Grendel

Not an abandoned place, but part of an old story that dates back to the 6th century. A story that like many of my places has been largely forgotten.

Silently he sat in the darkness of the forest, half covered in the moor-fens, his breath steaming from his snout. He tilted his head so as to improve his hearing. What were they singing he wondered? He closed his eyes and listened in the quiet of the deep woods willing his hearing to focus only on the men in the hall. He could envision them as he eavesdropped on their singing; clad in leather armor and capes of heavy skins, their swords, axes, halberds and shields lying near the door or hearth. They were safe in their longhouse in Heorot, and they had sentries posted; what need had they to wear weapons of war, when the mead was flowing, and there were songs to be sung? But Grendel could not yet make out the lyrics of their songs, so stealthily he crept towards them. A few more steps and their words became as clear and crisp as the night air.

They sang of battles fought and won against warriors and fire breathing demons; of women they had loved and left behind. But as the mead flowed, the warriors gave way to the scops, who playing dulcet harps, began to sing of hills and dales, of rivers that flowed to the sea, of fields of clover, holly, and daisies, and young maidens who wore them in their braided hair. The men began to think of hearth, and family, and all the blessings the Father Almighty had bestowed upon them. The hall began to fill with the sound of laughter and joy.

Grendel raised his taloned hands and covered his ears as if in pain at the sound. In a low growl he spoke to himself, “Curse that son of Adam. Was it my fault he had so much blood in him?” Grendel tried to think back but it was so long ago that the memory was hard to understand. He felt that it was his memory, that what he was remembering had happened to him, yet he saw it as if he were a spectator and not the subject. It was like looking through a glass darkly. He saw two men standing in a field. He knew that one of them was him - but he was not Grendel. He was someone else in this memory. Cain, yes that was it. In this memory his name was Cain. He, Cain not Grendel, was arguing with the other man. And then he, Cain not Grendel, picked up a rock and hit the other man…what was his name? The other’s name was…a breath…Havel…Abel. Yes, the man that Cain had slain was named Abel. And then Cain ran. He ran as far and fast as he could.

Cain ran until he was stopped by a light, a blinding light. The Light had cried out to Cain who was not Grendel, “Where is your brother?” That other man, Abel, was his brother. Grendel, no - he was Cain, remembered saying he wasn’t his brother’s keeper. The Light asked him (there was so much pain in the voice that it was as if the Light wept), “What have you done? The blood of your brother and all his generations cries out to me from the earth. Cain, what have you done?”

Grendel began to wretch as the memory became stronger. Anger and bitterness filled his mouth with bile. Grendel remembered the Light saying that Cain would be cursed, marked and Cain became Grendel like a son becomes his father. As the sins of the father pass to the son so did the sin of Cain become the curse of Grendel. Grendel the demon, Grendel the murderer, Grendel who snuck up on the Danes and tore them screaming from their beds, ripped their bodies into pieces, and left their heads stuck on the lodge poles of their mead-halls. Until Beowulf, a warrior feared for his courage in battle, and prowess in weaponry, answered the call of the Danish king Hrothgar for help.

“Why should he, a stranger, be welcomed as warrior and kin, when I am accursed and outcast?” Grendel spit the words out as if they were burning coals. He shook his head and cleared it of the memories. He had no remorse. If he was the son of Cain who slew Abel, and was cursed by God, then let him wreak havoc on the beloved little creatures of God, these puny offspring of Adam. And now these foul Danes were singing about God, and life, and probably Beowulf. Grendel was no longer listening to their songs; all he could hear was the pounding of the blood in his own ears. He knew how to stop the pounding.

“I am Grendel, slayer of Abel, the terror of the Danes. If I am not the subject of their songs then soon I will be. Let their women weep, and their troubadours sings lamentations of this night. I am Grendel.”

Lifting his head up he began to sniff the air for the scent of men. These fellows would not dare to sing so boisterously if they had not sentries posted. Sentries would make them feel safe. Grendel would make sure they never felt safe again. There, to his right. He could smell the stench of man. A single man who probably wasn’t listening to the deep woods but to the songs from the mead hall, wishing he were there. Grendel could sense no one else nearby as he crept towards the man. When he was a few feet away, within striking distance but still hidden in the shadows Grendel spoke. “I bet you wish you were inside drinking mead by the warm fire with yours friends don’t you?” he asked.

With his back to Grendel looking wistfully at the warm lights of the mead hall the sentry replied automatically without thinking, “Yes, ‘tis true. It’s too cold out here for my tastes.”

As he realized his mistake, and started to turn and draw his seax from its leather sheath, Grendel sprang upon him and seized him by the throat, crushing his windpipe as he lifted the gasping man up to look into his terrified eyes. As his life left the sentry, and his eyes began to dull, Grendel whispered in his ear, “Soon you’ll be with your fellows, lying in a cold grave and hoping that Hell is warm.” It was all Grendel could do not to bellow in delight, but there were more sentries and a mead hall full of drunken warriors unaware of the death that was closing in on them.

Slowly over the course of the next two hours as the men in the hall succumbed to the effects of a full meal, a warm fire, and many glasses of mead, Grendel worked his way around the building slaying the sentries one by one. When this was done, Grendel approached the hall. He circled the longhouse peering through the cracks in the wooden timbers. He watched to see if anyone was awake. Men were sleeping on couches, beds, and some were passed out at the table where they had lifted their last mug of mead. Slowly he pushed the door open. A draft of cold air entered the hall and woke up one drunken reveler enough that he began singing a song at exactly the point where he had passed out.

Realizing that everyone else was asleep, the warrior stopped singing and began to look towards the door to see who had opened it. What he saw struck him almost dumb with terror. A large creature stood in the doorway - half man, half beast, its eyes glowed like burning coals. Its hands ended in sharp talons that were dripping in blood. Its head was vaguely human as if it had once been a man but had long ago become an animal. The beast cocked its head, and bared its fangs, and growled.

“Grendel,” the man stammered as if he were unsure if this was a nightmare or real. Then the stench of death and decay wafted into the hall and the warrior knew it was real. “Grendel!” he screamed trying to awaken his comrades. “The doom of Grendel is upon us!”

But he was too late. The doom of Grendel was upon them.

Grendel fell upon the sleeping warriors like a wave crashing over a doomed ship. Men were torn in pieces; limbs flew through the air like arrows in a siege, and blood ran as freely as the mead had flowed. Some warriors were able to offer the demon a fight, but swords glanced off his hide, and Grendel pulled those that found purchase out and used them on their owners. It did not take all that long to slay that many men. When the carnage was finished, Grendel plucked a dulcet harp from the dismembered hand of the scop who held it while trying to flee. He sat and plucked at its strings and began to plaintively sing, “If Cain has slain his brother and Lamech his seventy seven, then Grendel has slain his brothers seventy times seven. Where is the vengeance of God? Where is the savior of the Danes?”

Then, as the sun began to rise, Grendel collected thirty of the corpses and tied them together as one would string fish, and dragged them off into the deep woods, to his lair where their bones would litter the floor as offal from his feast. As he walked he began to chuckle to himself. Maybe he would send their hearts to Hrothgar as a welcoming present for this Beowulf.