A modern retelling of the classic English myth, by the Semester 2, 2012 St Leonards s College Year 8 Literature to Life class.

Transcription

1 A modern retelling of the classic English myth, by the Semester 2, 2012 St Leonards s College Year 8 Literature to Life class.

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3 Authors: Courtney Affat Sarah Bourke Esther de Bell Megan Diplock Kate Johnson Brandan Lapeyre Claire Murphy Kellie O Leary Carla Russo Paul Sadauskas Olivia Schenk Rhea Singh Editors: Carla Russo Kate Johnson Rhea Singh Courtney Affat Cover Illustrations: Grace Williams

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5 This story is the combined work of Mr. McDonald s Semester Two, 2012 Literature to Life class at St Leonard s College. It is based upon the opening 900 lines of the epic poem Beowulf, the oldest surviving piece of English literature. This story recounts the famous adventures of a mighty monster-slaying hero in medieval Denmark, and his battle against one of the Devil s mightiest minions: the horrific demon Grendel.

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7 Once upon a time in Medieval Denmark A powerful demon lurked in the swamps and marshlands, stalking the outskirts of Heorot in the dark night. Inside the humans inside feasted on rich foods and fine wine around the flaming hearth, but the din of the festivities in the great hall haunted the grim monster and aggrieved him as the glow of fire-light spread towards him, reaching out into his darkness. The demon, named Grendel, felt anger and jealousy spread through him at the thought of the men enjoying themselves and having pleasant times while he had been banished to the cold and pitch-black nights. He was an outcast, a demon, a blood relation of the very first murderer, Cain. All of Cain s Clan had been banished to these desolate and barren lands. Demons, 1

8 ogres, evil phantoms and giants all nursed the same rage, anger and hate against the kind of man. But no one harboured a stronger hatred than this particular monster, Grendel. Again the anger and jealousy swelled and spread within him at the sound of laughter and singing, until his body shook and his eyes glowed red at the injustice of it. He craved revenge for the wrongs that had been done to him, and he knew how he would extract it. The dark and evil demon Grendel prowled through the forest, creeping towards the mighty castle of Heorot. It was home to the Danes and their kindly King Hrothgar. Grendel snickered; a cold, wet sound, like water in a drain. They were ants beneath his huge feet. Like cattle to the slaughter. He would feed upon their tender flesh, tearing the meat from their bones and drinking their rose-red blood until his hunger was sated. He smiled, baring his sharp, grimy teeth at this thought. He crept closer to the castle, glimpsing its flimsy stone walls between the thin trees. As he grew nearer, never making a sound, he caught sight of the inattentive guards manning the drawbridge. His hunger for blood 2

9 and death grew. Tensing his muscles in anticipation. He was within feet of them. Poised to strike. With an unearthly roar, Grendel leapt from the trees and clenched three men in his mighty claws, squeezing them into mince. The other guards screamed and ran, panic in their cries. Grendel rounded them up, one by one. Their puny swords were useless on his thick, enchanted hide. He soon had thirty or so men dangled from his fist by their legs, crying out in fear. Grendel snorted at how pathetic they were, and then ambled off to his cave. The guards swung like a pendulum with his every stride. Outside he heard men discovering their absence, searching for the culprit, organising a search party. If they found him, the Danes would undoubtedly try to kill him. Grendel snorted derisively. As if any mortal man could punish him. Finally he reached his shelter, and began to feed. He stripped the men of their skin, leaving them writhing in bloody heaps whilst he fed. Then he ate them one by one, slowly, exultantly. He fed on their 3

10 terror, along with their flesh, leaving one untouched in the process. The stench of fear was a wonderful appetizer. Finally, he finished. His bloodlust sated, he nonetheless tore a limb off the surviving guard and sucked the sweet blood from it. Dessert. Every so often, he would rip a strip of flesh from the man and eat it slowly, enjoying the flavour of adrenaline in the blood. Eventually, all that was left of the guard was a carcass. Grendel discarded it and the bare bones of the other guards at the castle for the Danes, then slept. The following day, Grendel s hunger returned, and again he returned to the Heorot Castle to take more men, slaking his endless thirst for blood. For twelve years, Grendel fed on the flesh of the Danish people, who lived in fear of the cruel demon. He effortlessly fought any resistance he met, winning constantly and completely. The Danes waged their impossible war against Grendel, but it was hopeless. King Hrothgar was stricken by the deaths, defenceless against Grendel s dark power. Grendel killed anyone, for blood, sport or revenge. The Danes were utterly powerless, and the world wept for the bloodshed. 4

11 So trouble continued in Heorot. There was panic after dark, there were raids in the night, and terror surrounded the people. Then one day, a man who was himself one of Hygelac s thanes, heard of Grendel when he was in his home kingdom of Geatland. He was a man like no other. He was the mightiest man alive, powerful and brave. He knew that he alone could defeat Grendel, so he ordered a boat and announced his plan to sail to Heorot, to seek the besieged king and offer his help in defeating Grendel. No one tried to stop him; in fact they encouraged him to go. He moved about like the leader he was and enlisted fourteen of the best warriors he could find. The captain boarded the boat as the men eagerly loaded it with their gleaming weapons and armour. Over the waves they sailed, the wind behind them. Time passed as Hygelac s thane and his warriors travelled on to Heorot. Eventually they neared land, the distant shadows of trees and hills signalling that their long voyage was nearing its end. As they drew up onto the rocky shore, the Geats vaulted over the side of the boat, out onto the sand and moored their ship. They 5

12 unloaded their weapons and thanked God for the ease of their crossing across the calm waters. A scout from Heorot was perched on the cliffs overlooking the sea, and watched intently as these strange men drew their ship ashore. He saw their armour, shields and weapons being unloaded along the gangway, and realised the need to find out who and what was arriving. He rode to the shore and questioned these sea-shaken newcomers. Where are you from, carrying decorated shields of hardwood, shirts of ring-laced mail, and close-fitting helmets? he asked. I am Hrothgar s harbinger and officer, and I have never seen such an impressive or large assembly of strangers. Proudness of heart and valour, not banishment, must have driven your decision to come before Hrothgar. The mighty leader of the group answered, We are the decedents of the great people and friends of Lord 6

13 Hygelac. Beowulf is my name. My father was a famous man, a noble warrior named Ecgtheow. Many wise men remember him. We come here to find your Lord, the son of the Halfdanes. Direct us to him. We are here on a great errand to aid your Lord and his people. We have been told of this monster murdering the people of this country. I have come to help defeat this gruesome enemy. The Danish scout grasped the reigns of his horse and replied, I shall deliver this message, as you have directed, to our well-respected king. With that the scout left the band of warriors, and hurried the message to his elderly king. He wasted no time in passing on the mighty Beowulf s message. My king, Geats have arrived onshore. They have sailed over an abysmal amount of sea, under the leadership of a warrior they call Beowulf. They wish to have a formal audience with you, my Regent. Graceful Hrothgar, please do not refuse them, and reply to their cause. Their appearance of mighty presence makes them worthy of respect, especially the one who has led them this far. 7

14 Hrothgar replied, I knew this man when he was a boy. His Father was the great Ecgtheow, and his offspring is now here to deliver on an old friendship. I have heard of Beowulf s fantastic feats. A thane, they said, with the strength of thirty men in each hand. Now Holy God, creator of Heaven and earth, has sent him here in good will to defend us from the terrors of Grendel. Or at least, this is my hope. If he can succeed I shall recompense him with the finest riches in the kingdom. Go immediately and welcome him and his warriors to the land of the Danes. The scout returned to Beowulf, and led him and his party along the grey and barren road to Heorot. They went on their way until a grand hall, erected from ancient trees and sturdy rocks, rose before them. Their guide showed them the way towards it and then hurriedly turned. It is time for me to go. I must watch over the sea to spot intruders. May you have luck in your exploits. The watchman wished them well and left. The group of warriors walked up towards the great oak doors of the magnificent hall. They were still dressed as if for war, and were weary from their travels. 8

15 Beowulf and his men reached the entrance to the golden hall, where they were confronted by a band of guards. My Jarl, the reigning king of the Danes, wishes me to announce that he knows your ancestry and that you are welcome in Heorot, the lead guard told him. You are now permitted to meet Hrothgar in all your splendid armour, but your shields and weapons are must be left outside this hall until your intentions are clear. Beowulf shrugged off his spear, sword and shield, and swaggered forth with the grim determination of a calm yet dangerous predator just before it reaps its prey. A few men stayed to guard their weapons, while the remainder followed their leader as he entered the great hall. Greetings Hrothgar, Beowulf said. Hrothgar, the King of the Danes, was the great leader of the people of Heorot. The people trusted him and approved him as King, but Grendel s attacks had caused fear among them, and they were in great need of a hero to defeat Grendel and put a stop to the gruesome, blood-thirsty slaughter. 9

16 Hrothgar said to the great hero in desperation: Beowulf, you have travelled a long way to come and fight the mighty monster Grendel. We are in great need of assistance, my friend. Yes, there was hatred between our two families in our distant past, but that was then, and this is now. Grendel is the greatest threat we have ever faced, and we must join forces to defeat this enemy. Hrothgar looked straight into Beowulf s eyes, and the hero could see the old King s anxiety and sorrow. Grendel, a ghastly monster, has caused havoc upon us and has humiliated us. It is unfair that the number of people of my land are declining because Grendel sweeps them into his clutches. God could easily stop these deadly attacks from Grendel, yet he does not. I almost believe we have been abandoned. Besides Hrothgar, the queen s face mirrored this hatred towards Grendel, and mourned for the people lost. Again and again, many fighters have come to stop this horrendous Grendel and save us from his atrocious 10

17 attacks. They pledged themselves to protect Heorot. They wait for Grendel with their swords at the ready, but as dawn rises all I can see when I come own the gilded castle walls is blood splattered on the benches. The room is empty and the floor is splashed with slaughter. I can hear voices in my head, the cries of the fighters, their screams echoing in my mind, but what can I do? All my finest warriors have fallen before him, and Grendel will be coming upon us once again, and I do not know what consequences will follow. I cannot stand to sit here and do nothing while men, women and children are massacred by this demonic and revolting monster. I beg you to help me Beowulf; help my country! We are in need of a strong fighter like you. I accept your offer, and leave Grendel in your hands. The king s voice betrayed his pain, each word filled with as much remorse as hope. But Beowulf was not daunted by the King s words, and wasted no time in giving his response. Fear not, kind Hrothgar, for I am here to kill your monster! 11

18 With those words Beowulf broke into a huge grin, shouts from all the soldiers filled the hall, and celebrations broke out. The benches were cleared in the banquet hall and the smell of roasted lamb wafted through the joyful air. Goblets were brought out, clashing together in celebration. Men and women began to enter the crowded hall, wearing their finest clothes and jewellery. Music resonated in the crisp, clear night. As the night proceeded, the merriment grew and grew until their heads were muddled with mead. The celebrations lowered, but for the first time in twelve years everyone had a reason to hope; hope that Grendel could be defeated by the almighty Beowulf himself. A crowd of ogre-like men gathered around in the Great Hall, swigging alcohol out of extravagant goblets. They lounged around the stone table, laughing heartily underneath their impressive facial hair. Their merry chatter and boastful celebrations could be heard for many miles around, and raucous laughter rang into the night. Everyone in the Great Hall was at the height of manliness, but Beowulf, oh yes, Beowulf, he was the very definition of power. His muscles protruded 12

19 underneath his armour. At just one glance, anyone could sense the many legendary victories he had won. His very scent reeked of monsters blood. Ahhhhh, Beowulf. Thank the mighty powers above; you have arrived to slaughter the deviant monster that haunts our lives, one man exclaimed, staring enviously yet admiringly at Beowulf. Praising such as this filled the room; everyone was basking in Beowulf s mighty and awesome strength. Until Unferth, a great brute of a man with a beard of bushy orange remarked slyly: Although you boast of your many adventures and slaying of beasts, I happen to know of the legendary swimming race, in which you lost to Breca. Everyone is in awe of your strength and yet they fail to recognise that you arrived at the finish line a weakling. A failure. A wave of gasps erupted through the hall and expressions of disbelief covered the men s faces. Yes. What you speak of is true. I did lose the swimming race, but only because. With a triumphant sweep of his arm and began telling his story. 13

20 It was a roaring night, the waves tore around us. We had been swimming for five days and five nights, our arm sliced through the water, powering us through the monstrous ocean. I had been conserving my strength, so when the right time came, I could power ahead and leave Breca gasping for air far behind me. But suddenly, as if work of the Gods, eight thrashing sea monsters rose up from the dark depths of the salty pit of water. I latched onto one s scaly neck, and punctured its rough skin with my blade, its blood fouling the water around us. I went on to brutally slay every beast; one by one I slaughtered them. Their crimson blood stained my skin and their decapitated heads were left drifting in the water. Beowulf paused, his words suspended in the air, causing his audience to be drawn even more into the sheer strength of Beowulf and his grand adventures. 14

21 All the while, that scoundrel Breca, raced ahead, leaving me to conquer the monsters. And that is why I reached the shore last; I would ve won if the beasts had not emerged, Beowulf concluded, leaving all the men, dizzy with the alcohol, to believe he was descended from the Gods and the most heroic man to walk the earth. The celebration slowly began to disband as the fires grew low, giving way to the night as shadows returned to Heorot. Beowulf took his place in the hall and stood purposefully in the centre of the room. His men stood before him silently, all eyes on him. Beowulf paused dramatically, enjoying their attention but preparing himself for the fight to come. Then Beowulf threw his sword to the ground making a loud noise on the marble floor. What are you doing? asked one of Beowulf s men. You need your sword to fight! 15

22 When I fight this beast, I will not be advantaged in any way. If he uses no weapons, then neither should I, and if he wears no armour, then I shall not either. When I kill this beast I will kill him fairly! Beowulf declared with excitement in his voice. His men stared at him doubtfully and continued to watch Beowulf as he removed his armour and took of all of his clothing. Secretly they all suspected that this would be his last fight. Beowulf, on the other hand was confident he would defeat Grendel. God has already decided our fate. Whoever is supposed to die shall die, regardless of armour or arms, and the other will win! he said, trying to convince his men. While no one in that hall could be sure of fate, Beowulf was right: God knew what would happen and He knew that Grendel had finally met his match and would no longer be terrifying the villagers of Heorot. The night was still and there was an eerie feeling floating in through the deserted courtyard. The air tasted stale and the trees swayed looking as though 16

23 they were whispering to each other the secrets of tonight s fate. Through the shadows came a devil, a monster: Grendel. He swiftly and quietly crept through the darkness. The hall guards leaned against the wall slowly falling into a deep sleep. The monster went to place his large hand if you could call it a hand, that is on the familiar door that he had ripped open too many times. Tonight, though, as soon as the long, spear like fingers touched the wood an overpowering rage ran through his ginormous body. The door flung open revealing the long, dimly lit hall. His thirst for blood grew as he charged through the doorway. Grendel paced the patterned floor. There sleeping in the hall were a mixed group of warriors and kinsmen. His delight was as powerful as a volcano erupting, the lava flowing, boiling over the brim. Flashing across his eyes were images of bloody corpses, ripping their lifeless bodies limb from limb, demolishing them all and feeding on every last bit of flesh. But little did he know of the fate that awaited him. He went to meet his rival, His hopes high and adrenalin 17

24 coursing through his body. Grendel s reign of bloody misery and terror was nearing its end. Grendel crept closer, treading lightly so as not to disturb Beowulf. He raised his talon, the dark, warm blood of Beowulf s comrades dripping off it and prepared to attack. Suddenly Beowulf leapt from his bed and grabbed the demon s arm, his iron grip making indents in Grendel s blotchy purple skin. Caught off guard, Grendel fought in his grasp. He could feel his bones giving way under the immense pressure his foe delivered through his bare hands. Never in his life had Grendel faced such a worthy opponent. Time and time again Beowulf s men tried to aid their lord, but all of their efforts were futile because no blade on earth, no blacksmith s art could make even the tiniest mark on the demon s skin. But Beowulf held his ground, his fingernails digging into the devils skin, drawing thick, clotted blood from the wound. The veins in Beowulf s hand pulsated as he tightened his grip and pushed the monster back. Grendel could feel the power 18

25 emanating off Beowulf as his toes dug into the floor in a desperate attempt to regain control. He knew he was fighting a losing battle and was slowly being pushed into a corner. He was desperate to make an escape back to his lair, but Beowulf showed no signs of relenting. Grendel s body was growing weaker. They battled, knocking over tables and benches all around the hall. They clawed at each other, desperately grappling onto any piece of bare skin. An ear-piercing wail erupted from the demon and pierced the night as he felt his power slowly draining from his body. It echoed off the walls and reverberated in the ears of everyone in the kingdom. The demon was desperately trying to escape, but Beowulf was not inclined to mercy. At long last Beowulf clasped Grendel s should and ripped the monster s arm from its socket. The sound of bones cracking, muscles tearing, and sinews snapping reverberated through the hall. Blood seeped out of the wound as the demon let out a final cry of anguish and 19

26 distress. He staggered backwards and burst through the wooden doors leading out of the hall. Grendel stumbled into the blackness of night, fleeing back to his lair. His time was swiftly drawing to its end, which he knew all too well. Back in the hall a victorious roar erupted from the crowd watching Beowulf s showdown. Beowulf stood in the centre of them, fingers dripping with the blood of the demon. His arm was raised, with the limb of the demon clasped bloodied and limp in his hand. News spread quickly about the death of Grendel and how Beowulf had defeated him. Thousands of people from little villages and small towns, from miles and miles away came to congratulate Beowulf. You re my hero; you ve saved me and my family, they told him. Cheers and praise filled the air of Heorot. Beowulf lived his life as a hero and became a legend. He went on to become King of Heorot and was 20

27 remembered as the best ruler that his people had ever known. The people were all happy once again, looking forward to the future and letting go on the past. They raised their heads high in delight and merriment, and smashed their goblets together in joy, happiness and hope. The End 21

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29 This is only the first part of the epic adventures of Beowulf: our hero still has two more vicious and gruesome monsters that he must face! This story is based upon Seamus Heaney s poetic translation of the original Old English text: Seamus Heaney, Beowulf: A Verse Translation. New York: W.W.Norton and Company, 2002.

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