Beowulf by Robert Nye

I
A S HIP W ITHOUT A S AIL
    Long ago there was no king in the land of the Danes, and they all wanted one. When a ship without sails or sailors came drifting in from sea, they went to meet it looking for a wonder, and sure enough there was a child in the ship. The child was curled asleep on a sheaf of ripe corn, with gold and swords heaped round about him. A golden flag flapped at the mast.
    “This is Odin’s doing!” cried a fisherman with a big white beard that blew in the wind like spindrift. “We need a king, and he sends us this child across the sea. I’m sure he is a prince.”
    “Of course he is,” said someone else. “Look at his clenched fists and the way he smiles in his dreams. Oh, he’s royal all right!”
    “Perhaps he is Odin’s son,” said a third.
    Now, Odin was a great god. So the child was taken gently from the ship and wrappedin rich robes and hailed as ruler of all the Danes. They called him Scyld Scefing.
    Scyld grew up to be strong and brave, the terror of his enemies. He was tall as a tower and his eyes blazed like bonfires when he was angry. Running into battle, he could shout so loudly that men felt the cry like a hammer on their heads, and fell down dead of fright. His sword was so long and heavy that no one else could lift it. His horned helmet was big enough to put an eagle in. When he sat down to supper, in a chair carved out of a whole oak tree, the cooks ran to and fro bringing him bulls to eat, and barrels of beer that he drained in one go. His laughter cracked stones.
    For all this, Scyld Scefing was kind and wise, and his people loved him. Under his rule, peace came to the land of the Danes, because none of the neighbor countries dared to fight with such a giant. Instead, they brought him gifts and tributes so that he would not go to war against them. The treasury swelled until it was like a hill of jewels.
    At last Scyld got to be an old man. His stride was still enormous, but no longer did his feet strike thunder from the earth. His body bent, and his eyes—which once could have outstared the sun—grew watery. He could not eat a whole bull anymore.
    Scyld knew his end was near. He called his warriors to him and told them what they must do.
    “Build me a great ship,” he said, his trumpet tongue now shrunken to a whisper, “and let the decks of the ship be strewn with gold, and swords stacked upon the gold. And hang my shield and corselet in the prow, that the waves may know me and show respect. And in the heart of the ship, under the tall mast that must have no sail, prepare a bed that will burn. And in the heart of the bed let a sheaf of corn be planted.”
    His warriors were sad, but they did as he said. Scyld lay on a silver litter at the water’s edge and watched with tears as the ship was made ready. When all had been done as he had commanded, he dragged himself on board and lay down on the bed. They piled jewels on his chest where the great heart beat uncertainly, like the footfalls of a messenger near journey’s end. They saluted him, one after another, and returned to the shore in silence. Dawn was coming, and the air smelt salty cold.
    The sheaf of corn flickered into thin green flame. Then it was gold and raging. The whole ship blazed as it moved against the wind and out to the waiting sea.

II
A H ALL F ULL OF B LOOD
    Scyld Scefing left a son who ruled after him, and that son had another son, named Healfdene. Healfdene had three sons, Hrothgar, Heorogar, and Halga, and a daughter whose name has been forgotten, although she was beautiful and witty and married Onela, king of the Swedes. All Scyld’s heirs had some of Scyld in them, though none had quite such giant strength. Of the three sons of Healfdene, Hrothgar was strongest, and when his father died they made him king.
    Hrothgar had a backbone that would bend to no man. He was bold and fierce, with red hair, a jutting jaw, and eyes like naked swords. While still a boy, he had killed a bear with his own hands.