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Authors: Tim Hodkinson
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the
defenders reached them as they would slaughter them in the shallow water. Once
all were on the pebbles they formed up, locking shields side by side to form a
wall.
"I must go."
Beowulf looked up and
saw through the haze of his agony that Weohstan bent over him. Through gritted
teeth he nodded and his second in command leapt off the prow.
With a roar of war
cries the two bands of warriors closed on each other. Shields thumped against
shields and swords rang against armour. Men growled and screamed curses at each
other from behind the visors of their helmets.
Hearing the start of
the battle and knowing his men were fighting, outnumbered and without him,
Beowulf swore. He called for strength on his God: Ingvi, the God of his people
who was commonly called Frey, the Lord. He dragged himself up onto the
prow to see what was going on. On the beach his men had formed an arrowhead
formation to stop the defenders coming around their flanks but their inferior
numbers were already telling. They had put five of the defenders down but four
of his men lay on the pebbles, whether wounded or killed he could not tell.
Despite the pain in his
arm and leg, rage began to boil in him. They had ventured across the icy
northern sea, they had fought-and defeated-Grendal the ettin , a monster
from the marshlands. Then when Grendal's mother had come to avenge her son they
had killed her too. After surviving all that they were now dying on the very
shores of their homeland at the hands of faceless enemies who had attacked them
for no reason.
He had to join his men,
even if it was just to die alongside them. With a roar he dragged himself to
his feet though bent double from the pain, his crippled arm hugged close in to
his stomach. He lurched up onto the prow of the ship and as he did so another
stab of pain shot through his body, this time in his right thigh. It felt for
all the world like a spear shaft going through his leg, yet there was no weapon
visible, no blood and no wound. Unable to stop himself he screamed out in
agony, his back arched and he tried to grasp the limb. Losing his balance
Beowulf tumbled off the prow and into the freezing surf below.
For a moment all other
sensation was drowned by the shock of hitting the cold water. He lay flat on
his back in the shallow water, gasping to control his breathing and racing
heart. At first he thought the icy water had numbed the feeling, but then as
his other senses returned to normal he realised that the mysterious
debilitating agony in his limbs had vanished when he hit the waves. A wave
closed over him, completely soaking him, and he decided that the strange
enchantment was definitely gone and if he did not get up, he would drown.
In a second Beowulf was
on his feet, soaked to the skin and his hair trailing water. He had no time to
consider what had happened to him: his men needed his help. Spray flying, he
charged up out of the water roaring his defiance in an incoherent war cry. He
ripped the great ring sword-the trophy he had won for killing the shadow walker
Grendal's fiendish mother-from its sheath. The polished metal of the blade
gleamed in the misty morning sunlight. Heedless of the fact that he wore no
armour or helmet, Beowulf plunged straight into the fight. Weohstan, who was at
the point of the arrow formation, heard his lord bellowing and instinctively
stepped aside. The big warrior ploughed past him, dipping his shoulder into the
shield of the first man in his way. Even though he had been braced against
Weohstan, the force of Beowulf's charge sent the man sprawling onto his back.
Beowulf stormed forwards, standing on the man and swinging his sword in a
deadly arc that connected with the helmet of the warrior to his right. With a
startled cry the man collapsed, knees buckling as he dropped to the pebbles.
The arrow formation
could serve equally well in attack as defence. With a hole battered through the
shield wall of the opposing force, Beowulf's men surged forward
defenders reached them as they would slaughter them in the shallow water. Once
all were on the pebbles they formed up, locking shields side by side to form a
wall.
"I must go."
Beowulf looked up and
saw through the haze of his agony that Weohstan bent over him. Through gritted
teeth he nodded and his second in command leapt off the prow.
With a roar of war
cries the two bands of warriors closed on each other. Shields thumped against
shields and swords rang against armour. Men growled and screamed curses at each
other from behind the visors of their helmets.
Hearing the start of
the battle and knowing his men were fighting, outnumbered and without him,
Beowulf swore. He called for strength on his God: Ingvi, the God of his people
who was commonly called Frey, the Lord. He dragged himself up onto the
prow to see what was going on. On the beach his men had formed an arrowhead
formation to stop the defenders coming around their flanks but their inferior
numbers were already telling. They had put five of the defenders down but four
of his men lay on the pebbles, whether wounded or killed he could not tell.
Despite the pain in his
arm and leg, rage began to boil in him. They had ventured across the icy
northern sea, they had fought-and defeated-Grendal the ettin , a monster
from the marshlands. Then when Grendal's mother had come to avenge her son they
had killed her too. After surviving all that they were now dying on the very
shores of their homeland at the hands of faceless enemies who had attacked them
for no reason.
He had to join his men,
even if it was just to die alongside them. With a roar he dragged himself to
his feet though bent double from the pain, his crippled arm hugged close in to
his stomach. He lurched up onto the prow of the ship and as he did so another
stab of pain shot through his body, this time in his right thigh. It felt for
all the world like a spear shaft going through his leg, yet there was no weapon
visible, no blood and no wound. Unable to stop himself he screamed out in
agony, his back arched and he tried to grasp the limb. Losing his balance
Beowulf tumbled off the prow and into the freezing surf below.
For a moment all other
sensation was drowned by the shock of hitting the cold water. He lay flat on
his back in the shallow water, gasping to control his breathing and racing
heart. At first he thought the icy water had numbed the feeling, but then as
his other senses returned to normal he realised that the mysterious
debilitating agony in his limbs had vanished when he hit the waves. A wave
closed over him, completely soaking him, and he decided that the strange
enchantment was definitely gone and if he did not get up, he would drown.
In a second Beowulf was
on his feet, soaked to the skin and his hair trailing water. He had no time to
consider what had happened to him: his men needed his help. Spray flying, he
charged up out of the water roaring his defiance in an incoherent war cry. He
ripped the great ring sword-the trophy he had won for killing the shadow walker
Grendal's fiendish mother-from its sheath. The polished metal of the blade
gleamed in the misty morning sunlight. Heedless of the fact that he wore no
armour or helmet, Beowulf plunged straight into the fight. Weohstan, who was at
the point of the arrow formation, heard his lord bellowing and instinctively
stepped aside. The big warrior ploughed past him, dipping his shoulder into the
shield of the first man in his way. Even though he had been braced against
Weohstan, the force of Beowulf's charge sent the man sprawling onto his back.
Beowulf stormed forwards, standing on the man and swinging his sword in a
deadly arc that connected with the helmet of the warrior to his right. With a
startled cry the man collapsed, knees buckling as he dropped to the pebbles.
The arrow formation
could serve equally well in attack as defence. With a hole battered through the
shield wall of the opposing force, Beowulf's men surged forward
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