Beowulf - Curse of the Dreygurs Chapters 2 - 5
Chapter 2The village stood on the northern outskirts of the Bernician kingdom; many days’ ride from Ida’s home in Bamburgh. Everyone around the North Sea knew King Ida held only a tenuous grip on the borderlands of his kingdom. So, a meeting between Ida and Beowulf would make more sense if they met at the Bamburgh fortress. It also bothered Beowulf that he had little idea of the danger which might lie before them. When he received word concerning the trouble in the northern kingdom held by the Angles, Beowulf jumped at the chance for adventure. However, now, as he had time to think about it, he realized he should have asked for more details. “Well, too late to worry about that now,” Beowulf stated, mostly to himself. He took another long look at the dilapidated remnants of the fort perched on the cliff above. It appeared abandoned. This bothered him as well. Even a lazy king would station lookouts in the fort to carry word of any foreign ship arrivals. And he knew King Ida was a wily and experienced fighter. Known as Flamdwyn, or Flame-bearer, Ida led the Angles, the tribe who drove King Morcant Bulc from Bernician land. No king carrying such mettle would leave this fort unattended along his northern water boundary into his lands. Do not forget the Brythonian enemies surrounding Ida’s lands! The young warrior recalled the advice given by his king. Heardred, the ruler of the Geats, cautioned his protégé about the many rivalries within the lands of Rheged and other nearby lands. The tribes of Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, all recent invaders, defeated the natives of this North Sea land. Because of this, Brythonians held deep grudges against King Ida and his people. Such resentment would include allies like the Geats. “Cursed waiting for a king,” Beowulf told Weohstan. “Something is wrong. I can smell it. The village appears abandoned. We’ve seen no ships on this river since our arrival, not even fishermen going out for their daily catch.” “Maybe some pestilence came through. I’m glad we didn’t hurry into that village. I fear some dark deeds may be at work.” Weohstan agreed with a nod. He sniffed the wind. “Something spooks our horses. You don’t have to be a great monster slayer to recognize there is blood in the air. The wind is whipping around too much to find the source of death, but I’ll wager it comes from the silent village. We should send men to scout the area.” Their leader nodded as he let the pointed jest against him slide. “I had hoped my uncle’s delay was temporary. Let’s go investigate.” Beowulf glared at his grinning friend. The sidelong glance was a cover, since Beowulf took no offense. He knew it amused Weohstan to take an occasional jab. The burly warrior considered their leader as a younger brother. At times, he treated him as such. Geat warriors were a rough group who considered fearlessness and strength the mightiest virtues. Beowulf might resent the treatment from Weohstan as a self-proclaimed mentor. Still, he valued their friendship. Also, Beowulf understood Weohstan’s jab. When he killed the Piast, a sea monster, the event sent Beowulf’s fame across the kingdom. Despite his thegn’s help in killing the monster when attacked the Geat villages a season before, his men received little recognition. While envy came to everyone, Beowulf knew his stocky friend held no ill towards his growing recognition. Loyalty, devotion, and kinship were the code lived by the warriors. The men who followed Beowulf received little attention despite their vital role. The scobs, minstrels who sang the marvelous stories of heroes around the lodge fires, seldom gave their attention to thegns. Only an outstanding act of heroism elevated a warrior above others, especially over those nobles of a higher class. Beowulf knew he could depend on upon the fierce allegiance of his men to follow him and whatever causes he might choose for them. It was the way of the Geat warriors and the way of those who came with him. “Well, enough of the waiting. It is our good fortune to have a fine sunny day. Come, we will go find my uncle and his warriors. They must have lost their way.” Beowulf joked loudly as he placed his leather boot into the stirrup of his high-backed saddle. As he swung himself onto the magnificent horse, his action immediately sent his men to their tall mounts. The horses stood several hands taller than the native horses around the North Sea. As intended by King Hrethel, the imported mounts were a symbol of their Geat power. Riding the enormous horses gave Beowulf and his men the appearance of overwhelming warriors when they charged. When combined with the leather armor covering the mounts, the mounted warrior and horse were an impressive display. They fulfilled their intended role of helping dominate rival tribes and clans around the kingdom. Patting his horse’s neck while his men assembled, Beowulf fondly remembered the day he received the animal. The king, a great warrior who fostered Beowulf for many years, brought the mounts into Geatland from areas farther south. The Geat king recognized the value of such powerful horses, and he insisted Beowulf display this when he came to Bernicia. Finally, Beowulf put on his helmet of sheet iron, which had long cheek-plates running down on both sides of his face. A long, thin nose-guard covered the front area of the helmet while a chain-mail curtain covered his neck, providing extra protection. Characteristic of his tribe’s helmets, the top of the helmet crest carried the sculpted figure of a boar. During combat, it invoked the god Freyr for protection. While he held a short stature, Beowulf appeared a feared warrior atop his horse. His broad shoulders and muscular arms came from years of training using many bronze and iron weapons. This bulk allowed him to fill the leather and chain armor around his body easily. Properly outfitted for his enemies, Beowulf dug his heels into his horse. As their leader passed them, his men lined up behind him. Their mounts added the noise of hoofs amid the clattering echoes filling the still air as he led them from the wooden dock onto the old cobblestone road. They followed a well-worn trail from many years of traffic at this ancient stopping point. Empty carts lined the area closest to the path, showing the village was a trade center for the nearby area. The group’s short ride quickly stopped. An abandoned two-wheel cart sat in the middle of the road, still filled with goods. Suspicious, two of the men drew close to inspect the wagon, sliding off their mounts. As the fighters pulled it out of the way, Osberht noticed the yoke leather ripped from the cart. Picking up the blood-stained leather harness which hooked the animal to the wagon, he held it up for the others to see. Weohstan pointed out the large dark stains of dried blood on the ground around the front of the wagon. “Wolves?” Weohstan guessed. Beowulf said nothing in response. Then he ordered two of his men to move into positions along either side of the road to look for other signs. Then he led the rest of his men to their destination. Rounding a bend in the road just outside the village, they discovered the remains of a small shop. Smoldering ruins sat nestled in a sparse semicircle grove of trees. The scorched, blackened walls still stood, while occasional whiffs of white smoke rose, only to be blown away by the gusting wind. Beowulf sent Sigibert into the rubble. He watched with some amusement when the young man jumped down from his mount, nearly tripping from excitement at his task. Sigibert quickly covered the area, stopping near the corner of a standing wall. He bent down and pulled on a charred piece of wool cloth. The sight he revealed caused the man to take a breath, and he gave the sign of the cross. Then he mumbled a prayer under his breath. Osberht immediately jumped down from his brown horse, running to see the cause of Sigibert’s reaction; all the while, the warrior was mocking the God’s thegn. Osberht stopped in his tracks when he saw the body in the rubble. “Well, what did you find?” yelled Beowulf impatiently. “It was a young child, I think,” Osberht replied while Sigibert kneeled at the remains. His Latin prayer came in a language which none of the others understood. “What do you mean? Is it a child or not?” Beowulf asked again, and Sigibert looked up. “It is hard to say. It might be a small woman. Something ripped apart and ate much of the body. Just a few pieces remain along with the clothing.” He declared as Osberht nodded in agreement. Both men viewed death and butchery before. Still, neither expected half-eaten remains inside the burned-out building. Sigibert stood and stepped his way carefully through the debris, returning to his horse. Osberht looked around for a moment and followed the monk out of the rubble. “Well, some scavengers must have been scrounging around, a wolf pack perhaps,” suggested Weohstan. “They might have gotten the oxen as well.” Aeschere, sitting on his gray mare, overheard the words and shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a wolf pack destroying a home. No animals go into a house to burn it down. Besides, where are the bodies of the oxen? Wolves can’t carry off something that large.” “An accidental fire when the wolves were scrounging around,” replied Beowulf impatiently. He scowled as he considered the surrounding mystery. “We can sit here and speculate till the winds of Thunor come, or we can find out from the Angle leader of this land. Whatever caused this is probably part of the reason my uncle has failed to meet us here. No doubt he is hunting down the culprits as we speak.” Beowulf gave a perplexed look at Sigibert when the monk asked if he could bury the remains of the child. “The child was not worthy of such a ritual,” the Geat leader reminded the monk. “Perhaps, but it’s better than the corpse becoming food for predators,” Sigibert mumbled. Beowulf glanced at his men, who looked as confused as well. The child could never reach hebanwang, their paradise. Burial of the noble dead was a grand endeavor. A body burned and buried with grave goods along with a dirge sang. The king’s burial required a ship’s sacrifice, then the remains covered with high mounds as gateways to the gods. Those were rituals for the worthy warriors. Burial of a lost child meant nothing to the Geats. Osberht, who was rolling his eyes at the suggestion, muttered that Sigibert wasted their time. Beowulf frowned. “Very well, monk. You have your burial.” The Geat leader said. “Osberht, you will stay with the monk. You need to keep a sharp eye out for danger, since we’re not sure what happened here.” Osberht directed his glare at Sigibert before the warrior reluctantly nodded his head. The two men were often at loggerheads. Beowulf grew tired of the petty battles, so he decided Osberht work with the monk. Chapter 3When the group entered the village, the first small house revealed a shattered front door. One part of the wood door hung limply on its hinge. The rest of the weathered oak planks lay scattered across the ground. Only heavy blows, backed by powerful arms, could do such damage to the door. Aeschere yelled out when he noticed tracks near the road in the frozen mud where a bucket of water lay on its side. “These prints are not animals, but men,” he pointed out the trail. “Look, the footprints and the lines along the prints. It appears several men moved toward the building, and they dragged off something when they leave.” “There is something wrong with those footprints,” observed Weohstan. “Each print appears to struggle with each step. It looks like the shuffle marks of an old man.” “Tis strange,” Beowulf agreed, pausing for a moment. “But we now understand that men did this. It’s probably Brythonians who came across the river overnight. Still, I suspect wolves came in and ate on the bodies after the massacre occurred.” He turned to Weohstan. “I want men sent out to cover the outskirts of the village and meet us in the center. Look for any signs and let me know when you find someone alive. They can tell us who invaded.” Beowulf ordered before he spurred his horse back to the trail. Pointing to the men next to him, Weohstan sent four riders several paces off either side of the path. Then, he had the others follow him. The riders found the same signs of violence as they rode past more of the small wooden hovels with thatch roofs. They also came across more bloody footprints on the hard-packed soil. Beowulf and his men reached the public square. It was nothing more than an old well in the center of a crossing point for wider roads leading in and out of the village. The biggest building was a feasting hall. Its broken entrance doors swung back and forth. A creaking noise came each gust of wind, giving the place an eerie atmosphere. Weohstan jumped from his horse, running up the steps to look inside. He recoiled slightly when his nose smelled the foul stench of death. Bloody remains of human bodies lay scattered across the large, open room. The hardened warrior did not bother with trying to identify any survivors as he backed out of the entrance. Weohstan announced his discovery to those riding up. Beowulf slid down from his mount, quickly taking the few wooden steps up to the entrance. Curiosity caught most of the others, and they pursued their leader. Weohstan decided he had seen enough, moving to tie off the mounts, which grew nervous from the smell coming from the hall. Weohstan knew well the raw violence and brutal killings during the slaughter of battle. However, such an experience did not stop his disgust at what he saw inside the hall. In battle, at least a warrior might save himself with his weapon and cunning. Instead, he found more savagery than he could imagine. Beowulf and his men went inside, and the scene was worse than they expected. Wandering across the thick oak planks, they observed the brutal deaths within the lodge. It was clear the poor victims inside had little to defend themselves with beyond a few sticks and clubs. It was a massacre, not a fight. But those who slaughtered the villagers were not merely content to kill. Something with immense strength ripped apart some corpses. It was hard to identify either man or woman from the limbs strewn across the wood floor. Other parts of bodies bore the bite marks of animals with large pieces of missing flesh. Whatever came to this place killed the inhabitants, then ate the dead, maybe even the living. As people skilled in the tools of battle, none of the fighters could understand what type of men could tear apart people and eat their remains. The oldest warrior, a man named Ecgberht, who calmly walked through the gore. “The giants must have come down from the hills and into the world of humans,” he told the group. Beowulf glanced over skeptically. He acknowledged Ecgberht believed his incredible statement, but he harbored doubts. Beowulf attempted to recreate the brutal battle which occurred during the night. Struck because no bodies of the attackers lay on the floor, he also noticed no warriors were among the dead either. The shredded clothes revealed the people were simple farmers and merchant families. He decided the villagers must have tried to hold out inside the strongest building during the attack, but to no avail. The lack of dead Brythonians meant they took their dead with them. Deciding there was nothing more to be learned, he left the hall even more determined to find King Ida. Beowulf said nothing to his men when he climbed on his horse, looking around the quiet town. Weohstan asked if anyone spotted other signs on their way into the village. Ecgberht, the best tracker, grunted and shook his head. “The ground remains frozen,” he said. “I only saw a few prints, some with blood. They follow the road as it runs next to the river.” As he spoke, Sigibert and Osberht rode up after finishing their burial task. Covered in soil and burned ash, they noticed the expressions on their friend’s faces. It told them all they needed to know about what lay inside the building. Sigibert asked if he should bury the bodies. Beowulf shook his head. “Someone destroyed this hamlet,” he pointed out. “The people fought valiantly against the enemy, and we’ll honor them for such a fight. We’ll burn the mead hall in tribute. It will be up to Angles to populate this area again.” “You know this country,” he directed his question to the monk. “Where does this road lead?” The monk glanced around. He hated being the center of attention. “It will lead us to Segedunum,” he told the group. “There is another old fort there as well, which lies off this old Roma road. We can reach it before the sun reaches…. um…. it’s height.” The monk caught himself from using the Latin term ‘Sext,’ or Sixth Hour. He remained careful, using the foreign language around Beowulf and his pagan thegns. He believed Beowulf remained suspicious of his beliefs. Columbanus, his bishop, always told Sigibert to remain careful around the Geats. “Bide your time among the infidels,” his mentor said. “Learn about them and their heathen ways so we can bring them to the glory of God!” “It’s just a few leagues away. Perhaps that is where your uncle waits,” Sigibert said hopefully. Beowulf acted like he didn’t hear the monk. “Weohstan, I want you to take two men to look at the fort,” Beowulf stated as he nodded to Hrethric and Aeschere. Then he turned to Weohstan. “If you find anything important, send a rider to let me know. Otherwise, follow us to this place called Segedunum. It appears it should be easy to find if you follow the road.” Beowulf adjusted himself in his saddle as the two warriors joined Weohstan. They galloped off toward the fort as he turned his mount toward the road. “Sigibert, you will lead the rest of us to this village,” he told him. When Sigibert tried to explain that he was not a suitable scout, Beowulf interrupted. “I told you to scout ahead. Now get up there,” he directed. “It’s time to earn your keep with the group.” His face growing red at the rebuke, the monk galloped ahead of the group. When he got several horse lengths in front, the monk slowed to keep the band behind him in sight. Beowulf heard a few of the men chuckle after Osberht said something under his breath. He turned in his saddle, catching the young warrior’s smug smile. The sarcastic nature of his comrade was a way to keep him in the spotlight among the group. As the younger brother of Weohstan, Osberht sought to live up to his brothers’ fame in battle. Beowulf decided he needed another lesson. “Osberht, since our young God thegn wears no armor, I want you to join him and make sure he doesn’t get lonely. I suspect your armor and wicked tongue should be protection enough for the two of you,” Beowulf said. He did not bother to look back at the smattering of laughter. The Geat leader heard the angry man dig his heels into his mount, sending the horse into a gallop. Beowulf watched with satisfaction as Osberht shot past him to pull in next to Sigibert. Beowulf could already imagine the sarcastic comments directed at the monk. He watched the exchange between the two men as they slowly rode on. Sigibert was thin with an almost timid demeanor. However, he stood up against the massive, overbearing Osberht when the Geat mocked the monks’ beliefs. Beowulf decided the two thegns could pass as quarreling brothers, if not for the difference in their looks and stature. Despite King Heardred’s distrust of the monk and his religion, Beowulf believed in Sigibert. His father was a noble warrior, and the monk showed exceptional sword skills during their few battles together. He also knew how to read and write in many tribal languages, a rare commodity in the North Sea. Traveling among the many diverse tribes and fiefdoms outside his native Geat land, Beowulf learned the hard way that people like Sigibert were rare and valuable. “An honorable king learns from all those around him,” Beowulf repeated the words of his father, Ecgtheow, aloud. “Osberht doesn’t seem to learn,” Ecgberht spoke quietly, bringing Beowulf out of his thoughts. The old warrior steered his mount alongside his leader after setting the mead hall ablaze. The men watched the spreading fire for a moment before turning their horses and trotting out of the small town. “No, but he has a thick skull,” agreed Beowulf with a smile. “Fortunately, it’s saved him a couple of times in battles.” Ecgberht smirked at the joke, but he remained next to Beowulf. He wished to talk. “I always wondered why the monk joins us,” the old warrior remarked in characteristic bluntness. “Sigibert is fearless in battle but acts like a eunuch among the men.” “We’re not used to his ways,” Beowulf replied diplomatically. “While he appears meek, Sigibert is the son of the mighty warrior named Clinoch, who was the scourge of Bernicia. I heard his father fought against King Ida before dying young. Sigibert is his youngest son.” “The seed appears to have fallen far from the tree,” his thegn replied sarcastically. The warrior chuckled at his joke, then spat.
Chapter 4Beowulf suppressed an urge to defend Sigibert. Balancing the personalities within his group was more difficult than he ever imagined. Beowulf kept quiet since he knew Ecgberht had little thought for anything beyond the warrior way. Plus, the fighter remained a guiding influence within the group. Coming from an unlikely background, Ecgberht was once a slave. Unable to pay a debt caused by his family, the fierce and resourceful warrior pulled himself out of his inferior status, eventually becoming a free man. Such deeds held great respect among the Geats. Beowulf recognized the man’s skill and wise words. Most of the time, Beowulf agreed with the advice given by Ecgberht. “Have you any ideas about what happened in the village?” asked Beowulf to change the conversation. “They look like the myths that I’ve heard about in this land,” his thegn replied. “I don’t believe myths.” “I didn’t believe in monsters,” Beowulf smirked. “Our first adventure against the Piast outside of that village changed my mind. You saw that creature. It nearly wiped out the village. It was our gods who steadied my hand as I drove my spear into its eye. The gods enjoy putting such fiends in the world for us. How else can one become known as a hero?” “This is true enough,” Ecgberht nodded. “I heard many tales from travelers when I was younger. Some are stories to scare the little ones.” “Do you know of tales about a monster attacking villages like we just saw? It might be useful to know what we’re up against,” Beowulf reminded him. “Yes, I remember meeting a scop who the Picts captured,” the warrior said as he nodded in agreement. “He played songs and told great poems about the Picts. One story I recall was about this land where the creatures would come from the mounds to wipe out towns. This man claimed the blue people in the Northlands feared the monsters.” He went quiet again, leaving the air filled with the sound of the mounts plodding hoof beats and their occasional snorts. “And?” growled Beowulf. At times, Ecgberht could infuriate with his sparse words. In no hurry, Ecgberht spit on the ground. “This storyteller called them dreygur, which means after-walker,” he finally continued. “It seems these dead creatures attacked the Picts of the Northlands and other tribes in the area. The scop claimed the dwarves controlled the monsters. They brought them out to wreak havoc on the living. Then, there are tales about criminals and evil warriors who come back to hunt down the living. They come in revenge for past wrongs, or a powerful sorcerer controls them.” Beowulf thought about what his comrade told him. Although he never heard of these things called after-walkers, the fact the Picts were afraid of the dreygurs impressed him. Still, Beowulf knew a lot about the dwarves, called Dweorgars, by his people. The Geats hated the nasty little human-like creatures with enormous heads and brutish features. As inhabitants of the underworld, Dweorgars enjoyed inflicting misery and violence upon humans. Because of their keen sense of treasure, the dweorgars often broke into the tombs of humans. The little monster feasted upon the corpses after stealing the valuables left for the warrior’s spirits. Dwarves were notorious for craving gold beyond rational thinking. Occasionally, they would create talismans and work for evil humans. Tales throughout the region told of women captured by the creatures if they strayed too near the dwarves’ gateways. Taken in the mountains, the women bore children for the evil creatures. Beowulf remembered the stories of heroes who used a dwarf to lead them into the afterworld. However, entrance only came by giving a gold token to the little creatures. The problem for such heroes was that a person could never trust the little monsters. Devious underground mazes devised by the creatures turned into deathtraps if one was not careful. As he listened to Ecgberht, Beowulf tried to remain unconvinced. He assumed the stories he heard as a youth were only half right. The old warriors were men given to grand tales meant to impress the young ones. “It doesn’t seem to match what I saw in the mead hall,” countered Beowulf. He carefully guided his horse down the rocky slope near the river’s edge. The trail followed the edge of a small forest, which came up next to the level bank next to the river. “Dwarves will not overpower villagers barricaded inside a mead hall,” he mulled the idea aloud. “No, I said they controlled the after-walkers,” the warrior said with a foul grin. “For gold, a dwarf will do the bidding of a human. You know that.” Beowulf remained quiet as his friend continued. “The scop sang about these creatures of the night who had the strength to rip apart cattle. These after-walkers devoured the flesh of those they hunted, and they stank of the grave.” Ecgberht continued as he appeared lost in thought for a moment. “What they could not eat, they carried back to their graves where they would consume the flesh. The undead are likely people who were unworthy of Neorxnawong, such as bandits, cowards, and traitors. Once awakened, they cannot die unless someone destroys the body.” Adjusting himself in the saddle, he looked back to Beowulf, the old warrior’s eyes revealing his worry despite the scorn he had heaped on the story. “As I said, it is a fable,” Ecgberht concluded. Beowulf nodded as he grew less skeptical about the dreygurs. The shining realm of Neorxnawong condemned men unworthy to rot in the lower dominion. They would make perfect monsters. The thought of going against an unknown army of two underworld creatures bothered him more than he would admit. “We’ll know soon enough when we reach the next village. Perhaps the Angles know your myths,” Beowulf hoped aloud. Ecgberht grunted his response as the sun fell behind thick clouds and the cold ride continued. Beowulf turned his gaze to the stone path they traveled. The road showed far more construction skill than the Geats used. His people were content to follow the paths developed from years of travel between villages. As his eyes followed the path, he paid closer attention to the solid wall of stone that ran along the road. Beowulf thought back to stories about the people from the south. Long before his people settled around the North Sea, an emperor came to this land. They built stone roads along with massive temples and forts around the region. A burst of freezing wind gripped at him, causing him to shiver. The winter breath of wind felt colder with the loss of the sun. Despite being covered by thick layers of overlapping black leather plates on top of the finely woven chain mail armor, Beowulf felt the chill. The wind cut through his woolen garments while the winter north winds swept over the area. Soon, the sandy soil would turn rock hard. The body heat from his mount was the only source of warmth. Beowulf leaned over to warm his hands on the animal’s skin as he hoped they would find the village intact. It was near middæg, or midday, when Weohstan, Hrethric, and Aeschere finally caught up with the rest of the column. Their search of the fort back at Caer Urfa found only bloodstains and weapons discarded in testament to a fight. Weohstan told Beowulf that his men gathered a few supplies they could find. He just nodded, still wrapped in his thoughts, while the men glanced at each other. The winding path obscured the whereabouts of the scouts, but Ecgberht heard a shout. He noticed Sigibert, who waved for them from a bend in the road ahead. Beowulf and Weohstan galloped forward, leading the group to the monk. When they rounded the bend, they saw the town of Segedunum. Moving to the outskirts of a village, they smelled burned wood as a smoky haze covered the route where the charred remains of huts sat on either side of the road. Soon, they came upon a man coming toward them. He held a pole that bore the green flag of Ida’s tribe. Beowulf instantly galloped with his men to the figure near the middle of the village. When they reached the flag bearer, the man’s ripped and bloodstained clothes revealed recent fighting. His youthful face showed his weariness. “We see you bear the colors of King Ida. I am Beowulf of the Geats,” he told the guard. “Give me news about my uncle. You look in a terrible state.” “My lord is in the fort above,” the warrior reported, disregarding the comment about his clothes. He pointed to the road leading past the village. “King Ida awaits your arrival.” “I welcome you to ride with us back to the fort,” Beowulf replied. “No, my lord, I will remain here until nightfall.” The guard said, then hesitated. His eyes revealed his concern at staying, but Beowulf did not bother to ask about it. Every warrior had his duties to perform. He would learn more when they reached King Ida. Beowulf nodded to the guard, kicking his heels into the flanks of his mount as he galloped on through the small town. They followed the scenes of fighting as they headed to the fort. The hut showed doors ripped from their hinges, and large gashes cut through the wood and lathe walls. The thegns guessed it was the work of hatchets and axes. As they passed one small building with its thatched roof caved in, their immediate impression was a giant hand pushed the roof down between the four walls. Soon, they came to an ancient stone bridge which allowed them across the Tynemouth River. As they followed the trail up to a low-slung fort sitting on an embankment next to the river. They discovered their first dead Angle warrior. The body was missing its head and limbs. The leather armor, similar to the armor worn by the Geats, did little to protect the dead man. A few paces away, they came upon another warrior’s savaged remains strewn across the trail. The team moved past the ghastly corpses while they looked at the damage inflicted on the men. Their horses snorted, with growing fear in the blood and death that filled the air. The fighters observed the aftermath of a battlefield which was unlike anything they ever experienced. “By the gods, what is that?” Aeschere asked while pointing to the side of the road. It was a headless corpse lying in the green grass. However, what caught their attention was the odd-looking leather and metal armor covering the body. The foul sulfur stench of death coming from the body sent the horses backing away in a near panic. Jumping down from his mount, Beowulf handed his reins to one of his men, and Aeschere and Ecgberht quickly joined him. The dead thing at their feet changed their ideas about the events happening in the lands of Bernicia. Chapter 5The corpse which lay across the road had a blue hue to its mummified skin, stretched tight across the exposed parts of the creature’s arms and legs. An old, rusted breastplate that matched the green armor on the arms and legs covered the chest. Rotting remains of a wool cloak draped down across to the other side of the body, clasped high on one shoulder by an elaborate pin. Aeschere pointed out the gnarled fingers of the man, somehow elongated, now had long, animal-like claws. Ecgberht found an unusual rusted helmet lying nearby. The helmet had a crest along the top, as well as a neck guard behind and high cheek guards on either side. Reaching down, the old warrior picked up the green bronze only to have a mummified head tumble out on the ground. The grotesque trophy appeared human as well. However, with corpse-pale skin, tightly stretching over the noseless face, it was the face of a smiling demon. Its opened eyes, dark and soulless, combined with animal teeth, gave the men their first look at a dreygur. “It appears these after-walkers exist,” Beowulf announced as he glanced over at Ecgberht. The old warrior tossed the rusting helmet to the ground. Aeschere asked about the type of unfamiliar armor the creature wore. “I’ve seen such metalwork before,” Ecgberht spoke up as he kicked at the body with his foot. He started walking back to his horse. “Where?” Sigibert asked, as his impatience showed. Ecgberht dragged himself up on his horse before he scowled at the monk. “You should know this armor comes from the Roma. They conquered these lands many years ago.” He told him when he looked back at the corpse. He paused for a moment. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Why not?” Beowulf asked. “The Romwarena always burned their dead,” Ecgberht replied. “Families normally pass down the armor since it’s valuable. However, the Brythonians and other tribes of this land break it apart and reuse it. But this metal is rusting through and nearly worthless. The leather straps barely hold it together.” He scratched his beard. “Why would dead bandits and outlaws wear this stuff?” “I remember a story of about ancient priests who stayed after the legions from Rome left,” Sigibert quietly stated. “They wore this armor against the Picts, along with the tribes who remained. In the time’s chaos, the fighting priests went to the grave in their armor along with other trinkets, which they hid from outlaws. If these monsters came from the burial mounds, they could use the armor and weapons.” Ecgberht spat on the ground. “Well, that makes these dreygurs just mindless outlaws who steal even after death. It makes sense with the armor, but it still doesn’t explain how the dead walked here to die again,” the warrior said. The group went quiet. Unsettling thoughts about the creatures and the magic behind them drifted unsaid as the men looked around. “Let’s hope my uncle has some ideas,” Beowulf finally took action. He retrieved the reins of his mount before swinging up on the saddle. “Come on,” he said as he led them to the fortress. Overlooking the river valley, the stone remains of the fortress had a square ruin that stood flat and squat on the ridge. The gatehouse watchtowers extended from the main entrance. Crumbling walls joined the watchtower from a line that ran far along the riverbank towards the distant hills. While imposing at a distance, the Geats saw significant gaps in the walls from villagers removing the cut stone for other uses. The walls of the main fort rose above them, and they could see two watchtowers at either end. Parts of the gatehouse structure near the top of the battlements, along with the walls, were missing. In the years since the Romwarena left, blocks of fallen stone lay in piles around the base of the structure. During their journey, the Geats noticed the locals used such cut stone for their fences and buildings. Fortunately, the massive wooden gates, banded with iron, remained. However, the gates lay against the arched entrance; the brackets holding them long gone. It was no longer a fortified spot for long-forgotten warriors to defend the valley. Instead, it became a last-minute place of refuge. Above them, the group noticed movement inside one tower as an Angle warrior stared down. Several of King Ida’s warriors suddenly appeared in front of them. With armor and clothes torn and covered with dried blood and dirt like their comrade in the village below, they held their weapons at the ready. Beowulf stopped his mount several paces in front of them. He climbed down from his horse, approaching the men calmly. The warriors before him remained on edge. “This is not the welcome I expected from my uncle,” his voice growled. “Announce me, for I am Beowulf!” The surprised men quickly scurried back through the gate. Beowulf nodded for his men, who dismounted, and they followed him into the fort. Osberht stopped Sigibert, handing him his horse’s reins. He ordered him to take the mounts to a protected spot within the walls. The monk knew by the look and the task that he was to stay out of the way of the other warriors. Sighing, he took the reins and led the mounts inside. Sigibert split from the others, taking their horses to a grassy area between several wooden buildings. The structures were nothing more than a pile of rubble covered with the slate from the roofs. Still, the dead grass covered the ground to feed the animals. Sigibert securely tied the reins to thick poles which used to hold the walls of the buildings. The monk quickly caught up with Beowulf and his men at the back of the fort, where a large building still stood. Made of brick, it was the largest building. Once covered in plaster that lay in white heaps at the base of the walls, the structure still had enormous steps leading past two fallen columns. The building had a decorated mosaic floor with images of men in the same armor as the headless dreygur outside. Among the displays were pictures of sea creatures along with naked men and women, their images still shining through the dirty mosaics. Sunlight pierced through the open arched windows to give ample light within the columned room. In the shadows, they could see many doors that led to other rooms. The thegns of Beowulf were quiet in undisguised awe at the impressive structure, which rivaled the largest wooden mead halls they knew. “My nephew, please come in and join us.” The voice echoed slightly as an older man with a long gray beard stepped from the shadows. King Ida wore a heavy leather breastplate, partially covered by a bloodstained tunic ripped during the battle. Gray hair hung over his shoulders while his pale, lined face showed the years of battle and rule. However, his eyes were bright with the excitement of his latest conquest. He swept his hand toward the surrounding room. “I must apologize for being detained. I fear you have come at an unfortunate time for Bernicia.” Beowulf stepped forth to greet his uncle, grasping the king’s muscular forearm as the older man returned with a powerful grip as well. King Ida looked into Beowulf’s eyes, and the Geat knew his distant uncle was studying him. His youthful appearance was always the first impression Beowulf felt the need to confront. Ida stood taller than Beowulf, but his lean body grew frail over the years. Only the king’s powerful arms and his cold eyes hinted at a ruthless past to achieve dominance over Bernicia. Something else in the old king’s face suggested more than weariness, but he hid it well. “King Heardred sends greetings and asks that the great god Tyr watch over your house.” Beowulf released his grip and bowed before Ida. “I have come as instructed to offer my sword for your service.” “You please me with your words, my young thegn,” Ida replied. He pressed a fist to his lips as he struggled to keep from coughing. “Unfortunately, we have not quite recovered from the night. No doubt you have seen the reason for the invitation to my lands during your journey to this ancient fort.” Beowulf nodded. Behind the king, two servants struggled to bring long pieces of timber. They placed the wood upon blocks of stone already positioned, which formed a place for sitting. While the men worked, Beowulf introduced his thegns, who bowed before the gray-haired man. “Sit with us, and you can tell me about your journey while my servants find us food and drink. Unfortunately, there are no tables for our men in this old fort.” King Ida turned and led the Geats to their temporary seating. The king took his place before sitting across from him. To Beowulf, it was apparent why the Angles had not gone after the monsters at daylight. Even more clearly in the sun’s light, which showered down in the middle of the room. King Ida was no longer strong enough to lead such an expedition. Beowulf noticed two men stepped from the shadows to join them. They sat across from Beowulf and Weohstan after the introductions. The king’s two oldest sons, Glappa and Appa, who nodded at their introduction. Beowulf’s men sat on the mosaic floor, while Ida’s warriors sat across from them, keeping their distance. Servants brought mead to the men, and Beowulf told the crowd of their journey along the coast. During the several rounds of drink, the men exchanged tales of heroic deeds. After the introductory conversation subsided, Ida finally told Beowulf of the troubles in his lands. NEXT CHAPTERS
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