16

Then the Lord of earls as he sat on the mead-bench gave glorious gifts to each one of those who had fared with Beowulf over the ocean-ways, and heirlooms they were; and he bade them atone for that one with gold whom formerly Grendel had wickedly killed as he would have done more of them unless Almighty God and the spirit of Beowulf had withstood Weird. The Creator ruleth all of human kind, as still He is doing. And good understanding is always the best thing, and forethought of mind. And he who long enjoys here the world in these strife-days, shall be biding both pleasant and loathsome fate. Then was there clamour and singing together in the presence of the battle-prince of Healfdene, and the harp was sounded and a song often sung, when Hrothgar’s scop would tell forth the hall-mirth as he sat on the mead-bench.

Then the lord of earls sat on the mead-bench and gave splendid gifts to each man who had crossed the ocean with Beowulf. These gifts were heirlooms. He also ordered gold to be paid in compensation for the man Grendel had wickedly killed. Grendel would have killed more of them if Almighty God and Beowulf’s spirit had not resisted Weird, or fate. The Creator rules all humanity, as he still does today. Good judgment and careful thought are always best. Anyone who lives long in this world, in these days of conflict, will face both pleasant and hateful fortunes. Then cheers and singing rose before Healfdene’s son, the warrior-prince. The harp played, and songs were often sung as Hrothgar’s court poet sat on the mead-bench and told of the hall’s joys.

‘When Fear was befalling the heirs of Finn,²¹ the hero of the Half-Danes, and Hnaef of the Danes must fall in the slaughter of the Frisian People. Not in the least did Hildeburh need to be praising the troth of the Jutes. For sinlessly was she deprived of her dear ones in the play of swords of children and brothers. By fate they fell, wounded by arrows. And she was a sad woman. Nor without reason did the daughter of Hoc²² mourn their doom. When morning light came, and she could see under the sky the murder of her kinsmen where she before in the world had the greatest of joy. For warfare took away all the thanes of Finn except a mere remnant, so that he could not in the place where they met fight any warfare at all with Hengest, nor seize from the Prince’s thane the woful leavings by fighting. But they offered him terms, so that they all made other room for them on the floor, and gave them halls and a high seat that they might have half the power with the children of the Jutes; and the son of Folcwalda²³ honoured the Danes every day with fee-givings, and bestowed rings on the troop of Hengest, yea, even great treasures plated with gold, so that he would be making the kin of the Frisians bold in the beer-hall. Then they swore on both sides a treaty of peace. Finn swore with Hengest and all without strife that he held in honour the woful remnant by the doom of the wise men, and that no man there by word or work should break the treaty, or ever annul it through treacherous cunning, though they followed the slayers of their Ring-giver, all bereft of their lord as was needful for them. But if any one of the Frisians by daring speech should bring to mind the murderous hate between them, then should the edge of the sword avenge it. Then sworn was that oath, and massive gold was lifted up from the hoard. Then was Hnaef, the best of the warriors, of the bold Danes, ready on the funeral pyre. And the blood-stained shirt of mail was easily seen, the golden boar, in the midst of the flame, the iron-hard boar,²⁴ and many an Atheling destroyed by wounds. Some fell on the field of death. Then Hildeburh commanded her very own son to be thrust in the flames of the pyre of Hnaef, his body to be burned and be put in the fire. And great was the moaning of the mother for her son, and dirge-like lamenting as the warrior ascended. And the greatest of slaughter-fires wound its way upwards towards the welkin and roared before the cavern. Heads were melting, wounds burst asunder. Then blood sprang forth from the wounds of the body. Flame swallowed all, that most cruel of ghosts, of both of those folk whom battle destroyed. Their life was shaken out.

‘Terror fell upon the heirs of Finn,²¹ the hero of the Half-Danes. And Hnaef of the Danes was doomed to fall in the slaughter among the Frisian People. Hildeburh had no reason at all to praise the loyalty of the Jutes. Though innocent, she lost her loved ones, her children and brothers, in the clash of swords. Fate brought them down, wounded by arrows. And she was filled with sorrow. Nor did the daughter of Hoc²² mourn their fate without reason. When morning came, she could see beneath the sky the slaughter of her kinsmen. This was the place where she had once known her greatest joy. For war had taken all Finn’s thanes except a small remnant. So Finn could no longer fight Hengest at their meeting place. Nor could he fight to wrest the sorrowful survivors from the Prince’s thane. But they offered him terms. They would make room for them on the hall floor and give them halls and a high seat. This would let them share half the power with the children of the Jutes. And the son of Folcwalda²³ would honour the Danes every day with gifts. He would give rings to Hengest’s warriors, even great treasures plated with gold. He would reward them just as he encouraged his Frisian kinsmen in the beer-hall. Then both sides swore to a peace treaty. Finn swore to Hengest, freely and without dispute, to honour the sorrowful survivors according to the wise men’s judgment. No one there would break the treaty by word or deed, or undo it through treachery. This held even though the survivors followed their Ring-giver’s killers, having lost their lord and having no other choice. But if any Frisian dared to stir up their murderous hatred with words, the sword’s edge would punish the offence. Then the oath was sworn, and heavy gold was brought up from the hoard. Then Hnaef, the finest warrior of the brave Danes, lay ready on the funeral pyre. His bloodstained coat of mail was plainly visible amid the flames. So was the golden boar, the iron-hard boar,²⁴ and many a nobleman killed by wounds. Some had fallen on the field of death. Then Hildeburh ordered her own son to be placed in the flames of Hnaef’s pyre. His body was to be burned in the fire. The mother moaned deeply for her son and sang her grief as the warrior rose in the flames. And the greatest of funeral fires curled upward toward the sky and roared before the cavern. Heads melted, and wounds burst open. Then blood sprang from the bodies’ wounds. Flame, that cruellest of spirits, swallowed all the dead from both peoples whom battle had destroyed. Their lives had been torn away.’