20

Hrothgar spake, he the Lord of the Danes: ‘Ask not after our luck, for sorrow is renewed to the folk of the Danes. Aeschere is dead, the elder brother of Yrmenlaf; he was my councillor and my rune-teller,³¹ my shoulder-companion when we in the battle protected our heads; when troops were clashing and helmets were crashing. He was what an earl ought to be, a very good Atheling. Such a man was Aeschere. And a wandering slaughter-guest was his hand-slayer, in Hart. I know not whither that dire woman exulting in carrion, and by her feeding made famous, went on her journeys. She was wreaking vengeance for the feud of thy making when thou killedst Grendel but yesternight, in a violent way, with hard grips, because all too long he was lessening and destroying my people. He fell in the struggle, gave his life as a forfeit; and now comes another, a mighty man-scather, to avenge her son, and the feud hath renewed as may seem a heavy heart-woe to many a thane who weeps in his mind over the treasure-giver. Now lieth low the hand which availed you well, for every kind of pleasure. I heard land-dwellers, and hall-counsellors, and my people, say that they saw two such monstrous March-steppers,³² alien-sprites, holding the moorland. And one of them was in the likeness of a woman as far as they could tell; the other, shapen wretchedly, trod the path of exiles in the form of a man, except that he was greater than any other man, he whom in former days the earth-dwellers called by name Grendel. They knew not his father, whether any secret sprite was formerly born of him. They kept guard over the hidden land, and the wolf-slopes, the windy nesses, the terrible fen-path where the mountain streams rush down under mists of the nesses, the floods under the earth. And it is not farther hence than the space of a mile where standeth the lake, over which are hanging the frosted trees, their wood fast by the roots, and shadowing the water. And there every night one may see dread wonders, fire on the flood. And there liveth not a wise man of the children of men who knoweth well the ground. Nevertheless the heath-stepper, the strong-horned hart, when pressed by the hounds seeketh that woodland, when put to flight from afar, ere on the hillside, hiding his head he gives up his life.³³

Hrothgar, Lord of the Danes, said: ‘Do not ask about our fortunes, for sorrow has returned to the Danish people. Aeschere is dead, the elder brother of Yrmenlaf. He was my adviser and my interpreter of runes,³¹ my companion at my shoulder when we protected our heads in battle. Troops clashed around us, and helmets shattered. He was everything an earl should be, a truly good Atheling. Such a man was Aeschere. A wandering, murderous intruder killed him in Hart. I do not know where that terrible woman went, rejoicing in corpses and notorious for feeding on them. She was taking revenge for the feud you began when you killed Grendel just last night. You killed him violently, with your powerful grip, because he had been killing and destroying my people far too long. He fell in the struggle and paid with his life. Now another has come, a powerful killer, to avenge her son. The feud has begun again, bringing what may seem a crushing sorrow to many a thane mourning his treasure-giver. The hand that served you well, providing every kind of pleasure, now lies lifeless. ‘I heard people from the countryside, advisers in the hall, and others among my people describe two such monstrous March-steppers.³² They had seen these strange spirits occupying the moorland. One looked like a woman, as far as the witnesses could tell. The other was misshapen and walked the paths of exile in the form of a man. But he was larger than any other man. In earlier days, the people of the land called him Grendel. They did not know his father, or whether any secret spirit had once been born to him. The two guarded the hidden land, the wolf-haunted slopes, the windswept headlands, and the terrible paths through the marsh. There, mountain streams rush beneath the misty headlands, their waters flowing underground. ‘The lake lies no more than a mile from here. Frost-covered trees hang over the water, their roots firmly anchored, their branches casting shadows across the lake. Every night, terrifying wonders can be seen there: fire on the water. No wise person alive knows the depths of that lake. Yet even the strong-antlered hart roaming the heath may seek those woods when hounds pursue him from far away. He would sooner give up his life on the hillside, hiding his head.³³

‘Nor is that a canny place. For thence the surge of waters riseth up wan to the welkin when stirred by the winds, the loathsome weather, until the heaven darkens and skies weep. Now is good counsel depending on thee alone. Thou knowest not the land, the terrible places where thou couldest find the sinful man; seek it if thou darest. I will reward thee for the feud with old world treasures so I did before, with twisted gold, if thou comest thence, on thy way.’

‘Nor is that a safe place. From there, pale waves rise toward the sky when the winds stir them in foul weather. They rise until the heavens darken and the skies weep. Now you alone must decide what to do. You do not know the land or the terrible places where you could find the sinful man. Search for him if you dare. I will reward you for the feud with ancient treasures, as I did before. I will give you twisted gold if you return from there.’