VII
Hrothgar spoke, Helm of the Scyldings:
"My friend Beowulf, you have come here
seeking honour, battle-ready.
Your father began a bitter feud
when he struck Heatholaf and killed him:
then the Wylfings, Heatholaf's people,
sent their men to seek revenge,
hunting him from his own spear-kin.
He sought the South-Danes over water,
the Honour-Scyldings, my own people.
I was then a young king, new
to this treasure-keep of heroes,
mourning Heregar, my brother,
the best of all the sons of Half-Dane.
Afterwards I settled the feud,
sending wealth on the water's back
to pay the Wylfings their due honour.
Oaths of blood your father swore me.
"How it pains my heart to tell
any man of those mortifications
Grendel has caused me, harrowing Heorot
with his malice. His sudden strikes
winnow my men, fate sweeps them
into his horror. Oh that God
would put an end to this mad enemy!
Often my warriors, brave with beer,
have raised their flagons and sworn to slay him,
planning to wait with vicious swords
for Grendel's onslaught. But in the morning
these noble walls were stained with gore,
the dawn shone on blood-drenched benches.
One by one, death took my friends,
my loyal warriors.
Sit now to feast
and loosen your thoughts, as your heart urges.
Tell my men of all your victories."
The Geatish warriors gathered together
in the beer-hall. Room was made for them
and the stout-hearted men sat proudly.
Ale was served in an ornate cup
and a bard's voice rose clear in the hall.
Then were the warriors glad in Heorot,
that host of heroes, Danes and Geats.
--
Editor, Masthead: http://www.masthead.net.au
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Home page: http://www.alisoncroggon.com
