‘Who has done this?’
There was no one but the body of the child to hear the anger in Grendel’s mother’s voice. She looked around the cave and up into the light that was coming through the well shaft, but could see no one who could answer her question.
‘It is a child,’ she declared, ‘a child should not be here. A child should be at home.’
She stooped and tried to find life in the body of Puck the Pot Boy, but she had known that it was hopeless from the first moment she had seen the body. It was a child of her enemy, she reasoned and she supposed she might have found some consolation in this. But she did not. She felt the same sad dread and horror she had felt when she looked at the ruined lake, or when she looked at the heaps of waste that lay where once there had been beautiful meadows and groves. It was an affront to goodness, an insult to life itself.
When she searched her heart she found both anger and sadness, but she did not find hatred. She had told Grendel it was right to fight the men, but what she had meant was, that it was less wrong to fight than to allow oneself to be killed. Looking at the poor, dead child she found that she would have to think again. Perhaps all the killing was wrong, but if that was so, what could be done about King Lars and his soldiers? They seemed to have no sense of right and wrong, no inner voice to guide them away from cruelty and evil. She was sure that they would happily kill her without a second thought, yet here she stood, over the body of the child of her enemies and she wished that there was another choice that made sense. She sat carefully on the ground, just outside the pool of light and looked at the body and tried to think.
Thwurp felt that he had endured quite enough thinking time. The mixture of terror and anxiety that he was experiencing was more than he could bear. He made a more decisive effort to sit up.
‘Troll,’ he said. The Troll looked at him seriously. It had dark, deep brown eyes and it did not smile.
‘Grendel is the name I possess.
You believe that I will kill you,
And I may do this if I choose.
But I choose to delay and see
How it is that you can explain
The way your people act to us.’
Thwurp found it hard to focus on the Troll’s words and harder still to explain himself. He was not sure why he was trying to kill the Troll. It was not his choice.
‘The King,’ he started, ‘the King is angry that you live and go in his gardens and kill his men. You took his dog. It made him angry and so he sent me.’
‘Who is this King of men,
By what right are his lands possessed?
Who is he that comes here to us
And takes what is ours, as his own?
Tell me of this man and his life,
That I may know him in my mind
And try to fathom his purpose.’
Thwurp thought. He was unsure what the Troll was asking.
‘I will not betray him,’ he said with a small flare of courage, ‘I will not help you kill my kind.’ He felt prickles of fear all over his body and his eyes were fixed on the long steely claws of his captor. He breathed hard and remained resolute.
‘That is not what I ask of you.
I must understand this man-king,
As understanding is the road
Down which I must journey if I
Am to find peace for my people.’
‘But you are the monster!’ Thwurp could not believe that he had said the words. The Monster looked at him coldly. Its’ lip curled and revealed its’ sharp fangs. The long claws on the Monsters’ powerful fingers clenched and unclenched. And then it laughed. A soft ironic laugh and it spoke again,
‘I am the Monster; and your King?
Your King is right and good and fair?
Your King is such a paragon
Of every virtue? He is
True and honest and kind? He is
Right in all things and embraces
Rightness? Tell me of this man that
I may learn of right and wrongness?
I would listen to the story
Of his life and know this ruler.’
Troll and man regarded each other. At last the man spoke,
‘You understand I can tell you nothing that would bring him harm. You have taken me. It is as if I am already dead.’
The Troll nodded.
‘Then I will tell you the story of his life.’
The Troll sat down to listen and Thwurp began to tell all that he knew of the life of King Lars.
Grendel’s Mother had sat by the child for a long time. Part of her was taking time to mourn the many losses that she saw occurring in the world. The other part of her was wondering what to do next. Reason said that she should abandon the child’s body in the cave. Although she was strong, she was old. She was also lost in the cave and did not know either the way to the surface or the way back to her own cave; and, if by some chance, she did escape the cave; what then? Where would she go with the body of a human child? That was the sensible action to take, leave the body behind and begin to climb; but she could not let go of the child. There was no choice. She could not leave his body here, alone in the dark. Somewhere he had a mother, who would care; who would wait for news and slowly waste away wondering. Grendel’s Mother would not allow that to happen. Promising to return, she moved away from the child’s body and began to search the cavern.
The slope she had fallen down was too steep to climb. She tried several times but could not make any progress. Further to the left was an opening that might become a tunnel. She ducked under the entrance and found that the tunnel went further down, but then climbed in a series of ledges that appeared like giant stairs. She felt that she should just be able to pull herself up onto them. She climbed the first one. It was difficult to pull herself up, but she managed the first step and then she climbed down again to retrieve the child’s body. Looking into the darkness, she thought there were eight of the giant steps. She hoped there would be a way out at the top.
As Thwurp told the story of King Lars’ life, Grendel had, at first, asked many questions and had sought clarifications and explanations of things that Thwurp had told him, but, as the catalogue of battles, sieges, killings and lootings mounted he had become progressively quieter, until the only voice was Thwurp’s and this eventually droned to a halt after the building of the Beer Hall and the taking of the Royal Dog. They sat in silence for some time, until Grendel spoke,
‘He says that I am the Monster!
What is he? He is the Monster!
His is a most brutish story.
He thrives on killing and with Death
As his companion he holds
Dominion upon the Earth.
This man is not a man. He is
As unlike a man as the night
Is unlike the day. His is the
Monstrous path, befouled with evil!
There can be no peace with this King!
This is the king of darkness who
Spits in the face of life, and laughs
As the shadows grow at the tomb
Of Joy.
You have opened my eyes.
With this King there can only be
Struggle or Death. There is no hope
For compromise or peace. Thank you,
You have been my enemy, but
Your truth has freed me as I will
Free you.
Go and return to your
Surface life. You have not betrayed
Your King, but I am sure he has
Betrayed you. Go! And kill no more.’
Grendel gestured to a narrow exit from the cave and turned away, deep in thought. Thwurp wasted no time in gaining the exit and followed the narrow passageway until he stopped in confusion. The pathway led to water. The small cave ended in a pool. Thwurp did not know that Grendel lived under the lake and that, if he were to swim through the water he would
soon arrive safely at the lakeshore. He thought the Troll was teasing him and still meant to kill him. This infuriated Thwurp. In the cave he had faced his fears, he had been brave, he felt that he had a right to live and he was enraged to be tricked in such a fashion.
He pulled out his hidden blade, expecting to hear the Troll laugh as it came to finish him off. No sound came. Thwurp was more annoyed, the beast thought that it could just ignore him and then dispatch him when it was ready. Thwurp’s anger and courage rose. He would show it!
He crept cautiously back along the tunnel and stooped low to peer around the corner and into Grendel’s cave. The Troll had stretched out and appeared to be asleep on a rough mattress at the far end of the cave. Closer to Thwurp was another passageway that seemed to have been broken open recently. He assumed that this was the real exit. He would escape that way, however he was sure the Troll was faster than him, so if he were chased it would catch him. His dagger glittered in the half light and he composed a plan.
Grendel’s Mother was tired, but hopeful. She had managed to bring the body of the child up the first four of the giant steps and she was resting before moving on to climb the rest. She thought that the light had improved and this gave her hope that there was an exit through which she could escape. She was now quite cold and she realised that she was hungry. She should have eaten before she explored the old tunnel. She chided herself for this; there was no senses in wishing things were different. She had made her choices and they had brought her here. She would have to make the best of it and move on.
She lifted the child above her head and pushed him over the lip of the next stair. Then she gripped the top of the ledge and strained to pull herself up. This took all her strength, and when she had edged her belly onto the top of the ledge and rolled across to join the dead child, she was gasping for breath and wondering whether she could repeat this action another three times. She thought of Grendel and how he would worry if he did not find her at the cave. She thought of the child and his mother and tried to use this to give her courage and strength.
Shakily, she got to her feet and began to drag the body to the next stair.
Grendel was worried by his Mother’s disappearance, although not as much as she would have imagined. He had observed his Mother’s strength and determination and he was sure that she was a match for any of the guards she may have come across. He would have liked to have known where she was, and if he had observed the newly opened tunnel, then he would have assumed that was where she was and he would have followed to find her.
He had not noticed this as he had a great deal on his mind. He was surprised that had he had not killed the guard whose name was Thwurp and that he had bought him back to the cave. When he examined his motives he found that, although he felt vengeful and angry towards the humans, he did not hate them and that killing them troubled him. This was another surprise to him; and it was unwelcome.
Intellectually he understood the risk that they posed to himself and other Trolls, and having spoken to Thwurp, he had discovered that the leader of the humans was a multiple murderer, with no shred of conscience. This surely meant that he should continue his guerrilla war, as it was entirely justified. But he was not sure. He realised that he could imitate the actions of his enemy, but that would impose the life his enemies seemed to like upon himself, and this was not what he would choose. While this gave him a degree of satisfaction it also posed a very troubling question. If he could not fight and kill his enemies, how could he defeat them?
This was the problem he was wrestling with, as he lay on the cave floor. He wished that he had not let Thwurp go. He could have found out more about how the humans thought and behaved and tried to find out if there was a way that they could be reasoned with. He wondered how they resolved disputes with each other; until he thought about what Thwurp had told him and understood. They were governed by power and fear alone. He wondered if there was a way that he could make them fear him enough to come to terms.
Suddenly he heard a sharp movement, and to his surprise he saw Thwurp run back into the cave holding a thin-bladed knife. Before he could react Thwurp stuck the knife into Grendel’s left calf, where it wedged. Thwurp abandoned the knife and was swiftly gone, disappearing through a crack in the cave wall. Grendel was going to pull himself to his feet and chase when the pain of the knife wound started and he fell back, gasping on the cave floor.
The pain from the knife wound was severe and the knife was still stuck in his leg. He struggled to control his mind and body. He pulled himself up into a sitting position to assess the wound. It had clearly harmed the muscle and he was sure that if he pulled it out there would be a lot of blood. He cursed himself for being a trusting and careless fool.
‘Idiot, you deserve this pain!’ he told himself. He realised that Thwurp would escape. Then the real horror of what he had done struck him. Thwurp would escape and he would know where to find the cave. Grendel decided he would have to get the knife out immediately and give chase, if he possibly could.
With a curse he took hold of the dagger’s hilt.
Thwurp had never known his heart beat so fast. He had done it. He had tricked the beast and escaped. He ran as quickly as he could in the darkness, fearing the sound of pursuit. After a while he stopped to listen. He was pleased that all was quiet. Then he was afraid that there may be no way out and he would have to go back in the cave with the Troll. He was painfully aware that now he did not even have a knife. He decided to move on, but he went on at a slower pace so that he could listen and feel his way through the rocks. He felt that the passage was going upwards and the lack of pursuit gave him hope. As he felt the rough walls he noticed that the damp moss that had been prevalent near the Troll cave had given way to a drier soil and he could feel tree roots in the soil walls. He also noticed that there was, not perhaps light, but almost a lessening of the darkness. He hurried on. Now he was sure that he was climbing and that as he climbed there was an increase in light. He let himself hope that he would escape. He would report back to the King and come back here with the biggest, strongest warriors in the Kingdom and they would kill the Troll. For a moment he regretted this thought. The Troll had spared him. It seemed to be an intelligent creature. It had impressed him.
But then his fear returned. It had tricked him! It had pretended to let him go and it would probably have killed him. He would show no mercy if he got the chance. He would redeem himself with the King. Again he pushed on and then, without warning, he stepped into the light.
He was in a large cavern and to his right he could see sunlight and an exit into some woods. There was a way out! To his right he could see that the cavern extended down into the darkness through a series of ledges that looked life giant stairs. In the middle of the cave was another troll.
He flattened himself against the cave wall and hoped that he had not been seen. The Troll did not seem to notice him. She had her back to him and was carrying some kind of bundle. He noticed that the troll was moving very slowly. He did not understand why, but he was glad not to be seen. The troll was shuffling towards the exit. He realised that he would have to wait until it was safely out of the cave before he could make his own escape. He worried that Grendel might come up behind him, and he willed the Troll in the cave to move more quickly. The seconds dragged by as she walked upwards into the sunlight.
Grendel’s Mother was now beyond tiredness. She had managed to bring the body up the remaining giant steps, but she was now almost overcome with fatigue. She was determined to take the body to the child’s mother. She could not explain why she needed to do this, but she could not stop. It was as if all her grief for her home and fear for her son had been poured into the body of the child and it seemed to her, that if she could deliver him then all that fear and grief would pass. This feeling drove her on.
She almost stopped as she entered the full sunlight. Something inside her was telling her to return to the cave; but she would not listen. She pressed on. As she came out into
the wood she recognised where she was. There was a human village nearby. She would take the child there. She walked on, oblivious to the figure of Thwurp, who had followed her from the cave.
As she felt the sun on her face, she realised that it was the morning of the next day. A night had passed while she was in the cave. It was no surprise, she thought, that she was so tired.
‘And at my age!’ she said aloud. She looked at the small body of the child in her arms,
‘Now I will take you and find your home.
You will rest with your own people.’
She found a path through the trees that led down to the centre of the village.
The area around the village had not been as badly disfigured by the Brewery and Beer Hall as had the area by the lake and there were many trees that were now cloaked in green by the coming of spring. Grendel’s mother liked the greenness and could hear the leaves whispering in the light, fresh breeze that blew on her face.
As she approached the village, she began to walk amongst the cultivated fields, where there farmers were working in the morning sunlight. When they saw the Troll approaching they called out warnings and ran towards the centre of the village. Grendel’s mother pressed on oblivious to this activity, but by the time she arrived in the village centre a large crowd had gathered. They were mostly armed with farmyard tools, but some had bows and some had spears. The women and children of the village were also there, they had stones and rocks. She stopped and looked at the crowd. Each side seemed unsure of the intentions of the other. The villagers did not understand why the troll was not attacking them. Grendel’s Mother was too tired to explain, and having reached her destination had come to a stop. Thwurp, who had followed her through the trees remained concealed and watched to see what would happen next.
‘Why are you here?’ asked one of the villagers. The others waited. Grendel’s Mother searched for words,
‘I have found a thing of horror.
In the cave beneath the old well
I found it. I found a body,
The body of a boy. He was
Murdered. Murdered! Someone threw him