commented. The neighbours and ancient enemy of his clan were the most likely people to cause the Geats trouble. They had fought each other for centuries. His own late father had been outlawed in an illegal blood feud with them.

Hygelac shook his head. "My marriage to Hygd, here"-he laid a hand on that of the beautiful young woman who sat on his left, "was designed to bring peace between us and the Wulfings."

"The Queen is a Wulfing?" Beowulf narrowed his eyes, unable to conceal his immediate suspicion of the woman. Hygd returned his look with a pair of ice-blue eyes that reciprocated his challenge.

"She is the daughter of Helgi, the King of the Wulfings," Hygelac said, his tone turning censorious as he observed Beowulf's reaction. "Our marriage was a condition of the peace treaty arranged between our peoples that was agreed while you were overseas."

"A truce with the Wulfings?" Beowulf's eyes were now wide open with incredulity. He sat back in his chair, shook his head then took a swig of the strong ale that frothed in his silver-decorated drinking horn.

"You disapprove of peace between our peoples?" the Queen interjected, her tone laden with accusation.

"The Wulfings cannot be trusted," Beowulf stated. "Your people worship the one-eyed God of War, Woden. His faith teaches treachery, lying and deceit. Betrayal is a virtue to you. Nor do your folk deign to use dark magic and siethr."

"You would rather our two people fought each other forever ? That the killing just went on and on?" Hygd said.

Beowulf shrugged. "Why not? If the choice is between war and a dishonourable peace then I know what I would rather have."

"The Queen has converted to our religion," a new voice interjected. "As a sign of good faith. She now acknowledges the supremacy of the Lord, Ingvi, as the true God deserving worship."

Beowulf turned to see that the man who spoke was the third rider from the beach earlier. He had now taken off the heavy cloak and Beowulf saw that the man wore the belted white linen robe and heavy metal amulet of a priest of Ingvi.

"Anyone can pretend to profess a faith," Beowulf said.

There was a scraping sound as the King pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. A hush descended on the hall.

"The Wulfings have honoured the peace, Beowulf," Hygelac growled, rising to his feet. "I know well how my brother Ecgtheow, your late father-may his soul rest with the Lord-spent his life fighting the Wulfings for our people, but that is now the past. I will not have their motives-or that of my Queen-questioned. Hygd has worked ceaselessly to bring our two people together, and these dark events that beset us cause her as much distress as me. More so: Her sleep at night is disturbed, beset by nightmares, she is so tormented by the worry of it all."

For several seconds he locked eyes with Beowulf. The big man held his gaze. All around the room men's hands dropped to the knives at their belts or inched towards anything they could use as a weapon. The tension was palpable in the silence that gripped the hall.

Finally Beowulf raised a conciliatory hand. "If you are satisfied of her good faith, uncle, then that is good enough for me," he said. "You know my family history with the Wulfings, so forgive my suspicious nature."

Hygelac paused a moment then nodded to show he accepted Beowulf's apology. He sat down again and the silent tension in the hall burst into relieved chatter again.

"This is Ingeld, the chief priest of our faith and my personal Thyl," Hygelac said, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man in priest's robes. Ingeld nodded and sat down beside the King. "He is my right hand man and councillor in all things. He was the chief architect of the peace treaty with the Wulfings. And while our efforts are not directed at war our land has prospered-until the current problems. We have much to thanks him for."

Beowulf took another swig of ale and studied Ingeld's face as he reflected on the changes that had happened since he had left. He and his men had been away for several years, and he had expected changes to have occurred, however the extent of the changes surprised him. The King had not been married nor had the priest been part of the court that he could remember.

Ingeld's blushed and looked down at the table. "I deserve no credit," he said. "I simply follow the example of our Lord, Frey, who taught that peace and prosperity are what all good people should strive for, not discord and war."

"Wise words. And on that note, let us argue no more," Hygelac's face softened into a smile. "Tonight is for feasting. A welcome respite in our time of trouble."

 "I hear you defeated a monster," the Queen said as a trencher of steaming meat was put down on the table before them. "And it's mother?"

 "Two devourers of men from the marshes," Beowulf said. "I never believed such creatures existed until I saw them with my own eyes."

"Well I am glad you are back," Hygelac said. "Strange things are happening here too. In these dark times my bravest warriors dare not venture outside at night."

"That is perhaps why these mysterious raiders can get away with what they do," Beowulf chided gently.

Ingeld shook his head. "It is not that simple. The raiders are uncanny."

"Uncanny?" Beowulf echoed, without realising it rubbing his arm that where it had earlier been gripped by the strange pain. "You mean there is witchcraft involved?"

"Evil magic is at the heart of it," the King said. "The few people who have seen the raiders and survived swear they are people they know: Warriors who have died. Men who should be in their graves are running around at night causing havoc."

Beowulf frowned. "What nonsense is this? Dead men walking? The dreag belong to legends, not real life. Who leads them? Hel herself?"

He noticed that all the other three exchanged glances but could not quite fathom what it meant.

"A great black devil dog, like the Black Shuc, runs before them and they are led by a great champion, a man head and shoulders bigger than a normal man and twice as strong," Hygelac said. "They call him the Dead Lord. Several people testify to who they believe this man is-or rather was-but I refuse to believe it. I will not repeat their mistaken reports as it slanders a great hero of our people. This troop of the dead leave their grave mounds at the darkest hour of the night and create mayhem. When the sun rises they are gone like the morning mist."

"They started attacking isolated villages on the coast but moved inland, getting closer and closer to here," the Queen said, her eyes filled with dread. "Who knows when they will finally attack us?"

Hygelac laid a comforting hand on his much younger wife's shoulder. "Now my dear, do not fret. We have warriors, ramparts and gates to protect us here if they come."

"But how can you kill men who are already dead?" the Queen breathed.

"When the land is beset by enchantments," Ingeld pronounced. "Only the Lord can help us. We must put our faith in Him."

Beowulf frowned. Dead warriors attacking the living at night and supernatural dogs were the stuff of midwinter stories, not real life. It seemed like nonsense or trickery. Then again he had seen with his own eyes the ettin, Grendel and ventured into the horrible underwater cave his troll of a mother dwelt in. Such things could exist. He recalled the strange pain that had gripped him on the ship earlier and with a sigh related the story to the others.

"That is the Elf-shot, or witch-shot," Ingeld said. "A magic working like the shooting of an invisible arrow. A creature of malice directed a spell at you."

"It vanished when I fell into the sea."

"No spell can work in running water, either a river or the tide of the sea," Ingeld said. "Falling in saved you."

"I want to help, Hygelac," Beowulf addressed the King. "My men and I are at your disposal. We have fought otherworldly creatures overseas and now we must do the same in our homeland."

"Thank you, Beowulf," Hygelac grinned. "I would have expected nothing less from the son of Ecgtheow. But you all have had a long journey and tired men are not much use in a fight. For tonight, at least, all of you get some rest and tomorrow we will form a plan of action."

Beowulf nodded and took another swig of ale, looking sideways at the Queen as he did so and thinking to himself that there would be no rest for him that night. He would take his own action later.

Part 3

A bright full moon hung in the sky over the royal burgh, illuminating everything in a silver light that was strong enough to cast faint shadows on the earth. Beowulf slipped out of the door of his chamber, careful to keep himself deep in the shadow thrown by the building while he assessed the situation outside.

The royal burgh was an enormous complex of buildings and walls. The shape of an enormous upturned ship, the great feasting hall was at the centre, ringed by a tall rampart surmounted by a palisade. The one entrance in the rampart was protected by a large, guarded gate. Outside the rampart were gathered many low-roofed thatched buildings, the homes, workshops and store houses of the many people it took to run the palace: administrators, soldiers, craftsmen servants and slaves. Inside the rampart to one side of the feasting hall was a building the same shape but half its size, the Hof or temple of Frey. Behind the hall were several small buildings, private bed chambers for the King, the Queen and any visiting nobility. Beowulf's men slept with the rest of the King's thanes on beds inside the hall but as their leader (and a nephew of the King) he had been assigned a private bed chamber for the night.

He had lain down but not gone to sleep. Instead he waited as night drew on, listening as the sounds outside got quieter and quieter until he was sure that everyone except warriors on guard duty had gone to bed. Then he had slipped out from under the fur covers, still fully clothed. He took his mail shirt from his pack and pulled it on over his head then tightened his sword belt around his waist. He put his iron helmet with the boar crest on, the visor coming down over his eyes and nose and covering half his face. He tied the leather thong of the helmet straps under his chin and then he was ready.

The big warrior carefully exited through the door, trying his best to make as little sound as possible. Outside all was quiet except for the grunts and snores that came from the other sleeping chambers. No one moved except a few figures he could see guarding the gate and walking along the ramparts. The moonlight glinted on their helmets and weapons and he knew they were warriors on watch duty. He needed to make sure they did not spot him but their attention was focused towards the outside of the ramparts so that gave him an advantage.

Keeping to the shadows, Beowulf slunk across the enclosure until he came to the chamber of the Queen. As was common the King and the Queen slept in separate chambers. As the perimeter of the enclosure within the ramparts was guarded there was no need for warriors outside the doors of the royal chambers so Beowulf got there without challenge.

Despite what he had told the King, Beowulf's suspicions about the Queen remained. His father, Ecgtheow, had taught him never to trust a Wulfing. It was one of the cautionary tales his father had told him many years before that made him convinced that the Queen was not as innocent as she protested.

"Some of the Wulfings, Beowulf"-his father had said-"The ones adept at magic, can send their spirit out of their body in the form of a wolf or a huge dog. Their human body lies suspended as if in sleep while their animal spirit goes about creating mischief. Some can even change their physical skin and become the animal itself. Odinn, their deceitful God, gives them the power to do this."

Beowulf wondered if there was more to the Queen's nightmares than a worried heart.

He froze. The door of the Queen's chamber-not ten paces from him-opened, every bit as carefully and quietly as he had opened his own.

Beowulf flattened himself against the outside wall of the building, making sure he was completely in the shadows. His heart raced but he forced himself to breath steadily and quietly as he watched a figure emerge from the door and look around. Whoever is was wore a heavy, dark cloak against the night's chill and had the hood pulled up so it was impossible to make out their identity. One thing was for sure, it was not the King. The figure was too small. It could be a lover, Beowulf mused, the Queen was a young woman and Hygelac was getting on in years.

Whoever it was, he had to find out. Beowulf strode forwards but before he could reach the other person he was briefly aware of a crash to his left and a flurry of movement.

As he was still reacting something broad and flat struck him with tremendous force, knocking him sideways and onto the ground. After a second of confusion Beowulf realised that what had struck him was the door of the Queen's chamber. It had been smashed clean off its hinges and he now lay under it. An enormous weight was on top of the door, pinning him down beneath it. He heard the scrabbling of claws on wood and a heavy panting sound as whatever it was tried to regain its balance on top of the now prostrate door. The pressure on him was great and he surmised that the creature above him must be of considerable size. Beowulf gasped, hardly able to breathe in as he was crushed beneath the door. Then with a surge the thing leapt off the door and the pressure on him disappeared. Looking up from where he lay on the ground, he made out the shaggy hindquarters of an enormous black dog loping off towards the gate of the enclosure.

Beowulf threw the shattered door off him and clambered to his feet. The hooded figure had disappeared. After a quick check that he had sustained no injuries, he tore into the Queen's chamber and quickly looked around.

The room was empty. The bed had been slept on but now the covers were thrown back and all that remained of the occupant was the impression of her body on the horsehair mattress. This was enough to convince Beowulf he was right: She was not there, but must be more than a witch who sent spirit animals abroad in her sleep. There were witches and cursed men who could change their skin into that of a wild creature like a wolf. The Queen must be a shape shifter.

A bell was ringing. Beowulf looked up to the gate tower above the entrance to the ramparts and saw that a beacon fire had been lit there. Horns blared out alarm signals.

"We're under attack!" a voice called from the ramparts. Beowulf could hear a quivering note in the man's voice that would not normally have been expected from a seasoned warrior of the King confronted with earthly foes and surmised that the attackers were the undead raiders.

The huge black dog was nowhere to be seen. Beowulf drew his sword, the great ring word he had won in fighting the ettin Grendal's mother. Its blade made no noise as it slid out over the greased lambswool that lined its scabbard. He ran across the enclosure and clambered up the ladder that brought him to the walkway on the rampart.

"What's going on?" Beowulf demanded of the nearest warrior.

The man simply pointed out over the palisade. Outside the rampart some buildings, set afire, blazed orange flames into the sky. Figures rushed through the streets of the settlement: Panicking burgh dwellers in their night clothes ran for the safety of the ramparts and the inner fortifications, stalked by warriors whose mail and weapons glinted in the moonlight and the flames from the fires. Where they were visible, the faces of those warriors seemed inordinately pale and they lurched rather than walked.

"The dreag," the warrior breathed, his voice filled with apprehension. "The undead."

"Have we any warriors out there?" Beowulf asked.

The warrior nodded and pointed down to the darkened streets. Helmeted men could be seen running through the darkened streets out towards the encroaching enemy. The clash of weapons rose from the darkness with the cries and screams of injured men.

Hygelac appeared on the rampart, still pulling his chainmail on.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

They quickly filled him in. Hygelac's face set in a grim expression.

"I did not think they would be so bold as to attack my palace," the King said.

As they watched they could see the warriors outside struggling to contain the advance of the attackers who relentlessly pushed forwards towards the rampart and the gate.

"They aren't holding them."

At the sound of a new voice Beowulf turned to see that Weohstan had now joined them on the rampart.

"We need to make preparations to defend the hall if they get past the rampart," he said.

"They will never get in," Hygelac stated. "The ramparts are too high and the gate too strong. But they won't even get that far. Finn will stop them."

The King pointed down at a group of warriors who were advancing purposefully away from the gate towards the leading attackers. At the point of them stalked a tall warrior in shining bright armour, his blond hair trailing behind him like a standard.

"Finn is my greatest warrior, the captain of my thanes" Hygelac said with evident pride. "He will drive them back."

Beowulf did not agree, but said nothing. From what he could see, the attackers were advancing remorselessly towards the ramparts, regardless of any opposition against them. Hygelac's warriors were fighting them, there was no doubt about that, but the strange horde just seemed to keep coming, seemingly heedless of wounds.

"They must have exceptional armour," Weohstan commented.

Beowulf shook his head. As the enemy got closer to the burgh wall the men on the ramparts could get a better look at them. Their armour was far from exceptional. It was old fashioned, rusted and in places falling apart. The men themselves were thin, unnaturally pale and covered in dirt. Finn's troop advanced into their opponents, hewing down men left and right with strokes that should have killed them, yet they were getting up again and returning to the fight. Before they had gone too far Finn and his men were surrounded by the enemies before them and the men behind them who should have been dead but were now back on their feet.

Finn noticed this and shouted new orders. The troop divided into two and half the men formed a defensive shield wall to the rear. Finn took a swipe at another enemy, this time cutting low instead of overhead, taking the legs from beneath his attacker, severing one at the knee and breaking the other.

"Good man," Beowulf commented, noting the warrior's change of tactic with approval. "If they've no legs they can't get up again. I'm glad we didn't meet Finn on the beach yesterday."

"Good Lord!" Weohstan gasped. Despite the horrific injury, the felled enemy was still moving on the ground, trying to swing his sword. The man's severed thigh that should have been spraying blood everywhere, was completely dry.

"This is more witchcraft," Beowulf said. "Weohstan: I think we should prepare for the worst. If they get inside the rampart we must fall back and defend the hall. Get some men in there preparing barricades for the doors."

"Don't give up on Finn yet," Hygelac said. "He will break the attack."

Beowulf and Weohstan stood for a few moments longer. Below the battle continued but despite fighting valiantly Finn's men were getting less and less in the face of the relentless assault of an enemy who refused to lie down and die. Finn was holding his own though, hewing down opponents on all sides. However his situation looked increasingly desperate.

A grim expression settled on Hygelac's face. "Perhaps we should make preparations to defend the burgh," he said with a tone of resignation. "I need to ensure the safety of my Queen."

Beowulf stiffened. It was time he told the King about what he had seen earlier. "Hygelac, King, the Queen-" he began.

"Beowulf!" Weohstan cut him off. He was pointing down into the streets below, a look of astonishment on his face.

They all looked where he was indicating and saw that a new figure was approaching. He was huge, towering above the other men in the crowded street before the gate of the burgh. The man strode purposefully towards Finn, a sword grasped in one mighty hand. The weapon was huge but seemed almost toy like when gripped by the big warrior. He wore a chainmail shirt and a boar-crested, visored helmet, the gold ornamentation on it glinting in the firelight of the burning buildings. Like the other attackers he was covered in earth and his once bright mail was clogged and stained dark with rust.

"It is their champion," Hygelac breathed. "The Dead Lord."

Finn saw the warrior coming and prepared to face him. The Dead Lord brought his weapon down overhead. Finn countered with his round shield. He stopped the blow but the shield shattered under the impact, falling away into many pieces. Finn swung his sword but the big warrior blocked the blow, swung the sword around and counterattacked. His sword smashed the rings of Finn's chainmail and bit deep into his shoulder, separating bone from bone. Hygelac gasped as he saw Finn fall forwards. The giant Dead Lord struck him again, this blow smashing his helmet and shattering the skull beneath. The Dead Lord then emphasised his triumph by stalking forwards, stomping over Finn's body as he went.

"Beowulf," Weohstan breathed, staring open mouthed at the big warrior now approaching the rampart gate. "You know who that is, don't you?"

Beowulf nodded, his face set in a bleak expression. "Of course I do. He still wears the armour we buried him in. It's Ecgtheow. That is my father."

Part 4

At that moment Beowulf was briefly aware of movement below, inside the rampart. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something big and dark streaking towards the gate.

"The dog! Blast it!" he cried to Weohstan. "Get the men and prepare to defend the hall. I'll see if I can stop it."

Sheathing his sword, Beowulf grabbed both sides of the ladder and slid down from the rampart. Once on the ground he drew his sword again and ran as fast as he could towards the gate.

The massive black creature had come from the shadows beyond the hall and already reached the gate. It tore straight into the warrior who stood guard behind it, throwing huge paws up onto the man's shoulders and engulfing his face and neck in its massive maw. The man's brief, muffled scream ended in a wet crunch as the beast bit down. As the man fell the dog dropped him and reared up behind the gate. With uncanny dexterity that convinced Beowulf finally that this was the transformed Queen, the creature shoved the large wooden bar out of the metal rungs so that it no longer held the gate closed.

At that point Beowulf reached it. He raised his sword to strike. At the same time the attackers outside surged against the gate and it burst open. The gate swept the dog sideways and Beowulf's blow landed askew, the flat of the blade smashing the beast across the skull. He saw its legs buckle and knew that at least his blow had some effect. Beowulf had to jump back himself to avoid being squashed with the dog behind the gate. A wave of warriors came stumbling through the open gate and chaos erupted. The defenders came rushing forwards to stop the unexpected incursion and fighting broke out all around. Beowulf found himself surrounded by enemies who had piled through the gate.

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 no 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 gritted 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