Beowulf and the Dragon
Some fifteen hundred years ago a king called Beowulf ruled over the Geats who lived in the south of Sweden. He was a mighty warrior who, as a young man, had done deeds of which the minstrels and poets would tell through after ages. He had come to Denmark where King Hrothgar was sorely troubled by the marsh-monster, Grendel, who came each night when the warriors slept in the great hall called Heorot and carried one off to his den.
Beowulf watched all night in Heorot and when Grendel came he wrestled with him and tore off his arm. Wounded, Grendel slunk back to his pool. But next night Grendel’s mother, a monster as grim and terrible as he, came to Heorot and carried off another warrior.
Beowulf followed her to the mere, dived down beneath its dark waters and came up in the fearsome cave under the bank in which the monsters lived. Here he fought and killed Grendel’s mother-and in the cave found Grendel dead from the wounds he had received in Heorot.
For these deeds, and others almost as noteworthy, Beowulf was known throughout all the North. But his greatest battle was to be his last-his battle with the Dragon that came out to slay his own people of the Geats and lay waste their homes.
It chanced that a warrior, one of Beowulf’s own thanes, a knight of his court, was attacked by a band of enemies too numerous for him to fight alone. So he fled from them up into the mountains, trying vainly to find some hidingplace. They were close behind him, and escape seemed impossible, when at last he found a cave well hidden among the rocks. Into this he went, and, crouching down in a dark corner, heard his enemies go by. But he dared not venture out in case they were lying in wait for him. So presently he went deeper into the cave-and was surprised to see a dull gleam of light ahead.
Further he went, and then paused in amazement. The cave opened out into a great cavern, and in the middle of it was a huge heap of treasure-gold and jewels, engraved bowls and helmets, jewelled brooches and shining swords and shields. A mysterious light shone dimly over this piled treasure, and to his horror the thane saw a huge Dragon sleeping above the gold, the fire flickering from his nostrils.
Then he was minded to turn and flee quickly and softly away. But the lure of the gold was too much for him. Very quietly he took off his cloak and gathered into it as many rings and jewels and golden cups and bowls as he could easily carry. Then, and only then, did he tiptoe out of the cave and hasten away over the mountains to his own farmstead.
Next day he buried most of the treasure under the floor, but one golden cup he took to Beowulf, saying simply that he had found it in a cave on the mountains.
But very soon his theft brought disaster upon the people of the Geats. For the following night the Dragon woke from a long sleep and at once realized that he had been robbed: for he knew each piece of treasure, and saw at once that some had gone.
This Dragon - “the old twilight foe, the naked hostile dragon, who seeks barrows of the dead, flaming as he goes, who flies by night compassed with fire” - had found that treasure in the ancient pagan days, had gathered it into the cavern and guarded it there for three hundred years.
When he knew that he had been robbed, the Dragon grew mad with rage. Out of the cave he rushed, found the thane’s footprints, knew that a man had come into his cavern, and set out to wreak vengeance.
“The monster began to pour flames out of his mouth, to burn the bright dwellings. The flare of the fire brought fear upon men. The loathsome flier did not wish to leave one of them alive. The warring of the Dragon was widely seen, the onslaught of the cruel foe far and near, how the enemy of the people of the Geats wrought despite and devastation. He hastened back to his hoard, to his hideous hall, before day came. But he had harassed the dwellers in the land with fire, with flames and destruction. Now he trusted to be safe in his cavern, safe because of his fearsome strength. But his hope deceived him.”
Quickly the terror that had come upon them was made known to Beowulf by his people. And Beowulf at once realized that his thane had stolen the goblet from the Dragon’s hoard, and doubtless much treasure besides - and that there was no way in which to make peace with the Dragon.
So he prepared for what he feared might well be his last battle. First he bade his smiths make him a great shield of iron, for well he knew that the usual shield of lindenwood had no chance against the fiery breath of the Dragon. Then he put on his helmet and armour, girded his sword and his battle-knife at his side, and called together his thanes and warriors.
When they were gathered he said: “I go now alone to fight against the Dragon, I who in younger days slew Grendel the terrible marsh-stepper and the monster his mother; I who wrestled with Brecca the strong-swimmer all a winter’s day; I who have fought and won in many a battle of men when Hygelac my uncle ruled the Geats. If I could prevail without a sword, no sword would I carry. But I cannot fight a Dragon as I fought Grendel - for I expect hot battle-flame and a blast of poisoned breath. Therefore I go fully armed, bearing a shield of iron. But this I vow: not one step backwards will I take once I raise my sword against the Dragon: where we meet, there will I fight to the death.”
Then Beowulf set out for the Dragon’s cave. His warriors followed him, but remained at a distance to see the battle.
Beowulf strode up to the cave entrance and cried his defiance in a loud voice. Hearing him, hate welled up in the heart of the Dragon. Out of the cave poured flames, the hot battle-breath of the monster, and the Dragon came, lashing his tail in fury.
Forward went Beowulf holding his shield before him, his ancient sword bare in his hand, and the flames curled round him. “The lord of the Geats raised up his hand, he struck the dreadful gleaming monster with the precious sword so that the bright edge turned on the bone; it bit less keenly than its King, hard-pressed by trouble, had need. After that battle-stroke the guardian of the treasure was in a savage mood; he poured forth deadly fire, the war-flames leapt far. Beowulf, friend of the Geats, uttered no battle-boasts of former victories, for the bare battle-blade had tailed him in dire need, the long-famous brand. It was no easy thing for so great a warrior to step back - yet so must any man do at need.
“It was not long ere the fighters closed once more. The treasure-guardian took new heart, his breast laboured with breathing - and Beowulf suffered anguish, ringed round with fire. Nor did his followers stand by any longer to watch the battle; instead they ran for the wood, they hid to save their lives.”
But one of them was stirred with shame, felt his heart leap with the desire to achieve mighty deeds. His name was Wiglaf, a young warrior distantly related to Beowulf, not yet tried in battle, though he bore his father’s sword and shield which had come victorious out of many battles.
“Wiglaf’s spirit did not weaken, nor did his father’s sword fail in the fight. That the Dragon discovered on their first meeting.
“But ere he rushed upon his foe he spoke to the warriors who had fled: `Let us go to the help of our warlike King while the fierce dread flame still flares. God knows I would think it shame to see him enveloped in that fire and not go to share the danger with him. It does not seem to me right that any of us should bear our shields back to our homes if we do not first fell the foe, guard the life of the guardian of the Geats.’
“Forward then he went through the deadly smoke, went armed to the aid of his king, and spoke but few words: `Beowulf, beloved of us all, triumph in this battle as in the days of your youth you swore to triumph and win fame while your life lasted-now, resolute warrior, mighty in deeds, thou must guard thy life with all thy strength, and I will help thee!’
“At these words the Dragon came raging once more, the dread evil creature, flashing with surges of flame to seek his enemies, the men whom he hated. Wiglaf’s shield withered in the fire till but the rim remained; nor did the corselet on his chest give much protection to the young warrior. But he fought mightily, sheltering behind Beowulf’s shield after his own was consumed by the fiery breath.
“Then again warlike Beowulf bethought him of his fame as a warrior: he struck with his battle-sword with all his might-struck with Naegling that ancient blade that had won so many battles in earlier days. But the old grey steel failed in this fight: he smote too hard and the sword shivered into pieces… Now was he in evil plight.
“Then for the third time that enemy of mankind, that flaming Dragon, ravened for battle. He rushed on the mighty warrior when he saw his chance and, hot and fierce in fight, he bit into his neck and shoulder with his sharp teeth. Then Beowulf was stained with his life-blood, the gore welled.
“Then Wiglaf, seeing the deadly peril of his prince, showed the great courage and daring that was in him. Not pausing to guard his head, he lashed out bravely with his sword, so strongly that it sank deep into the Dragon’s body, in spite of all his scales. And at that the flames pouring from the Dragon’s mouth, grew less.
“Then once more Beowulf the great king was himself again. He drew his keen and battle-sharp knife which he wore in his corselet, and he plunged it deep into the Dragon’s belly. Then the foe fell; force drove out his life.” Beowulf finished what Wiglaf had begun, and the Dragon sank down and died.
“That was the last victory of Beowulf the mighty warrior, the end of his work in this world. The wound which the Dragon had given him began to burn and swell: right soon he found that the poison was working with deadly force in his body.” He staggered to a rock outside the cave and sank on to it.
Beowulf sat there a while and spoke to Wiglaf, telling him that his death was near, speaking of all he had done for the people of the Geats during the fifty years of his reign, saying that he went to meet his Maker without fear.
Presently he spoke again: “Now that the Dragon lies dead, smitten with deep wounds, so, dear Wiglaf, hasten into his cave and bring out the treasure, the riches of olden times, so that I may gaze on the bright gems and the goldsmith’s artful work, and for that sight pass away more easily from life, and from the land which I have guarded for so long.”
Then Wiglaf went into the cave and carried out great armfuls of treasure: helmets and swords and shields; rings, bracelets, and chains of gold; cups, bowls and platters inlaid with jewels; jewel-encrusted brooches and girdles and combs-all these he carried out of the cave and piled in a great heap before the dying king.
“Beowulf spoke again, the dying hero gazing on the gold: `I give thanks aloud to the Prince, the King of Glory, the Eternal Lord for all that I see here, all the great treasure that I have been able to win for my people on this my death-day. I have here given my waning life for this heap of treasure: spend it well, for the good of my people, you who must guard them now. For I may tarry no longer in this world. When I am dead bid the warriors raise a great mound over my ashes at the sea-headland. Let it tower high on Hronesness, a reminder to my people, so that for ever after men at sea may call it `Beowulf’s Barrow’ when they see it from their tall ships as they sail by.’
“The dying king took his ring and gave it to Wiglaf. He took his helmet bright with gold from his head and gave him that also, bidding him use them well.
” `Thou art the last of our line,’ he said. `Fate has swept all away and I must needs follow them. I have no son to whom I may give my ring and my helmet: be you the guardian of the Geats.’
“Those were Beowulf’s last words, his last thoughts were his body was ready for the funeral pyre. As he spoke them his soul passed from his breast to seek the glory of Heaven.
“Great sorrow fell upon Wiglaf when he saw the man he loved best lying dead on the ground, his life ended. But the slayer also lay still, the dreadful Dragon of the earth, bereft of life, vanquished by the valiant. No longer could the coiling Dragon keep guard over the hoards of treasure, but swords and knife had laid him low so that he lay dead beside his cave, never to fly again. No more would he wheel in his flight through the air at midnight, nor gather treasure into his cave.” Beowulf had slain the Dragon, won the treasure for his people, and died doing his mightiest deed.
From the Hamish Hamilton Book of Dragons
Written by admin on September 9th, 2006 with
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