One evening while the warriors were feasting in King Hrodgar’s hall, a
minstrel was called upon to sing. He tuned his harp, and sang of the
coming of Skiöld, the son whom Odin sent to live a human life among
mortal men. He told how the babe had been seen lying on a shield
floating on the waves of the sea, how he had been drawn ashore and
carefully tended, and how he had become a mighty king and warrior in
Jutland. He sang of Skiöld’s glorious life, of the kingdom he had left
to his children and grandchildren; and last of all he sung of Hrodgar,
Skiöld’s most famous grandson, who, like him, was the patron of all
peaceful arts, the protector of all peaceful folk, and the punisher of
evil-doers.
Many heroes were collected round the king that night at Hirschhalle, so
called from the gigantic antlers of a royal stag, which, carved in
stone, adorned the battlements. At length the time came for the
warriors to separate for the night, and as there were too many of them
to be accommodated elsewhere, beds were made up for them in the great
hall. Two and thirty brave men lay down to sleep on the couches spread
for them; but next morning, when the servants came to waken them, they
were gone. The room was in confusion, here and there might be seen
stains of blood, and other signs of struggle.
King Hrodgar came himself as soon as he heard what had chanced, and
examined the place carefully to try and find out the cause of the
disaster. He followed the blood-stains through the hall, and out of
doors, and there, in the soft earth, he saw the deep footprints of a
giant. The whole affair was clear to him now. He knew that the monster
Grendel, who had been banished the land by the aid of a great magician,
had at length returned. When it became known that Grendel had come
back, ten warriors offered to keep watch in the hall, and fight the
giant if he tried to come in. Next morning they were gone. They had
either been surprised in their sleep, or had not been strong enough to
withstand the monster. The Skiöldungs’ people were brave and fearless,
so twelve other heroes immediately offered their services. Eleven of
them laid themselves down to sleep in their armour, while the twelfth,
a minstrel, kept watch.
At midnight the giant came, smacking his great lips, and slowly
dragging his heavy body along. The minstrel saw and heard all that took
place; but he could neither speak nor move; he was, as it were,
paralysed with fear, and at last sank back senseless. Next morning,
when with infinite trouble they restored him to consciousness, he
either could not, or would not, tell what he had seen. He picked up his
arms and his harp, pointed to the stains on the floor, and strode down
to the strand without a word or sign of farewell to any one. A vessel
was on the point of sailing for Gothland, so he went on board, and had
soon left the ill-fated shores of Jutland behind.