When Hardred’s death was noised abroad, several of the neighbouring
peoples made raids upon Gothland, but Beowulf kept so strict a watch on
the borders that the enemy was beaten back at all points. Scarcely was
the country freed from the attacks of these sea-wolves, when Eadgils,
king of Swithiod, came at the head of a large army to avenge his
brother’s death. The Goths and Swedes met, and fought a murderous
battle, in which many men were slain, and among them King Eadgils.
After the death of their king, the Swedes retired to their ships, and
sailed back to their own land. The consequence of this victory was a
lasting peace. No vikings dared attack the well-defended shores of
Gothland, and but few quarrels arose among the nobles to disturb the
internal peace of the realm. Beowulf ruled the land with great justice
and wisdom. No one entreating his help was ever sent empty away, and no
act of tyranny remained unpunished.
Forty years or more passed after this fashion. The hero had grown an
old man, and hoped that the national peace and happiness would last as
long as he lived. But he was to be rudely awakened from this dream. An
enemy attacked Gothland, against whom all weapons and armies were
useless. This was how it happened. A dishonest slave, who feared
discovery and punishment at his master’s hands, fled from home, and
took refuge in a wild, rocky place. When he got there, he looked about
for some cave in which he might take up his abode. Coming to one, he
entered, but found it already tenanted by an immense dragon, which lay
stretched on the ground asleep. Behind it, at the back of the cave,
were treasures of all sorts. The man looked greedily at the shining
mass of jewels and gold, and thought in his heart, “If I had but a few
of these treasures, I could buy my freedom, and need no longer fear my
master.” This idea made him bold. He slipped softly past the monster,
and stole a golden pot, the knob on whose lid was formed of a shining
carbuncle. He escaped safely, and going back to his master, bought his
freedom. Neither of the men had the slightest notion of the harm this
deed would bring down upon the land.
The dragon, which had watched over its hoard for hundreds of years, and
knew each costly thing by heart, saw at once that it had been robbed.
At nightfall it crept out of its hole to look for traces of the thief.
Finding none, it lifted up its voice and howled so loud, that the earth
shook, at the same time flames issued from its mouth and burnt up
granges and homesteads far and wide. The men, who sought to put out the
fire, fell victims to its fury, or else were dragged into the monster’s
cave, where they perished miserably. This happened night after night;
the devastation had no end. Many brave warriors went out against the
dragon, and tried to kill it, but none of them could withstand the
fiery blasts with which the creature defended itself.
The old king heard the story of these events with infinite sorrow. He
determined himself to attack the monster, and when his friends
remonstrated with him on his rashness, he replied that it was his duty
to defend his people from all their enemies, and that the gods would
help him. He further announced that he would have fought the dragon
unarmed, as he had done the monster Grendel, the son of the sea-witch,
but that he feared he could not make his way through the flames without
such protection. He therefore had a shield made three times as thick as
usual, and so large that it covered him completely. This done, he chose
eleven of his bravest warriors to be his comrades in this adventure,
among them Wichstan, the man who avenged King Hardred’s death.
Beowulf and his companions set out on their journey, and in due course
arrived at the dragon’s cave, out of which there flowed a brook whose
waters were made boiling hot by the monster’s fiery breath.
The king bade his friends wait a little way off, until they saw whether
he needed their help, and then advancing to the mouth of the cave, he
called the dragon to come forth. The great beast came out at his call,
and a terrible struggle ensued. Both combatants were hidden from view
in a dense cloud of smoke and fire. The rocks trembled and shook at the
bellowing of the monster, which at the same time slashed out with its
tail, whose blows fell like a sledge-hammer both in sound and
regularity. For a moment the smoke and flames were blown aside by a
puff of wind, and Beowulf’s comrades saw that the dragon had just
seized their king in its great jaws. They could not bear the sight, and
ten of them slipped aside and strove to hide behind rocks and trees;
but the eleventh, brave Wichstan, hastened to help his master. His
shield was burnt up in a twinkling, and he was obliged to seek shelter
behind the king. Both heroes seemed lost. The dragon tore down
Beowulf’s iron shield, and caught him a second time in its great jaws,
crushing him between its teeth with such force, that the iron rings of
his coat of mail cracked like so much crockery, though they had been
forged by Wieland himself. Then Wichstan seized his opportunity, when
the beast’s head was raised, the better to champ his prey, and plunged
his sword into the fleshy part of its throat under the lower jaw. Upon
this the dragon dropped the king, and encircled both its adversaries
with its tail, but Beowulf at the same moment made a lunge at its open
mouth, driving his weapon so deep that the point came out at the
dragon’s throat. After that they soon dispatched the monster, and then
threw themselves on a ledge of rock, panting and exhausted.
When they had recovered a little, the heroes loosened their armour, and
Wichstan saw that blood was oozing slowly from under the king’s gorget.
He wanted to bind up the slight wound; but Beowulf forbade him, saying
that it would be useless, as the hurt had been given by the dragon’s
tooth, and the poison was already in his veins.
“I must die,” he added, “but I go to my forefathers without sadness,
though I am the last of my race, for my wife has given me no son and
heir. I can look back on my past life with pleasure, for I have wronged
no man, but have shown justice to all.”
He then asked Wichstan to fetch him a drink of water, and afterwards to
bring him the treasure out of the dragon’s cave, that he might see,
with his own eyes, the last gift he should ever make to his people.
His commands were obeyed, and a few minutes later he had passed away
quietly and peacefully. Wichstan gazed at him in silent grief. Beowulf
had been his dearest friend, and he felt that, with his death, his last
tie to life was loosed. Meanwhile the ten warriors had come out of
their hiding-places, when they found that all danger was over. On
seeing what had chanced, they raised their voices in mourning; but
Wichstan bade them hold their peace, or if they must weep, at least to
weep for their own cowardice, and not for the hero who had died at his
post. He then advised them to make the best of their way to other
lands, as he could not answer for their lives when the Goths became
aware of the way in which they had deserted their king in his hour of
need.
[Illustration: BEOWULF DYING.]
With bowed heads and shame-stricken faces the men turned away. They
departed out of Gothland, and sought to hide their heads in countries
where their names were unknown.
The body of Beowulf was borne to its funeral pile on the height called
Hronesnäs, and there burnt amid the tears and sorrow of a nation. When
the funeral rites had all been performed, the great treasure was taken
back to the dragon’s cave. For the Goths would have none of the gold
their beloved king had won for them in his death. So it still lies
hidden in the heart of the earth as in the olden time when the dragon
guarded it from mortal ken. If it is useless to men, it is at all
events not hurtful.
[Illustration]
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