XIII
In the morning, as I heard tell,
a host of warriors gathered at Heorot.
Clan-chiefs came from distant regions
to marvel at the enemy's footprints.
They tracked his life-blood over the moors
and no one mourned the monster's death,
nor pitied his struggle, broken and painful,
back to his home in his dark mere.
There the water boiled with gore,
wound-blood welled in the swirling current
in terrible waves. Heartsick, he dived
down to his refuge. He died in the fens,
and Hell received his heathen soul.
Old friends and young returned from the mere
riding fine horses, their hearts beating high,
to tell Beowulf's glory. And many said
that north or south or between the seas,
on the whole vast earth, under the skies,
no shieldbearer excelled the Geat
or was more worthy to rule a kingdom.
In this, they laid no slight on Hrothgar,
their friend and lord, for he was a good king.
When the roads were clear, these hot-blooded men
urged on their pale steeds and raced,
or the king's bard, whose tongue was gifted,
searched in his heart for ancient stories
and wove new words for Beowulf's deeds.
Braiding the measure, he then began
to tell with his art an apt tale.
He told them what he'd heard of Sigemund,
his valour and his strange adventures,
the distant journeys of Wael's son,
of strife and feuds and violent deeds,
of matters that only Fitela knew
from Sigemund's telling, uncle to nephew,
for they were allies in every fight.
Together, those two slaughtered tribes
of giantkind. After he died,
Sigemund's fame shone in the world,
for that tough warrior killed a dragon,
a rich hoard-keeper. Without Fitela,
he walked alone under grey cliffs
to the dragon's lair, daring great danger.
But fate smiled and drove his sword
right through the worm. The noble iron
stuck in the rock and the dragon died.
Through plain courage this fearless man
possessed the ring-hoard, his to enjoy
however he wished. As the hot worm
melted to mist, he loaded his ship
with gleaming treasure. He was most famous
of all adventurers, known in all lands
for his deeds of valour. And he went far,
for Heremod's strength was waning then.
That king was betrayed into enemy hands,
and murdered by giants. Burdened by sorrow
his people mourned him, lamenting the death
of their stern leader, their brave protector.
Wise men hoped his son would replace him,
take Heremod's rank and rule his people,
the Scylding homeland. While Beowulf had risen,
Hygelac's kinsman, loved by all men,
Heremod was worsted by wickedness.
So the riders returned, racing their horses
along white roads. The morning light
had broadened to day, and many retainers
hastened towards the high hall of Heorot
to see the wonder. Hrothgar himself,
the ward of the ring-hoard, splendid and virtuous,
flanked by his men, stepped from his wife's bower
towards the mead-hall, his queen beside him
with all her maidens.
Note: Sigemund and Heremod are the first of several side stories that
are woven through the poem. Basically, they expand the central theme
of the poem - the portrayal of an ideal hero - by contrasting
Beowulf's exploits with the disasters that afflicted other,
not-so-ideal heroes...
--
Editor, Masthead: http://www.masthead.net.au
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Home page: http://www.alisoncroggon.com
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