Beowulf inherits the kingship, settles the feuding. |
In days to come, he contrived to avenge the fall of his prince; he befriended Eadgils when Eadgils was friendless, aiding his cause with weapons and warriors over the wide sea, sending him men. The feud was settled on a comfortless campaign when he killed Onela. |
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The day of reckoning: Beowulf and his troop reconnoitre. |
And so the son of Ecgtheow had survived every extreme, excelling himself in daring and in danger, until the day arrived when he had to come face to face with the dragon. The lord of the Geats took eleven comrades and went in a rage to reconnoitre. By then he had discovered the cause of the affliction being visited on the people. The precious cup had come to him from the hand of the finder, the one who had started all this strife and was now added as a thirteenth to their number. They press-ganged and compelled this poor creature to be their guide. Against his will he led them to the earth-vault he alone knew, an underground barrow near the billowing sea and the heave of the waves, heaped inside with exquisite metalwork. The one who stood guard was dangerous and watchful, warden of that trove buried under earth: no easy bargain would be made in that place by any man. |
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Beowulf's forebodings. |
The veteran king sat down on the cliff-top. He wished good luck to the Geats who had shared his hearth and his gold. He was sad at heart, unsettled yet ready, sensing his death. His fate hovered near, unknowable but certain: it would soon claim his coffered soul, part life from limb. Before long the prince's spirit would spin free from his body. |
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He recalls his early days as a
ward at King Hrethel's court.
An accidental killing and its sad consequences for Hrethel.
Hrethel's loss reflected in 'the father's lament'. |
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: 'Many a skirmish I survived when I was young and many times of war: I remember them well. At seven, I was fostered out by my father, left in the charge of my people's lord. King Hrethel kept me and took care of me, was open-handed, behaved like a kinsman. While I was his ward, he treated me no worse as a wean about the place than one of his own boys, Herebeald and Haethcyn, or my own Hygelac. For the eldest, Herebeald, an unexpected deathbed was laid out, through a brother's doing, when Haethcyn bent his horn-tipped bow and loosed the arrow that destroyed his life. He shot wide and buried a shaft in the flesh and blood of his own brother. That offence was beyond redress, a wrongfooting of the heart's affections; for who could avenge the prince's life or pay his death-price? It was like the misery endured by an old man who has lived to see his son's body swing on the gallows. He begins to keen and weep for his boy, watching the raven gloat where he hangs: he can be of no help. The wisdom of age is worthless to him. Morning after morning, he wakes to remember that his child is gone; he has no interest in living on until another heir is born in the hall, now that his first-born has entered death's dominion for ever. He gazes sorrowfully at his son's dwelling, the banquet hall bereft of all delight, the windswept hearthstone; the horsemen are sleeping, the warriors under ground; what was is no more. |