Chapter 36

Wiglaf was he called, he who was the son of Weohstan, the beloved shield-warrior, the Prince of the Danes and the kinsman of Aelfhere. He saw his lord suffering burning pain under his visor. Then he called to mind the favour that he (Beowulf) had bestowed upon him in days of yore, the costly dwelling of the Waegmundings⁶⁸ and all the folk-rights which his father had possessed. Then he could not restrain himself, but gripped the shield with his hand, the yellow wood, and drew forth the old sword which was known among men as the heirloom of Eanmund, the son of Ohthere, and in the striving Weohstan was banesman by the edge of the sword to that friendless exile and bore away to his kinsman the brown-hued helmet, the ringed byrny, and the old giant’s sword that Onela⁶⁹ had given him, the war-weeds of his comrade, and the well-wrought armour for fighting. Nor did he speak of the feud, though he slew his brother’s son. And he held possession of the treasures many years, both the sword and the byrny, until such time as his son should hold the earlship as his father had done. And he gave to the Geats a countless number of each kind of war-weeds, when he in old age passed away from this life, on the outward journey. That was the first time for the young champion that he went into the war-rush with his noble lord. Nor did his mind melt within him, nor did the heirloom of his kinsman at the war-tide. And the dragon discovered it when they two came together.

His name was Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, the beloved shield-warrior, Prince of the Danes and kinsman of Aelfhere. He saw his lord suffering burning pain beneath his visor. Then he remembered the gifts Beowulf had given him long ago. These were the costly home of the Waegmundings⁶⁸ and all the rights his father had held among his people. Then he could no longer hold back. He gripped his yellow wooden shield and drew the old sword known as the heirloom of Eanmund, son of Ohthere. Weohstan had killed that friendless exile with his sword in battle. He had carried away to his kinsman the brown helmet, the ringed coat of mail, and the old giant’s sword. Onela⁶⁹ had given him these things, his comrade’s battle gear and finely made armor. Nor did Onela speak of the feud, though Weohstan had killed his brother’s son. Weohstan kept the treasures for many years, both the sword and the coat of mail. He kept them until his son could become an earl, as his father had been. And he gave the Geats countless pieces of every kind of battle gear when, in old age, he departed this life. This was the first time the young warrior had charged into battle alongside his noble lord. Yet his courage did not fail him, nor did his kinsman’s heirloom fail in battle. And the dragon discovered the sword’s strength when dragon and warrior met.

Wiglaf spake many fitting words, and said to his comrades (for his mind was sad within him): ‘I remember the time when we partook of the mead, and promised our liege-lord in the beer-hall, he who gave to us rings, that we would yield to him war-trappings both helmets and a hand-sword, if such need befell him. And he chose us for this warfare, and for this journey, of his own free will, and reminded us of glory; and to me he gave these gifts when he counted us good spear-warriors and brave helmet-bearers, although our lord, this guardian of the people had it in his mind all alone to do this brave work for us, for he most of all men could do glorious things and desperate deeds of war. And now is the day come that our lord hath need of our prowess and of goodly warriors. Let us then go to the help of our battle-lord while it lasts, the grim terror of fire. God knows well of me that I would much rather that the flame should embrace my body together with that of my lord the giver of gold. Nor does it seem to me to be fitting that we should carry shields back to the homestead except we have first laid low the foe and protected the life of the Prince of the Weders.⁷⁰ And well I know that his old deserts were not that he alone of the youth of the Geats should suffer grief and sink in the fighting. So both sword and helmet, byrny and shield shall be common to both of us together.’

Wiglaf spoke many fitting words to his comrades, for his heart was heavy: ‘I remember when we drank mead in the beer-hall and made a promise to our lord, who gave us rings. We promised to repay him with our battle gear, both helmets and swords, if he ever needed our help. He freely chose us for this battle and this journey, and reminded us of glory. He gave me these gifts because he thought us good spear-warriors and brave helmet-bearers. Yet our lord, the guardian of his people, intended to do this brave work for us all alone. For he, more than any other man, could perform glorious acts and daring deeds in war. And now the day has come when our lord needs our strength and good warriors. Let us go to our battle-lord’s aid while the terrible fire still rages. God knows I would much rather have the flames consume my body alongside my lord, the giver of gold. Nor do I think we should carry our shields home unless we have first killed the enemy. We must also have protected the life of the Prince of the Weders.⁷⁰ And I know well that his past deeds have not earned him such a fate. He should not suffer and fall in battle alone among the young warriors of the Geats. So sword and helmet, coat of mail and shield will be shared between us both.’

Then he waded through the slaughter-reek, and bore the war-helmet to the help of his lord, and uttered a few words: ‘Beloved Beowulf, do thou be doing all things, as thou of yore in the days of thy youth wast saying that thou wouldst not allow thy glory to be dimmed whilst thou wast living. Now shalt thou, the brave in deeds and the resolute noble, save thy life with all thy might. I am come to help thee.’ After these words came the angry dragon, the terrible and hostile sprite yet once again, and decked in his various hues of whelmings of fire, against his enemies, the men that he hated. And the wood of the shield was burnt up with the waves of flame, and his byrny could not help the young spear-warrior; yet did the youth bravely advance under the shield of his kinsman when his own had been destroyed by the flames. Then again the war-king bethought him of glory, and struck a mighty blow with his battle-sword so that it fixed itself in his head, forced in by violence. And Naegling, Beowulf’s sword old and grey, broke in pieces, and failed in the contest. It was not given to him that sharp edges of swords should help him in battle. His hand was too strong, so that it overtaxed every sword, as I have been told, by the force of its swing, whenever he carried into battle a wondrous hand-weapon. And he was nowise the better for a sword. Then for the third time, the scather of the people, the terrible Fire-dragon, was mindful of feuds, and he rushed on the brave man when he saw that he had room, all hot and battle-grim, and surrounded his neck with bitter bones. And he was all be-bloodied over with life-blood, and the sweat welled up in waves.

Then he waded through the stench of slaughter, wearing his war-helmet, and went to his lord’s aid. He spoke a few words: ‘Beloved Beowulf, do all that you promised in your youth. You said you would not let your glory fade while you lived. Now, brave in deeds and firm in purpose, you must use all your strength to save your life. I have come to help you.’ After these words, the angry dragon attacked once again. The terrible, hostile creature came against his enemies, the men he hated, wrapped in flames of many colors. Waves of flame burned up the wooden shield, and the young spear-warrior’s coat of mail could not protect him. Yet the young man bravely moved beneath his kinsman’s shield when the flames had destroyed his own. Then the warrior-king thought again of glory. He struck a mighty blow with his battle-sword, driving the blade deep into the dragon’s head. But Naegling, Beowulf’s old, gray sword, broke into pieces and failed him in the fight. He was not destined to find help in battle from the sharp edges of swords. His hand was too strong. As I have been told, his powerful swing strained every sword beyond its limits whenever he carried such a marvelous weapon into battle. A sword did him no good. Then, for the third time, the terrible Fire-dragon, destroyer of the people, remembered his feuds. Seeing an opening, he rushed at the brave man, burning hot and fierce in battle. He closed his sharp fangs around Beowulf’s neck. Beowulf was covered in his own lifeblood, and sweat poured from him in waves.