Not Quite Beowulf

  King Lars ran around the courtyard from one to another; cursing their cowardice, offering inducements and promising that if they deserted him now they need never hope for work from him again. This did not produce the change of heart he clearly hoped for; the champions continued to leave. The Beer Hall guards looked on enviously, wishing that this option was open to them. When the last of the champions had departed King Lars stormed into the Beer Hall to meet with Thwurp, Steelstrom, Bjorn the Banker and the Queen. He was very unhappy.

  ‘Look at them! What a cowardly bunch of rats!’ he declared.

  ‘What did you expect?’ asked the Queen coldly, ‘I knew what needed to be done and I did it.’

  The assembled gathering wanted to nod their agreement, however out of deference to King Lars’ likely feelings they restrained themselves.

  ‘Can Beowulf be trusted to do this thing?’ asked King Lars.

  The Queen declined to answer, her proud stance asserting that any plan she made would be successful.

  The others felt themselves to be in a familiar position; the King was clearly wrong, but would not thank the one who pointed it out. Steelstrom solved the problem, showing again the genius that had made him a giant of industry.

  ‘Call for the Royal Historian. He will tell us of the deeds of Beowulf.’

  The others sighed with relief and took up the call for Gnosser, who soon arrived, staggering under the weight of some heavy volumes.

  Having arrived, Gnosser set down his volumes, fiddled with his papers, picked up his favourite volume, marshalled his thoughts and began.

  ‘Beowulf, of parentage uncertain was born in the Duchy of Jutland some thirty years ago. In some way connected to the House of Jutland, he prospered well, both in the art of war and in the pursuit of knowledge. He achieved a degree at the famous University of Wittenburg in the same year that he led an army of Jutland in its fight against the Norwegians.’

  ‘Despite his great victories and aristocratic connections, he declined any political post with the Duke of Jutland (whom it is rumoured he hates as a father) and immersed himself in the lower German wars as a mercenary commander. His deeds in this war are well known; he combined a shrewd tactical sense with a ruthless political awareness, changing sides several times to prolong the war and increase both his profits and reputation. He became particularly famous for a tactic know as a ‘Beowulf parley’, in this he would meet with an enemy, gain their trust, come to an agreement and then betray the agreement, gaining a considerable advantage for himself. The accepted belief of all Historians is that this trick could not be repeated, however, he has continued to use this tactic and succeed, thus enhancing his fearsome reputation further.’

  ‘As a monster hunter, he also has a famous name. It is said that he slew a fell werewolf in the forest of Walla (pronounced Val-a) a vampire in the Czech mountains and a ghoul in Guggenheim. The most famous story is that he slew the Dragon of Budapest; although it is unclear as to whether this was a real Dragon, or a metaphysical conceit. This uncertainty leads us to the other aspect of his character that must be considered; as well as a General and monster hunter he is also famous as a philosopher.’

  ‘He is recognised as the continents foremost sceptical philosopher. This means that he doubts everything and believes in nothing; he denies the Gods and even the existence of the world and this absurd and blasphemous practice has lead all religions to declare against him and in many parts of the world he is seen as a devil, an avatar for the unholy and an accursed outcast. The Bishop of Worth (pronounced Vurth) has described him as “the vilest affront to the divine that what may pass for humanity has to offer.” His own University professor (although obviously proud of his notorious reputation) has banned him from the city and said of him, “A most brilliant, yet misguided mind. The glory of his intellect is polluted by the mire of his soul, which is as dark as midwinter midnight. There has never been a more dangerous, ruthless and callous mind. His deep (and erroneous) disregard for both the Divine and the Natural, the very pillars of creation, leaves him in a spiritual wasteland where only his own self gratification and lust for power exist to him as real. He walks as an abusive monster through a trusting and hopeful world with no moral compass but his own. I shudder to think of what he may be capable.” Not a warm endorsement, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘For the last few years his whereabouts and activities are unknown. There is a lively debate as to whether he has taken up the study of demonology in an effort to bring the unholy within his control (although he denies the existence of this) or, the opposing school of thought says that he has retired to contemplate a plan to gain power that may challenge the might of the Duke of Jutland, who it is believed he wants to humiliate for personal reasons.’

  Gnosser closed the book. There was a silence.

  ‘And this is who we have invited?’ queried King Lars.

  ‘He sounds a capital fellow!’ interjected Steelstrom, ‘Very ambitious, very resourceful. Just the sort of chap we need. If anyone can sort out this troll problem, then he sounds like the man we need.’

  The others were taken aback by Steelstrom’s enthusiasm.

  ‘I am seeing what you are saying,’ replied Bjorn the Banker, ‘But I hesitate when I hear what I am hearing. He is tricky, treacherous and treasonable. Although we are not religiously religious he is scarily sacrilegious. He is a fountain of faithlessness and a farmer of fury. He is deadly and dangerous and decidedly difficult to deal with, and...’

  ‘And?’ interjected the Queen angrily, ‘And? And that is what we need. A man who can do what needs to be done!’

  She glared contemptuously, first at Bjorn and then at King Lars.

  ‘The monster is destroying the Kingdom! If you choose to do nothing about it, the historians such as him,’ here she turned her fury on Gnosser, ‘will coldly record this as a fact; but if you will not act to preserve your Kingdom for your child, then others must do that for you!’

  This was too much for King Lars and the frustrations of his Beer hall being undermined, his troops failing, his dog being stolen and his champions deserting him all came together. He struck the Queen a cruel, hard, back-handed blow, causing her to stagger back across the Beer Hall floor, while he bellowed.

  ‘Enough! I am the King here and when Beowulf comes I will deal with him and he will destroy the monster at my command. No one will question me. No one will say what I can or cannot do. I am the king here!’

  The courtiers were shocked, both Bjorn and Steelstrom wanted to help the Queen, but felt unable to do so. The Queen sat, heavily on the floor and put her head in her hands. The hall was silent except for the heavy breathing of the King.

  ‘I rule here. You will all do as I say. That is how things will be. The Queen will return to her room. Gnosser will return to his books. Bjorn will go to the counting house and see to the money.’

  At this point the King seemed to lose his energy. Steelstrom saw this as a moment to intervene.

  ‘It shall all be as you say; your majesty. This will be done. I will send to the harbour to see if there is news of Beowulf.’

  He turned and offered a hand to the Queen.

  ‘You should rest. It is difficult leading the state. That is why we are blessed with the King.’

  The Queen declined his hand, but got to her feet and left. Gnosser had picked up his books and was ready to leave.

  ‘Not a word of this!’ warned Steelstrom and the Historian nodded, mutely.

  ‘Bjorn, see that the King’s finances are in good order. He will need gold to pay this Beowulf. Thwurp; see that a messenger is sent to watch the harbour. The King and I will be taking a drink, while I listen to his royal plans.’

  The courtiers dispersed, each feeling that the world around them had changed considerably and not for the better.

  Klug was drunk. Klug smelt bad. Klug was unsure as to exactly where he was. None of these things bothered him. He was happy to be drunk. He was fine with being lost. He had grown acc
ustomed to smelling bad. These were the elements of his life and they were comfortable and familiar. They were like a warm, old (and slightly soiled) blanket. Klug felt at home with dirt and drunkenness and, as far as he could remember, he had never been exactly sure of his location. So what?

  There was something troubling Klug; but he didn’t like to recall what it was. In fact, he was determined to be as unsure as possible about what it was that troubled him. It was clearly wrong, he mused, that he should be troubled. After all, wasn’t he an amoral, hard-hearted wretch? That was the bedrock of his belief. He was a worthless, wretched, cowardly sot who would never amount to anything. In a way he was proud of this - had been proud of this; it was just him, on his own, against a cruel and implacable universe. He liked that! It gave him some licence, some excuse. He felt no need; had not felt any need; to apologise. Life was hard. It was hard on him. He might do bad things but- so what?

  But now that bedrock had gone and he missed it. He was more alone than he had ever been and there was no way back.

  He looked around and assessed that he was probably in an inn. Not a good inn. Probably in a basement. A base basement! He laughed. He was alone in a base basement in an inn. He thought that he had been there for a while. He had not gone and caught a ship on the day that - on the day that he would rather not think about. He had not caught a ship and he had gone to the tavern by the harbour and had a drink. That’s what he had done.

  Then he had been to other taverns, bars and inns until he had come here. He knew that this had taken place over some time. There had been nights and days. There had been sleeping and waking- but how long? It was impossible to calculate without remembering and he wasn’t going to do any remembering. He needed another drink. He would order one. He tried, but the words did not come out right.

  ‘Rnk!’

  That wouldn’t do. No one seemed to be listening. He tried harder to focus. No one seemed to be there! He was in a low ceilinged basement room, hunched over what may have been a table, or possibly a crate. There was no bar, although there was a bottle on his table (crate?). He knew instinctively that the bottle was empty. But it wouldn’t hurt to check. He stretched out a shaky hand, but only succeeded in knocking the bottle over. He panicked. Then the panic subsided as he realised that the bottle was, in fact, empty.

  His relief was not long lived. There was no drink and he was remembering.

  ‘Rnk!’

  There seemed to be a door in the far wall of the cellar. Perhaps? But it was a laughable thought that he could walk over there. He thought about walking and that cheered him up. He really couldn’t do that. He was legless! Legless! That was funny. He congratulated himself on being so funny and for a moment his panic subsided. But it didn’t last. He thought about the boy. He thought about the well. He tried to get up. No good. He shouted.

  ‘Drink?’

  The voice was low, deep, musical and (most importantly) not his own. It was a man. The man was somehow behind him. He had a bottle and a glass. Klug tried to focus. Young to middle aged. Bald. Neat. Clean. Shiny! Short, yet strong, almost round. He had a very tidy, thin moustache and a little beard. There was another word. Dangerous. That was the word Klug was looking for. He had known a number of not very nice people and he could tell. He could tell this one, although he smiled in a most friendly way, was one of them. But he did have drink. Klug was unsure.

  ‘Drink?’

  The stranger seated himself next to Klug and poured a tumbler of liquid. He held it in his hand, where he knew that Klug could see it. He smiled and waited.

  ‘Sss.’

  ‘Was that a “yes?”’ he queried. Klug was prepared to emphatic.

  ‘SSS!’

  ‘Then we will be friends.’

  The stranger stretched out and gave Klug a sip from the glass. It was blissful! Klug shivered and smiled.

  ‘nks’

  ‘That’s fine. I want you to be happy. I want us to be friends. You want that too, don’t you?’

  ‘Ss.’

  ‘That’s good, because I have a job for you.’

  Klug looked alarmed.

  ‘Don’t worry. Although it is a very, very important job, you will be able to do it. You are just the man for it.’

  Klug felt more alarmed.

  ‘It isn’t dangerous. Or difficult. It just involves not being noticed, doing what you are told, not asking questions and forgetting what you did. I think you are just the man for this.’

  This was persuasive. Klug could see this. And the man had drink.

  ‘Woss?’

  ‘What do you have to do?’

  Klug nodded carefully.

  ‘You know where the Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built is?’

  ‘Ss’

  ‘And you know who the King is?’

  ‘Slar!’

  ‘That’s right. Lars. It isn’t to do with him. It’s the Queen.’

  ‘nn’

  The stranger eyed this attempt a speech a shade reproachfully.

  ‘Queen’ he enunciated very carefully.

  ‘Een.’

  ‘Much better. You are going to take my messages to the Queen and bring me her replies. No one will notice scum like you. You will help me, and you will be rewarded.’

  ‘Ded!’

  ‘Truer than you know!’ the stranger laughed mirthlessly. ‘Truer than you know!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  In which the King and Queen attempt to be reconciled, Bjorn and Steelstrom come to an accord and Grendel and Gareth seek for that which is lost. The arrival of an extremely important person is anticipated by all. Thwurp has a suspicion, but being Thwurp does very little about it.

  Moonshine has not figured in this history so far. That is not because he is unimportant; he is far from unimportant. He is the leader of organised religion in the Kingdom of Lars, and, as such, he enjoys a considerable amount of prestige, influence and power. He is believed by many to be a messenger and interpreter of the Gods and a guide, to mortals, on how their favour may be won on Earth. He is reputed to be wise, kind, honest and compassionate. These estimates, while not entirely accurate, are wholeheartedly positive and widely believed amongst the largely peasant population of the Kingdom of Lars. They are not shared by the King, who is too much of his own God to have any time for anybody else's; and they are not shared by the Queen, who privately believes that religion is bunk and that she, as a daughter of the mighty Duke of Jutland, must be amongst the blessed and that, not to put too fine a point upon it, she can do as she damn well pleases.

  However, when the Royal couple are observed to be in trouble it becomes the duty of the head of the state religion to give advice, and this being clearly the case, there was little option for Moonshine but to get in there and advise.

  He first attended on the Queen. He had knocked on the royal chamber door, (stepping past the workmen who were fitting the Steelstrom extra strong lock) and he had been admitted. The Queen was seated at the far end of the room, looking away from him. Moonshine hesitated. He generally found the Queen difficult to speak to, but was aware of his position and his duty.

  'Majesty,' he began. He had a rather unpleasant raspy voice and he had an alarming habit of using huge variations of pace and volume in his speech. This bad habit had begun in his early years as a priest as he struggled to make long sermons about 'the will of the Gods and the place of man' interesting to a congregation of subsistence farmers, who by their very nature were very close to the 'other world' on a daily basis. He decided to begin very slow and quiet.

  'Majesty, your presence has scarcely been felt in the Chapel of the Divine for some time. It troubles me that you may have needs of the spirit that are unmet.'

  Moonshine felt pleased. He regarded this as a subtle opening. He had invited the Queen to reveal the 'royal problem' without disclosing (in a way that was sure to cause embarrassment) that he knew all about it. The Queen ignored him and continued to stare at the wall. Moonshine considered.

  'It can s
ometimes be that the cause of material problems can be an absence of attention to things of a divine or spiritual nature. I have often found it the case that those in difficulty, rather than seeking aid from the divine have been scant in their attendance to the divine will.'

  He paused, in order to let this particularly relevant and interesting observation settle.

  'I have found, that where discord has grown, harmony can be re-established, with a willing and open heart and attendance to the proper matters of prayer and ritual.'

  The Queen maintained her silence. He decided that he needed to be more direct. The volume of his voice rose in proportion to his desire to do good and so he nearly roared,

  'You have fallen out with His Majesty and this is unseemly in the eyes of the Great Ones. As the Gods are Fathers and Mothers to us all, so are our Monarchs fathers and mothers to the people. When the Mighty Ones quarrel, there is strife in the Heavens and upon the Earth. When the rulers clash, there is no peace within the realm. You have a duty to PUT THINGS RIGHT!'

  Having achieved an impressive crescendo and having caused the workmen to withdraw to a safe distance, he paused for breath. He was startled that the Queen immediately stood up and turned to him. She looked directly at him and said,

  'You are right. The King may be an obtuse boor with the manners of a swine herd, but he is still the King. If you arrange a meeting I will apologise.'

  When he overcame his surprise, Moonshine was gratified to reflect that the conduct of Her Majesty displayed once again, the persuasive power of his sound theological learning and wise counsel. He had the ear of the mighty of the land and they listened to the divinely inspired wisdom he imparted. He tapped his feet and rubbed his hands with pleasure. He would bring harmony to the House of Lars!

  'I will, at speed, your Highness, withdraw and go unto the King and make this known unto him.'