

Not Quite Beowulf

Will Shand

Published by Will Shand at Smashwords

Copyright Will Shand 2014

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Chapter One

In which we are fortunate enough to meet The Great King Lars, foremost monarch of the earth. We learn of his grand plan and discover some of the unintended consequences of his actions.

A long time ago, in the North, lived The Great King Lars. The Great King was so called, because he had slain and smote all his many enemies with the power and armour of Steelstrom the steel smith. As the last of his enemies lay feebly expiring from the cruel blows of the King's mighty weapons a vision came to him and he spoke,

'In honour of my mighty victories, with capital raised by Bjorn the banker, I will build the Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been and within this hall, all (of a certain level of wealth and social standing) may celebrate my victories at an endless feast that will be funded by my dominion over this part of the earth!'

All, of a certain level of wealth and social standing, cheered.

King Lars sprang into action to achieve his plan. First he called for his throne, and then, when properly seated, ordered workers and raw materials to be rounded up. He commanded that captured architects should be tormented until they produced a suitably megalomaniac design. He requisitioned the largest supply of beer and meat ever seen, and had it swiftly delivered to his capital.

For over a year Lars' armies plundered the surrounding lands, bringing all they could carry to the site of The Great Beer Hall-To-Be. Peasants laboured, builders built, glaziers glazed and interior designers outdid each other in the sword, shield and animal head décor that was to become known as Nouveau Macho. Eventually King Lars declared that he was, 'as satisfied as I am likely to get' and pronounced the Great Beer Hall open with the following inspiring speech,

'I, King Lars the magnificent, whom Heaven and God has clearly set over all of you, because I am so truly glorious and magnanimous, invite all (of a certain level of wealth and social standing) to feast in my hall: The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been, to celebrate my triumph and live within the protection of my mighty law, until the end of the world.'

At the end of this noble declaration a disproportionately small number of the population entered happily into the Hall and began to feast. But this was far from the end of the story.

Not far from The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been was a small unpleasant lake that had become increasingly inhospitable due to the dumping of builders' waste and the toxic runoff from the King Lars Brewery (purveyors of fine ales, mead and miscellaneous spirits to His Majesty, King Lars, Ruler of The Earth). Deep in this now rather murky lake, in a small cave that was hidden below the surface of the water, lived a single mother and her son, whose name was Grendel. They were trolls. Trolls are a bit bigger than other people and like to eat a lot; being hardworking, energetic and really rather hungry. They have very strong arms, hands and fingernails, developed through generations of surviving in hard, rugged areas, where men prefer not to dwell. They are reputed to be green and scaly, but could more accurately be described as 'grey and tough.' Most impartial observers find them honest, courageous and likable. King Lars, however, did not like them.

'They aren't proper people, like Me.' he would say, 'and they eat ever such a lot; almost as much as I do.' The thing about the trolls that really displeased him most of all, was that they were, as he saw it, on his land, and that was unforgivable.

In days gone by the trolls subsisted on the plentiful stocks of fish who lived in the lake, however as the King Lars Brewery began to produce an unprecedented stream of ale to quench the thirst of the inhabitants of the new Hall, the lake became so polluted that the only fish to be seen were direly in need of detoxification; most had simply died of alcoholism. The trolls, due to the scarcity of fish, grew leaner and even hungrier.

It is worth noting that, in trying to peacefully resolve their problem, the trolls had asked Steelstrom the steel smith if they could use some machinery of his invention to clear the lake and they had approached Bjorn the banker for finance to commence this project; however Steelstrom was engaged in important research on the manufacture of even deadlier swords ('the Ultimate Metal Deterrent') and Bjorn found that his commitments towards the construction of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been left him with no spare capital for unimportant projects. He kindly suggested to the trolls that they did have options; they could slowly evolve into creatures that could live on waste products (therefore becoming an asset to the local community), or, they could move (there were some disease-infested uncleared jungles a convenient three month journey away), or, they could do everyone a favour and just drop dead where they were, preferably not in such a way as to spoil the King's view.

Grendel, being an idealistic young troll, was greatly troubled by the situation of the trolls, especially in their somewhat uneven relationship with the state as manifested by the Kingdom of Lars. He had begun to take long thoughtful walks around the contaminated lake each evening, while the setting sun caused the polluted water to glow and the reflections of the industrial rubble and waste cast interesting shadows on the oily discharge that gushed forth from the breweries' outflow pipes. As he wandered, he pondered such questions as 'how should a moral troll act in time of trouble?' and 'would a benevolent Deity have allowed King Lars to build his beer hall at such a terrible cost to Trollkind?'

During his thoughtful evening walks he was always conscious of the growing hunger in his belly and he felt a growing sadness that, when he returned home, he would find his mother more weak and hungry than she had been the day before. His powerlessness infuriated him, but he could find no remedy. It was on a summer evening such as this, when, as he walked and thought, comforted by the gentle hiss of the toxic gas seeping from the discarded containers of industrial waste, that Grendel missed his path home and wandered, by mistake, into the gardens of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been.

As soon as Grendel realised what had happened he was terribly afraid. He knew that no troll would ever be welcome in the beautiful orchards and gardens that had been planted to obscure the view of the ugly brewery and the polluted lake. He looked around and decided that his best chance was to hide behind a hedge, but, as he was sneaking over towards a nearby bush, he heard a sharp voice call out,

'Hey! You there! Yes, you! You disgusting troll! What are you doing in The Great King's garden?'

Two large, confident men dressed in heavy armour came striding through the shrubbery towards him. They had large swords and shields that bore the insignia of King Lars' guards.

'I got lost,' replied Grendel, who preferred to speak simply and honestly.

'Then why don't you?' sneered the first of the guards, who had an undeserved reputation for witty repartee, 'Go on, get lost, before we set you on fire.'

Grendel turned to go, planning to retrace his steps and find his way back home to the polluted lake, but as he walked away he heard the sound of iron-shod boots running behind him. He half turned to see the first guard bearing down on him with a huge sword raised above his head; ready to strike. Grendel's instinct was to run, but he tripped and fell as he twisted away from his attacker. As he hit the ground, Grendel tried to roll into a ball to protect himself from the blows he imagined would surely follow. In doing this, his left leg caught the guard and knocked him off balance. The guard fell to the floor, losing his helmet in the process. Quickly Grendel struggled to his feet while the guard slashed at him with his sword. Grendel grabbed the guard's sword hand and with a surprising strength that was fuelled by fear, he pulled as hard as he could manage. With a terrible tearing noise, the arm came off in his hand. As the guard let out an awful shriek Grendel ran fearfully away into the woods with the bleeding stump still tightly grasped in his hand.

Grendel ran blindly until he found himself in a far corner of The Beer Hall Gardens where he flung himself down into the undergrowth. He realised that he was shaking with terror. He also noticed that he was almost unbearably hungry. Before he could think, he had bitten into the guard's arm, his strong teeth crunching easily through the flesh and bone. He was astonished to find that it was the tastiest food he had ever tried. How could something as bad as a Beer Hall Guard taste so good? As he munched on the arm, he was overwhelmed with horror. What had he done? Was he some kind of monster? Some inner voice denied this and pointed out that Grendel had not attacked the guard. The guard had tried to stab him in the back. He was not the one who had poisoned the lake. He had not destroyed another creature's home.

Grendel came to a realisation.

He did not want to eat the guards, or fight with the men from the Beer Hall, but in order to survive he would need to do these things, or they, in time would overwhelm him. They would destroy his land and then catch and kill him and his mother. Grendel was determined that this should not happen; he resolved to resist. Later that evening, Grendel surprised another guard. He quickly killed him by using his superior strength, and then, silently, he took the body home to help feed his mother.

Chapter Two

In which The Great King Lars reviews his security arrangements and the Trolls discuss revolutionary philosophy.

King Lars was very angry. Some stinking, bestial troll was sneaking around his beautiful beer hall, The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built, and it was killing his guards! It was insufferable. It was wrong. It was against the law. It was against His law, and something must be done about it. He banged his armoured fist on the armrest of his throne and called for the Captain of the Guard, a large, well-muscled man called Thwurp, who came as swiftly as his heavy-plate armour and slow wits allowed, to stand before the King's throne.

'Thwurp!' bellowed King Lars, who was not without managerial skills, 'What is going on? Have we no security?'

'Your most noble Highness,' replied Thwurp proudly, 'We have extensive security. We have armed guards, armoured guards, armoured guards with armaments, armoured bunkers, armoured bunkers containing armaments and well-armed, armoured guards, with well-armed, armoured guard dogs. We have guard towers, watch towers, barbed wire, trip wire, traps, fences, devices, walls, ditches and moats. Our security is said to be flawless and second to none!'

'Yes,' interjected Bjorn the banker, 'We have spent a vast proportion of the wealth of the conquered world to secure your most noble Highness the best and most modern defence that stolen money can buy.'

'Then why is this cursed troll still killing my guards?' screamed King Lars, drenching the court in Royal spittle. 'I want his head on a stick!'

'I shall send the biggest, bravest, best guards to hunt him down,' said Thwurp, 'and if that fails I shall kill him myself!'

'I will raise taxation and further oppress the weak and weasely peasants on whom your wealth depends to generate a more present profit to buy more weapons from Steelstrom to ensure your regal repose,' said Bjorn the banker.

'And I will continue to develop weapons of terrible destructive power in order to make the world a better and safer place,' said Steelstrom the steel smith.

In the light of this display of selfless and inspired leadership, it seemed self-evident, that the civilised world was in safe hands and there was no need at all to be alarmed; however, in the manner traditional to self-evident truths, this proved not to be the case at all. Grendel continued to raid The Biggest Beer Hall That Has Ever Been Built. To make matters worse, he achieved this feat regularly and with ease. Somehow the wily troll was able to infiltrate the Beer Hall gardens, outwit the elaborate defences, kill and take the guards while escaping undetected. The loyal subjects of King Lars were perplexed and distraught. The king himself was apoplectic.

Thwurp began to know fear, which was not an emotion his large frame was well designed to bear. At times he quivered like a large metallic jelly. He began to pace the halls muttering 'double the guards, double the guards,' and to continually check and double check that all the doors and windows were locked. He had his armour reinforced and he began to spend long parts of each night sharpening his new Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe. Even when he dozed off into a fitful sleep he was troubled by dreams of a shadowy figure slipping inside his room. He often awoke with a start; imagining claws and fangs tearing at his well-protected throat.

Bjorn raised interest rates, foreclosed on mortgages, sold stock options and began a lucrative side-line in selling bogus life assurance policies to frightened Beer Hall guards. In the countryside he began to use cartels to further increase his profits from peasant labour, and in his factories he lowered wages and raised prices. The money from the misery he engendered was used to recruit more guards, strengthen the defences and invest more highly in the belligerent research of Steelstrom Weapons and Munitions incorporated.

Steelstrom himself was unworried by the apparent rise of the troll threat. He opened a new Anti-Troll weapons research centre, encouraged Thwurp to have innocent trolls (if such a thing was logically possible) rounded up, so that he could use them for weapons testing. He supported Thwurp at Royal Council meetings to ensure that the already gargantuan defence budget continued to grow. Personally, he was vehement in his expression of the opinion that all non-human species were inherently evil, against God, religion, tradition, the state and the King. He was often heard to say that widespread genocide against the trolls was not only necessary but desirable and morally right. He purchased himself a new and much larger estate located at an encouragingly safe distance away from The Biggest Beer Hall. There, he counted his profits and worried that if things continued the way they were he might well die of an overdose of wealth and contentment.

King Lars alternated between anger and fear and wondered who would deliver him from the 'troll menace'. He was proud of the thought that if there had been a free press he would have suspended it, so that no-one would ever know how powerless he was to defend The Biggest Beer Hall, or defeat the troll. He longed for the golden days of the past and became unable to go outside for fear of what might lurk beyond the Croquet Lawn. He dreaded the approach of a crisis, and this fear was not disappointed when two weeks later the hall was infiltrated again, and a Very Important Victim was claimed.

Grendel had grown in strength and cunning since his initial accidental manslaughter. On the first night he was delighted and relieved that he had survived and then, later, he had felt a terrible guilt; he felt that he had 'become the thing he hated.' After a long, sleepless night, he confessed to his mother the source of the meat that he had 'found' and he told her of his feelings of shame and disgust. His mother looked at him with both pride and love.

'Son, you did not ask these men to come and take our land, destroy our habitat and then try to take our very lives. It is they who have robbed us of our freedom, which you have set out to reclaim through revolutionary violence. Their colonialist, oppressive despotism has pushed us to the brink of extinction and the only way for you to reclaim our natural rights, pride and patrimony is through the taking of affirmative action. In such circumstances it is natural to suspend the normal order of morality and act as the situation dictates.'

Grendel was both surprised and confused to hear his mother speak in such terms.

'So you think it was right to kill and eat him?' asked the puzzled young troll.

'As I said; situational ethics clearly apply,' continued his mother, 'all have a right and duty to defend themselves from the unjust violence and oppression of the feudal state. Not to have killed and eaten the guards would have equated with an approval of the status quo.'

'Are you saying that if I had not killed and eaten the guard I would have been helping the humans oppress trollkind? That sounds the same as the propaganda the humans use to defame us?'

'Not at all,' contended his mother. 'The imperialists rely upon their control of the alignment of the social norms, including morality and what they call "natural law", to buttress their illegal and immoral imposition. This creates a spiritual fifth column amongst their weaker, yet morally more developed enemies. The better nature of the oppressed is used as a weapon against them as it weakens their power to resist the aggression and illegal force of the exploiter.'

'Oh,' replied Grendel, 'So what should I do now?'

'Son, that is easy. You have found the right path of resistance.' His mother smiled and patted his bony arm,

'Kill them and eat them. As many as you can manage.'

Chapter Three

In which a revolutionary assassin stalks the Beer Hall Gardens, and a friend of the King has a misadventure.

It had taken Grendel some time to feel comfortable in his new role as revolutionary assassin. He was not by nature a militant young troll, but two things had particularly eased this transition. The first was his hunger. He was always hungry, he had always been hungry since the troll's lake had begun to be poisoned and the fish stocks had started to disappear. Being able to eat and eat until he was full and still be able to bring home food for his mother was a wonderful thing for him; however, in the days following his first killing he had awoken full of shame. Each morning he was repentant of the last night's murder and he frequently wished there was another way to feed himself and his family; but, as time passed, things changed and he found that he woke up happy, expectant and ready to plan how he would kill and eat again that very same night.

The other thing that spurred him on was the effort that the guards put in to trying to stop him. When he had been a fishing troll, the young Grendel enjoyed the challenge of the hunt almost as much as the eating of the fish he caught. Although it must be said; he was very fond of eating! The elaborate plans and defences that the Beer Hall Guards attempted only inspired him to greater feats of daring and skill to defeat them. It was this escalation which precipitated the crisis.

On the night in question, he could have snatched a guard who had taken a break from his post. He was just inside the perimeter wall; a wall that Grendel regularly scaled with contemptuous ease. This guard had sloped of from his duty in order to urinate behind one of the fine trees that King Lars had caused to be planted, little thinking what good cover they would provide for an interloping troll. Grendel had silently moved up behind the man and was ready to strike when he suddenly felt how disappointed he would be if his hunt was over for the night so early on. He slid back into cover, let the man leave and looked around.

At the end of the orchard where he was hidden, a neat lawn stretched out for some distance until it reached the veranda that surrounded the Beer Hall. When the hall had been new, King Lars and his loyal subjects (of a certain level of wealth and social standing) had liked to sit out on the veranda drinking and enjoying the evening sun.

'I am the King of all I survey,' Lars would say and they would nod graciously and concede that it was so. When he had more than enough to drink he would shout 'I AM THE KING OF ALL I SURVEY!' and they would cheer and agree that this was just as things should be. Often he passed into a happy oblivion, ruling wisely from his garden bench, with a drunken smile of idiotic contentment on his patrician face, until his servants were summoned to take him indoors and lay the Head of State to sleep in his magnificent feather bed. Nowadays, he dominated the world from a safer seat inside his hall and did not go out to see the sun set on the hills that bore his name. The veranda doors and windows were all locked an hour before dark with heavy chains and Steelstrom 'trusty' anti-troll locks. Usually all the windows of the three story Beer Hall were barred and locked, however this evening Grendel saw a small open window on the first floor and he began to imagine how he could squeeze through it, if only he could get across the lawn and onto the veranda roof. He waited much longer than he normally would and carefully studied the patterns of the guard patrols.

At the darkest point of the night, when the darkness was so complete that he could no longer see the wall from his hiding place he began to crawl carefully and silently across the lawn. The Guards did not patrol far from the protective shelter of the building and he was able to get very close without much risk. He was aiming for a spot where a carelessly deserted bench stood next to a post that supported the veranda roof. He was sure that he could spring up from the bench, catch onto the roof and pull himself up, thus gaining access to the window. He planned to get inside and create a terrible panic amongst the guards.

As he edged close enough to the building to see that he had followed the right line, he heard a sound behind him. It must be a patrol. He quickly got up, ran the last few yards and sprang onto the bench. From the bench he jumped up to grab for the roof. His hard nails and strong fingers scratched on the wood and he was afraid that he would slip, but at the last moment he caught hold and pulled himself up. When he looked back down he saw what had caused the sound.

A very large black and white dog with a sparkling studded collar was running across the lawn chased by a number of the guards. As it closed on the veranda surrounding the beer hall it began to bark at the troll on the roof. Grendel was sure he must be discovered by the guards. Would it be better to jump back to the grass and run, or scurry along the veranda and jump down further away from the men before trying to get back to the orchard? The guards were trying to catch the dog and their attention was fixed upon it. He realised that if he stayed still, there was a chance he would not be seen.

The men had cornered the dog, but seemed afraid to approach it. It was a huge shaggy hound and was clearly terrifying to the men.

'Grab it!' shouted one, 'If the dog isn't in the hall when the King wants it we'll be the ones to answer!'

The men looked at each other and the dog crouched growling; Grendel was impressed by its ferocious bulk and could sense the men's reluctance to tangle with it.

'You're in armour you cowards!' hissed the first man, who was obviously the leader. 'Get it now!'

One of the men, who had nervously edged around to get behind the hound, now made a clumsy and half-hearted lunge for the dog. The animal leapt away snapping and ran off again, into the night.

'Get after it!' shouted the Sergeant, pointing the way for his companions who quickly ran after the dog.

'Idiots! Cowards! Fools!' he shouted, encouragingly. Having let the men go, he sat down heavily on the bench.

'Not a man among them,' he muttered to himself, 'no use to even catch a dog, let alone a monstrous troll!'

Grendel smiled and slid off the roof landing on the grass a short distance from the Sergeant.

'And you would do better than that?' he asked, from the darkness.

The man sat up, afraid and alert.

'Who's there?' He pulled his sword from its sheath and stared into the shadows where Grendel stood. The young troll took a step back into the shadow and said nothing. The man stood up. Grendel's retreat had given him a spark of confidence and he stepped forward. He slashed at the air with his sword.

'Come out!' he called. 'I am a Sergeant of the guard!' Grendel stood unmoving, in the darkness.

'Come out!' he called again, 'Not so brave now, are you? You trolls can only kill a man when he isn't watching. I don't think-'

Whatever it was the Sergeant didn't think was never said, as Grendel leapt from his cover, knocked the sergeant to the ground and slashed through the man's throat with his powerful claws. He dragged the body into the darkness of the veranda and was about to eat when he remembered something. In recent evenings, he had taken to watching the guards who secured the gardens and the beer hall even more closely and he had noticed how they fiddled with the locks and chains. He was sure there was a piece of metal that was important in the locking and unlocking of the chains. Quickly he searched the Sergeant's body and found what he was looking for. He wanted to get inside the hall now and attack his enemies when they thought they would be safe, but he realised that a long time had passed and that soon it would be morning. The night was almost over. He slung the Sergeant's body over his shoulder and set off for the wall.

Feeling very pleased, he ambled across the grass and slipped into the orchard. Moving from tree to tree he worked his way silently back to a spot close to where he had climbed over the wall. He nearly forgot his usual caution and was about to climb back over, when he stopped and remembered. He knew that when he climbed over the wall he often left marks, and that this could be spotted. He knew that if men found these signs then, perhaps, an ambush could be set. He placed the Sergeant's body on the ground and went to scout his crossing, checking the trees in both directions. He was relieved to find that it was all clear. He knew that it would have been difficult to find a different crossing now that he was tired and morning was coming. He went back to the body, but he was startled by a low growling. The King's dog had returned and was standing over the Sergeant's body, ready to compete with the troll for the feast it had discovered. Grendel noticed the spittle dripping from its large red mouth shining in the first light of dawn and caught the ferocious gleam in the dog's night black eyes, as the great hound sprang at him. Its weight knocked him off his feet and he fell back towards the wall.

Chapter Four

In which Thwurp feels the full weight of his responsibilities and the Queen contemplates the Royal finances with her friend. The advantages of armour and weaponry are outlined by an expert.

Thwurp waited anxiously outside the door of the King's parlour. He had been summoned by a guard who said that the King was extremely angry. Thwurp was afraid of what might have happened. He was scared when the King was angry. Had the monster killed again? How could he prevent the nightly attacks? He felt the King was losing confidence in him and he feared that he would soon be replaced. The door swung open and he had no choice but to enter.

King Lars was looking unhappily at himself in a large silver mirror. The long, manly mane of golden hair that the King had cultivated, as he led his armies across the continent seeking the mighty battles that would make his fortune, now seemed to have lost some of its lustre. He noticed that there were even small patches of grey. Even worse was that. when he swept his distinguished long hair back across his clear, unfurrowed, regal brow; the clear, unfurrowed, regal brow was, in fact, furrowed and at this point did not have the noble and majestic air that would entitle it to be called 'regal'. Even his rugged, strong chin could not hold the jaunty upward tilt that he had always affected, as he had fought for, grabbed and conquered his kingdom. His mighty shoulders stooped and his once powerful frame slumped. He turned to face Thwurp, who feared again what this transformation might mean.

'Sire?' he questioned, nervously.

The mournful King hesitated, overcome by a deep and inconsolable grief. Thwurp feared for that the beast might have taken the Queen, or even the royal children. The moment stretched on, Thwurp felt as if his heart might cease to beat, until in the deathly hush the King whispered,

'The Monster took my Dog!'

The Queen, who has not been mentioned in this narrative before this point, was in the counting house. She and the royal children Princess Ola, Prince Olaf and the baby Olsen have not been mentioned until now in accordance with the views of the King, who regarded her as 'completely unimportant in affairs of state', a fine, patriarchal view that was, as is often the case with such views, almost completely inaccurate. The Queen, contrary to the King's belief, was as sharp as a stick and had her finger on the faltering pulse of the nation, both politically and (where it counted) economically. She possessed a near infallible grasp of figures and a brain as larcenous as a moneylender's monkey. The King was aware only of her fabled good looks and her appropriate social standing (She was after all a daughter of the Duke of Jutland!), but, as was the case with both the trolls and the national debt, he had seriously underestimated his opposition.

The Queen was not someone to be taken lightly. She was often in the counting house. She was often there with Bjorn the banker. Bjorn the banker was a tall, thin, young man. His long, thin, tapering fingers where the same shining, ivory-white as his long, thin tapering face; he had a shock of unruly, jet black hair and favoured black in all his apparel. The King had been known to say (sadly, rather more than twice) that Bjorn 'looked like a damn chess set!' To be fair, the King may, in his crude and oft-repeated analogy have hit upon a concealed psychological truth; Bjorn was game for anything and, had Bjorn been a chess player, he would have been more than a match for the king. He was practicing the 'steepling of the fingers' gesture, he thought appropriate to financial wizards and trying to demonstrate his acumen to the watching Queen.

'Highness,' he intoned softly, 'things are as bad as you surmise. The Royal borrowing in respect of the Greatest Hall is still growing as the interest compounds and the contractors remain extensively unsatisfied; defence spending is expanding exponentially and although a myriad of incomes refreshes the Royal Treasury at a rate unparalleled in recent time the overwhelming trend turns towards a substantial shortfall.'

'Bankruptcy looms,' replied the Queen, 'The Royal fool has outdone himself in his stupidity this time. I am sure that the mere tradesmen who built the hall can be kept dancing on the string of Royal credit; almost until the end of time.'

'As always, your Majesty is magisterial in her assay of the accounts. The common traders revel in their Royal commission and regard the regal recommendation as essential for collecting contracts from the socially successful. They will wait and cringe as the crown commands, but...'

'Steelstrom will not.'

'No,' agreed Bjorn, 'Steelstrom will not.'

There was a moments silence as they considered their options. The Queen began to walk, lazily circling the counting house. Bjorn fell in behind, a familiar pattern as they decided the fate of nations. The queen broke the companionable silence,

'The solution?'

'As your excellence has already extrapolated the present penury is perhaps possibly pieced into a pair of problems. The decidedly decadent deficits from the building of the Beer Hall can be discretely deferred. The increasing outgoing from the increased armaments augmentation must be collapsed and curtailed, essentially....'

'Come to the point. And try to be less alliterative. I find it distracting.'

'Abject apologies.' Bjorn stopped and grinned, 'Sorry.'

'Continue.'

The Queen waited.

'The solution is simple. I mean the way ahead is clear. There is a remedy. Foreclosure can be forestalled.'

The Queen grabbed the banker by the front of his robes and pulled him until their eyes were inches apart.

'Spit it out!'

'The troublesome troll must be got rid of.'

'Exactly.'

The Queen kissed the stricken banker on the lips, turned on her heel and left the room.

Bjorn waited a moment and then let out a long sigh.

'There is no sign of Gareth.' Thwurp informed the King. Gareth was (or possibly had been) the Royal Dog. The disappearance of Gareth had caused an unparalleled level of panic in the Royal household. All the guards had been alerted and an extensive search of the grounds had been completed.

'We did locate the body of Sergeant Styles in the eastern orchard near the wall. He had been chewed quite considerably.'

'I don't care about that. He could have been completely devoured as far as I'm concerned. Is there any sign of Gareth, or evidence that the beast took him?'

Thwurp shifted his weight uneasily. The King was not going to like the news.

'There was evidence that the beast did enter the Royal gardens, through the wire, over the eastern orchard wall and, likely as not, escaped over the wall in the same general vicinity. And there was...er....'

He stopped.

'Well?'

Lars glared at Thwurp.

'Regrettably, your Highness, there was a considerable amount of blood in that area.'

'Blood? Can it be that the blood came from that fool Styles...or the beast itself?'

'Well, your Magnificence, it could.'

'But?' demanded Lars.

'We really don't know, your Grace. There's no way to tell.'

Lars tried to think. He remembered being more decisive in the breach at the siege of Solvieg. He remembered being able to think clearly even in the melee at the battle of Bergen, but the thought that his dog, his Gareth, could have fallen victim to the 'Thing from the swamp' overwhelmed him. He looked to Thwurp for inspiration, but all he saw was a slow, fat man. A man who had failed to protect the Royal Dog. A man who had failed Gareth! A man who had failed in his duty! Lars felt like a King again. He drew himself up (almost imperially!) and spoke in a strong, commanding voice,

'Captain Thwurp, your neglect has caused this crisis. Your dereliction of your sacred duty has allowed this vile beast to infiltrate our walls and take our beloved Royal Hound. You are responsible. You must now make amends for this debacle. You must take your guards and go beyond the wall. Track the creature to its sordid lair and strike it dead. Go now and do your duty. Do not return without Gareth, or the head of the beast, or best of all, both!'

The King turned and left the hall; Thwurp stood for a long time, doing his best approximation of a man lost in dutiful thought, and then set off for the armoury.

Steelstrom, against all likelihood, was a small, neat, kindly looking old man. He looked as if he could be what, in fact, he was; somebody's Grandfather. He was quietly checking the inventory of weapons in the Royal Armoury, looking for items that he could declare as 'obsolete' and so create a demand for replacements. He found that he could spend many contented hours at the service of the state in this way, before returning to his factories to ensure that an ample supply of replacement weapons was available for dispatch to 'make the world a better, safer place.'

He was delighted when Thwurp came into the armoury, as he was particularly fond of the Captain of the King's Guard. So fond that he could even extend a generous discount to the Captain for the purchase of 'personal weapons, armour and equipment suitable for a soldier in a Royal post.' Steelstrom did find that, as he got older (and richer) it was increasingly difficult for him to remember anything apart from the rich language of his sales brochures and contracts. At times he wondered if 'marketing' was not more dangerous than warfare.

'A fine day for fighting,' was his salutation to the new arrival. 'A perfect day for precision engineered battle supplies, all created from the finest materials by the world's most skilled and highly trained craftsmen. Is there anything I can help the noble Captain with today?'

His radiant smile glowed and his tiny blue eyes twinkled as he greeted Thwurp, who almost forgot the fearsome power of his enemy as he returned the old man's greeting. Then he remembered.

'I must go outside the Beer Hall walls and seek the beast in its lair.' He had tried to sound bold and unshakeable, but knew that his voice did not carry his usual fine, manly boom. Steelstrom smiled back sympathetically.

'Desperate situations call for desperate remedies. When faced with death, darkness and destruction a real hero knows that a Steelstrom 'Ironman' breastplate can make the difference. A warrior can stand tall knowing that the best in triple forged armour protects his vital organs and will frustrate his enemies. The reinforced Steelstrom 'shine' metal grease will ensure that your foes feeble blows slide away leaving you free to split their skull with your Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe.'

There was a pause while Thwurp considered this information. He was not keen on the phrase, 'vital organs', it made him feel vulnerable.

'You are appropriately armed?' Steelstrom inquired.

'I am,' replied Thwurp. 'I have a Steelstrom 'Ironman' breastplate complete with triple forged steel and reinforced metal grease. I have a brand new Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe and, as a backup, I have a Steelstrom 'Sliver' armour penetrating dagger. I have a Steelstrom 'Invincible' neck brace, Steelstrom 'Giantkiller' greaves and gauntlets and I have a full face Steelstrom 'Steeltower' helmet.'

'I am,' he continued with his confidence rising as his speech began to fit in with the marketing theme the old man had started, ' a fully armed, impregnable fighting machine. I am a super protected warrior capable of cheating death while destroying my enemies with my superior Steelstrom firepower. I am a ring of steel, an iron tower a man-made metal colossus!'

'You'll want to upgrade to the 'Steeltower two helmet.' Steelstrom interrupted. 'There is no finer helm available in all King Lars' lands. There has been significant reinforcement of the crown and tests have shown it significantly better in battle than the Steeltower one. It is far superior at withstanding crushing, scratching or penetrating and these are important qualities considering the situation. You will get no time to chop the monster up with your Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe with your head ripped off.'

'Thank you,' gasped Thwurp, taking the proffered helmet that somehow seemed to have appeared in the old man's hands.

'That will be three hundred crowns.'

'Can I pay on credit?'

Steelstrom thought for a moment.

'Considering where you are going? I think not. Cash in advance. But you get out there and smite that monster for King and Country. God is on your side. Your cause is just. We are counting on you. The very moral fabric of society is under threat. We must all stand together.'

Thwurp was outgunned. He took the helmet, handed over his money and sadly set off for the guards' quarters to raise his patrol.

Steelstrom double checked the money and reflected that now would be a good time to put into production the highly expensive spiked breastplate that his engineers had been working on for a time when the 'free world' would need 'real men' to protect it.

Chapter Five

In which the Queen puts an important matter in motion, an old lady contemplates the past and the mighty 'Battle for Troll Ridge' is decisively fought! Regrettably, we also experience the disappointment of meeting Klug.

The Queen was back in the counting house. This time, instead of Bjorn the banker she was attended by Puck the Pot Boy. Puck the Pot Boy adored the Queen. He knew that he was a scrawny six year old whelp from the kitchen and that she was a Daughter of the Duke of Jutland and the Queen of all of King Lars' conquered lands. He knew that he was poor, weak and dirty, while she was rich, strong and beautiful; she was like a dark angel, gorgeous and terrible at the same time. It was almost too much for him to be in her presence, but whenever he could he sought her out and the Queen recognised, understood and exploited his devotion. He knew if he ever spoke of his adoration for the great and terrible Queen to the other pot boys he would be scorned and tormented beyond belief; however this only enhanced his adoration. He stood respectfully gazing up at her sharp featured beauty, oblivious to the voice of King Lars that was booming out in the hall below.

'Men!' a more attentive and less enamoured pot boy would have heard his sovereign exclaim, in something like the martial tones that inspired the troops at the now famous 'Massacre at Malmo',

'Men of the Kingdom; men of the Great Kingdom of the Great King Lars the first, builder of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been; men who armed with Steelstrom Steel, know no fear. Men, whose enemies quake as the earth trembles at their very approach. Men, who can burn, pillage and kill as easily as breathing; the time has come for battle!'

'Here on this land I raised up The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been as a glorious monument to my conquest, a towering edifice of indulgence created that all who look upon it shall know my majesty and magnanimity and be amazed. Here I invited my companions (of a certain level of wealth and social standing) to drink and dine with me until the end of the world, secure in our might of arms, our strength of purpose; our mighty greed that has carved out this Empire on the earth and has subjugated man, woman and beast to bear our burdens and bring the fruits of their labour to be devoured by us. Here I made my stand and planned to stand in peace consuming the fruits of the world as is my God-given right.'

'But this peace has been taken! A brutish, cowardly subhuman enemy threatens to destroy this righteous way of life. A shadow falls upon our mighty doors and hangs hovering over the Beer Hall, where all should be serene. A dark and subversive, criminal creature; a creature that dwells in a swamp and gorges itself on the flesh of men has proclaimed its sinister intent to rip the bowels of our peace open and devour what lies within. This must not be!'

'Men of the kingdom, as I am your King, I command you, as God surely intends, to go out beyond the walls of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been, seek out the beast in its' lair and there smite it and all who dwell with it and all its descendants and relations. Burn its' home, lay waste to all its' dominion and with its' head, proudly mounted on a pike as a token of your triumph return to me that I may reward you (in a manner befitting broadly to your station in life) that the feasting in my mighty hall may never cease from now until the end of the world. Men of the Kingdom of Lars, do your duty, go forth and slay the Beast!'

The Queen listened to the loud lusty cheer of men who had briefly forgotten they were being sent out to die. She listened to the clatter of arms and armour as the guards banged and clattered their way out of the lower hall, she listened to the footsteps of King Lars moving away from the throne where he had addressed the guards and then; very quietly she beckoned to Puck the Pot Boy.

'Puck,' she whispered, 'I have a message for you to take down to the harbour. Here, take this.'

The Queen produced a long, cream coloured envelope, sealed with her maroon seal and wrapped with a shining maroon ribbon. She handed over the message and Puck the Pot Boy set off quickly for the harbour. The Queen stood for a while thinking and then went to check on the royal children.

Grendel's mother was fast asleep in a warm patch of sunlight, sheltered from the wind by a pile of rubble and weeds. She had been feeling better since Grendel had begun to bring home regular food and, as she felt her strength returning, she had become bored of sleeping in her small cave in the lake and she had decided to swim to the surface and enjoy the fine summer's day.

Earlier she had walked on the shores of the once beautiful lake and she was saddened by the pollution and destruction of the area. She remembered how as a younger troll she had fished on the banks and seen her reflection in the clear water. She remembered meeting Grendel's father there, how they had laughed and swum in the cool water and basked on the clean, short grass that had grown beside the lake. She remembered teaching Grendel to fish; sitting in the shallows watching him as a child while he dived clumsily, with the fish leaping and jumping as they evaded his claws. For a moment the memories bought her peace and contentment, but this was a short-lived pleasure. As she surveyed the ravaged landscape and smelt the stench of the brewery runoff; she looked again at the waters that would never clear and the feeling hardened into a small black diamond of hatred and bitterness. Men had done this! Her anger had made her feel cold, tired and old and so she had found a place to sleep. She had curled up behind the pile of rubble and weeds and hoped that her sleep would be free of dreams.

Thwurp's men were tired and angry; it was much harder hunting trolls in the wasteland around the lake than it was guarding the Beer Hall. There were no proper paths or trails and the only landmark that was consistently in sight was the stinking lake. The lumpy and pitted landscape kept repeating and the sense of déjà vu was unnerving the fearless fighting men of King Lars. They had started out energised by his inspiring speech and had stealthily hunted through the rocks and shrubs, but after several hours their enthusiasm and adrenaline had begun to fade. The effort of carrying a significant weight of Steelstrom armour and weaponry was beginning to take a toll, and many of the men would have liked to lag behind; however no one wanted to be too far behind in the land of the trolls. As their energy lapsed, Thwurp's authority eroded and the troop steadily ground to a halt. It was the noise of their argument that awakened Grendel's Mother. Her secluded spot was at the head of a small ravine and it was here that some of the guards began to press Thwurp to return to the Beer Hall.

'It's starting to get dark.'

'The troll isn't here.'

'I think the trolls live on the other side of the lake.'

Thwurp had heard all these arguments before. He regarded it poor management to take proper notice of the views of his inferiors and so he persevered.

'The other side of the lake is too far. If the troll lived there he couldn't get to the Beer Hall and back. It is late afternoon and will not be dark for hours and the troll is certainly here...somewhere.'

He stopped and surveyed the guards. An example was needed.

'You!' he pointed to a guard whose armour seemed a little more dented and shabby than the others. His shield was also beaten out of shape and Thwurp thought he would be the weakest target.

'You there, scramble up that ridge and tell us what you can see!'

Grendel's Mother was now wide awake and worried. She was not afraid of the first guard, who was slowly dragging over to the foot of the slope, but knew that if she were seen by the others, she would not be able to make it back to the lake without being captured or killed. She pressed herself down behind the rock and tried to think of a plan.

The guard, whose name was Klug, shuffled resentfully towards the edge of the ravine. He was, as Thwurp had noticed, one of the smaller, weaker guards. He was tired and hot and his Steelstrom 'Thunderbolt' crossbow ('penetrates plate armour at up to one hundred paces!) was rubbing against his arm. He dropped it in the dirt and began to climb the slope, using his hands to pull himself up on the boulders and hummocks of coarse grass.

'Halt!' commanded Thwurp, 'What are you going to do, if, when you get to the top of that slope the Big Nasty himself is waiting for you, soldier?'

The other guards laughed half-heartedly, glad that someone else was the Captain's target. Klug climbed reluctantly down the slope and picked up his crossbow.

Grendel's mother looked to see if she could slip unnoticed through the bushes away from the ravine. While Klug was picking up the crossbow she rolled onto her stomach and began to slither across the rocks. There were some scrubby bushes a short distance away. If he was very slow she thought that she might be able to reach them and hide. She began to edge along the ridge.

'Go on, then. Get up there!' ordered Thwurp.

Klug was having difficulty trying to climb while holding the crossbow and made little progress as he slipped and slid each time he tried to climb. Thwurp began to lose his patience.

'You are meant to be a soldier not a slider!' he bellowed, 'Soldiers can climb! Soldiers are not slow or weak!'

Klug slipped and fell. Grendel's mother felt confident that she would reach the bushes and began to crawl on all fours.

'Any soldier, Any MAN in my command should be able to run up that hill. Any soldier who is not a weakling or a coward could do this. Get up that hill!' Thwurp was steadily working himself up into a frenzy. He shook his fist at Klug, who rushed at the hill and tried to gain enough momentum to reach the top. He made it half way before he slipped. His heavy armour caused him to come crashing down to the derision of his colleagues and the wrath of Thwurp.

Thwurp so furious that he was inspired to personal action, and, in an almost exact replication of the golden moment of his military career, when, as a much younger Thwurp, he had charged a group of bowmen on top of a rampart at the 'Bloodbath at Bucharest', he put his head down and rushed to the top of the ravine coming face to face, much to their mutual surprise, with Grendel's Mother.

'Troll!' he screamed and reached for his Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe.

'Trespasser!' shouted the old lady and pushed Thwurp firmly in the middle of his chest. Thwurp cannonballed down the slope landing with a stunning crash in the midst of his men.

'Troll Ambush!' shouted Klug, whose crossbow discharged involuntarily, narrowly missing the leg of the now prone and unconscious Thwurp.

'Run!'

The guards needed no second bidding and they ran, discarding weapons with a haste that would have delighted Steelstrom ( as he calculated the cost of each replacement) had he been there to watch.

Grendel's mother looked down with contempt at the group of running men and the large, armoured unconscious body of Thwurp lying in the ravine below. Feeling considerably younger and happier than she had in years; she slipped into the bushes and began to make her way home.

Chapter Six

In which Puck the Pot Boy betrays a trust with terrible, unforeseen consequences and the survivors of 'The Battle for Troll Ridge' formulate a plan they scarcely have the wit to conceive, let alone realise. We are very disappointed with Klug (despite having previously held no positive expectations of him at all!)

Puck the Pot Boy was not where he was meant to be. After having handed over the Queen's message to the Captain of 'The Duke of Jutland' in the harbour, he should have returned at once to his duties in the kitchen. He had not. The reason for this unlikely defiance was that he had already committed what he thought of as a terrible crime, and he wanted some time to reflect on what it meant to have crossed that line. He had already walked twice around the harbour and had begun to attract the notice of the townspeople, who were clearly beginning to think that he was 'up to something.' He needed somewhere to hide and think about things and, as evening approached, he thought of a place and made his way to the old well that stood, outside of the town, at the crossroads where the roads to the harbour, lake and Beer Hall met.

The old well was backed against a steep rock face that was overgrown with bushes and ferns. Puck knew that a few feet up the slope there was a small cave hidden in the ferns and that this was protected from the view of road users. No one used the well any more as it had run dry some years ago and he had always found it a safe place to hide. He scrambled up the slope and slipped out of sight and into the hollow of the cave.

His problem was this; he had stolen the Queen's ribbon. This was the terrible crime that he had committed. He had not meant to. He knew in his heart that he was a loyal boy. In respect of the Queen he was a fiercely loyal boy. He was unable to see how temptation had overcome him. He had set off quickly for the harbour, with his heart full of the pure desire to deliver the Queen's message and return; however, as he went on his way, he had felt the ribbon begin to slip from the envelope. It had begun to work itself free from the wax seal that held it in place. By the time he had reached the harbour it was loose.

He was not sure what to do. When he reached the quayside he had sat down on a barrel and tried to repair the damage. He had to be very careful, so as not to damage the wax seal, or make the letter dirty. He thought he had achieved his goal but, to his horror, the ribbon came off in his hand.

At that moment the owner of the barrel had returned and chased Puck away. He had no choice but to put the ribbon in his pocket and run. After that, he had moved as if in a dream. He had handed over the letter without the ribbon and then began to wander. Now, in the safety of his hiding place, he lay down and pulled out the ribbon to guiltily examine it.

It was soft and beautiful and as he touched it he was reminded of the soft and lovely skin of the almost magical Queen. His heart beat faster and he was full of a strange, unknown emotion. He was afraid of discovery, but his love of the Queen overcame this and he boldly decided that he would keep the ribbon, close to his heart, forever. He also decided that it was too late to go back to the Beer Hall and that he would sleep overnight in the cave and slip back to the kitchens in the morning.

Feeling very satisfied, he had begun to drift off to sleep when he heard the obvious commotion of a group of men trying to move quietly along the road. He was surprised to see the group of guards who had gone out with Thwurp that morning. He was even more surprised to see that they were led by Klug, whom he knew to be a cowardly weakling. He had been sure that Thwurp would follow the King's command and bring back the head of the Troll (on a stick!) and he began to wonder what had happened.

The men came to a halt at the crossroads, and he sat up ready to listen.

'Hold it lads,' said Klug, 'We don't want to go any further.'

'Why not?' asked one of the larger, stupider guards who was looking forward to being back in his bed in the barracks.

'Why not?' hissed Klug, 'Why not? If we go back, we are dead men, that's what we'll be. Do you think the King wants us back with no Troll, no weapons and no Commander of the guard? Do you think he is going to say, "Welcome back lads, nice bit of running away that was. I feel real proud of the way you throws down your weapons and runs like rabbits. I'll give you all a load of gold and a day off?" Is that what you think he is going to say to us? I don't think so!'

The guards thought about it. Although it was a slow process, and although it took them considerably longer than it had Puck the Pot Boy, they inevitably arrived at the same sorry conclusion; that was not what the King was going to say to them if they came back with no weapons, no commander and no troll's head on a stick.

There was a very long silence, as the cranial might of the Royal Guard grappled with an insoluble problem and came up short.

'What are we going to do?' said the largest guard, 'I'm attached to my head.'

'For the moment,' replied Klug, 'but not for much longer if we stay here, or go back to the Beer Hall.'

'Where else is there?' asked the large guard. He had always lived in the barracks. He liked it. There was food. People told him what to do.

'Anywhere!' said Klug, 'for all anyone knows we were all killed by that monster, along with Thwurp and if we go far away then no one will look for us. We need to get far away from the Kingdom of Lars and quickly too.'

He thought for a while.

'We need to go to the harbour and get a ship.'

'Get a ship? Isn't that dangerous? I'd rather go back to the Beer Hall. I like it at the Beer Hall.'

Klug suddenly realised that although he wasn't very strong, or quick he was a great deal cleverer than the rest of the guards. An opportunity had appeared and he quickly changed his plan.

'Yes, you're right you are. Ships are very dangerous, very dangerous in deed. We wouldn't want to go on one of those. I think you're right. You should go back to the barracks. If you tell the King about the troll I'm sure he will understand, particularly when you tell him about the army of trolls.'

'What army? There was just the one.'

Klug knew he would have to be clever, or at least, cleverer.

'Are you sure? I think that there was many more hiding in the bushes. I'm sure that I saw some when I was on the hill.'

The Guards thought. Time passed.

'You wouldn't have run away if there hadn't been a lot of them. Not brave guards like you.'

The majority of the guards were still genuinely confused, but some of the slightly sharper points in the spear rack where beginning to pick up the idea.

'I wouldn't have thrown my spear if there wasn't a Troll to throw it at.'

'One of the buggers must have grabbed my shield!'

'I'm sure I hit one before... before...'

'Before we were driven back by superior forces!' finished Klug. He smiled, once the military mind got in gear there was no stopping it. The battle for Troll Ridge was slowly being imagined; however, he had decided he was not going back and now he was ready for the second stage of his plan. He jumped up on the side of the well and shouted,

'Comrades! We fought valiantly against the troll foe, until our commander was slain and we were driven back...'

'By superior forces!' asserted a late comer to the battle recreation group.

'By a horde of vicious, heavily armed, evil, godless, child eating, Trolls intent on assaulting the lands of Good King Lars!'

'God bless him!'

Klug was momentarily taken aback by this pious, asinine and irrelevant sentiment.

'Yes, God bless him! We were driven back and knew that our duty was to warn good King Lars...'

'God bless him!'

'To warn him about the Trolls and to make sure all the good people of the land knew the danger. So, because this was our duty, we bravely ran and against considerable odds made it all the way back to the Beer Hall to warn our Good and Great King Lars.

'God bless him!'

'Yes.'

'So,' inquired one of the slightly better thinkers, 'we goes on back to the barracks and tells them all this and then things go back to normal?'

'Yes, they may even give you a medal, but that is not enough for me!' Klug suddenly seemed quite animated.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean to go back into the wilderness, back to the place where we encountered the beast... I mean beasts and either take on the beast... I mean beasts in battle to gain revenge for the loss of our commander, or, at the very least, try to find the lair of the beasts and perhaps bring home the mortal remains of our dear commander Thwurp.'

The guards were very surprised. Some of them even wanted to join Klug's obviously suicidal mission and it took him even more of his persuasive skill to convince them that the defence of the realm, of the King and of the royal children was their sacred mission. He, Klug, he argued, had not the strength or skill to save the realm and so he was expendable; the others were not. Eventually he prevailed and the guards set off to the Beer Hall to tell their story and the heroic Klug sat down on the edge of the well to 'gather his strength before the storm that was to come.'

Puck, who had been listening to all of this, was so moved with the bravery of Klug that he crawled out of his hiding place and sat beside the mighty hero.

'Can I come too?' he asked.

Klug started.

'What?'

'Can I come too, to help you fight the Trolls or scout their secret redoubt? I know I am only a small and foolish pot boy, but I love the Queen and our country and I would die to serve a great hero like you.'

Klug laughed out loud.

'Didn't you understand, you foolish boy?' he brayed, 'There wasn't no army. They all ran away. I ran away too and they're off to the King to lie about it. He won't be fooled and they'll all be back fighting the beast tomorrow. But me? I won't be there. I'm heading off to the harbour, getting a ship and that'll be the last the Great Kingdom of Lars ever sees of me. Do I look like a hero to you?'

Puck was horrified.

'How can this be? You spoke so bravely. You seemed so strong. How can you betray the King? How can you betray the Queen?'

'The Queen?' laughed Klug, 'What would I be doing caring for the Queen? What has the Queen ever done for me?'

He began to set off down the road to the harbour. Puck was enraged. He ran after Klug and began to hammer the back of Klug's legs with his fists. He was shouting incoherently and tears were running down his face.

'Stop it you Brat! You'll wake the town!'

Puck took a step back and looked up at Klug defiantly.

'That's what I will do!' he shouted, 'I'll call them and they'll catch you. Everybody will see you for the coward you are. That's what I'll do!'

Puck got ready to shout, but before he was able to, Klug grabbed him around the waist and picked him up. Puck could feel the Queen's ribbon pressing against his chest. Klug walked briskly back up the road towards the well with Puck struggling in his arms. With a grunt he heaved the boy over the edge and let him go.

Puck fell. He was so shocked that no scream escaped his lips.

Klug looked into the well to make sure there was no movement and then with an air of satisfaction, he took a deep breath and said,

'No. You won't!'

He turned back down the road and set of for the harbour with a spring in his step.

Chapter Seven

In which Steelstrom's prayers are interrupted by the answer to no one's prayers and there is a long, tense moment. A fortunate fellow meets a new friend.

Steelstrom was practicing his religion. He was thanking the almighty for having created such a fine world of opportunity for those who followed the teachings. The teachings he favoured were those that suggested that work and property were the rewards of the godly, and that the profits accrued by these were tangible proof of the divine love for the harvesters of creation.

Steelstrom certainly thought of himself as a harvester of creation's bounty; however, if he had been more accurately described, the phrase 'virulent parasitic infection' would readily spring to mind. When he prayed, he prayed with pride, secure in his ownership of the mighty edifice that was Steelstrom Industries. He knew that God loved his mighty factories, his well-protected armouries, overflowing warehouses and bulging counting houses. Steelstrom was sure that he was the richest man in the world and that this was right and proper because he was the richest man in the world. His worth was his worth, he was the rightful owner of it and that was that. He was sure that God loved him and even thought (albeit a little guiltily) that, should Steelstrom and God meet, God might be tempted to ask Steelstrom for advice about how to get more profit from creation.

With a little chuckle at this thought, he got up and went to look out of the window, towards the yard at the front of the Biggest Beer Hall. It was at this point that the group of guards returned. He opened the window and settled down to listen.

King Lars had come out into the courtyard to meet the guards. He had put on his full armour and his crown, anticipating that he would receive news from Thwurp that his guards had triumphed over the foul and odious trolls. He stood on the steps of the Beer Hall and waited.

The guards, who had come in speedily from the crossroads, ground to a halt a short distance from the Beer Hall steps. They had no leader and none of them wanted to be the one to report to the king. They all slowly became aware that the King was flanked by more of his guards, and that the royal archers, with their heavy Steelstrom crossbows surrounded the square.

King Lars waited. The guards began to shuffle anxiously and the tension rose. Eventually he spoke,

'Where is Captain Thwurp?'

The guards all began to answer as one, delighted that the tension was released.

'Troll got him!'

'Loads of Trolls!'

'Trolls everywhere!'

'Yeah! Like a whole army.'

'They got him, they did.'

This was not what Lars had wanted to hear. His face began to darken with anger.

'Where is Captain Thwurp?' He repeated in a louder, more strident voice,

'Where is the head of the beast that has violated the Royal Beer Hall? Report!'

The Unluckiest Soldier, the one who had been outmanoeuvred by Klug, stepped forward.

'Your Highness, this is what happened. We was making our ways through the rubble down by the stinky lake and Captain Thwurp says.... Well, he says, "up on that there ridge yonder. There," he says, "there is a great stinky Troll." And then he says to Klug, "Get yourself up there and get stuck into it!" And so Klug starts up the ridge and...."

At this point the Unluckiest Soldier's powers of invention, which had never been substantial, began to fail. What had happened on the ridge? He was unsure what had really occurred and, on that basis, how could he, with his limited creative ability, fabricate a good story?

He was saved, at least temporarily, by the intervention of a Soldier with a Spark of Imagination, who took up the tale.

'And as 'e goes up the ridge, the monster shrieks at him like this "Yaaaaaaaa!" And 'e shouts back like this "yuuuuuuuuur!" And then all the other trolls come over the ridge like,"yerrrrrrrg!" And then we's all 'akin' and slash in' until, until...'

At this point, his inspiration (such as it was) also began to fail. He was relieved by the timely intervention of a Soldier with a Military Vocabulary.

'We was forced to retreat, to prevent further casualties in the face of superior fire power. We duly retreated in good order, sustaining casualties of Captain Thwurp, oo we believe slain and guardsman Klug, oo we believe missing.'

'You mean that you ran away!' shouted King Lars, who had now gone completely red in the face.

'Yes.' replied an Honest Soldier.

'I mean, it looks like that. I mean the Trolls is still there and we are all the way over here, so, I suppose, that must be true.' He looked around for inspiration, but found it in short supply.

'Obviously we didn't run the whole way, what with the armour and everything; but we certainly ran the first bit,' finally realising that this was not going as we'll as he had hoped; he lamely concluded,

'After that, we mostly walked, until we got here. Then we stopped.'

King Lars let out a shriek that would have pleased the Soldier with a Spark of Imagination, had he not been the recipient of it.

'You cowards! You didn't fight! You ran away! You didn't kill the beast or rescue my Gareth! You are all a shameful disgrace and you should all be killed!'

That thought began to fill the minds of the assembled guards and they became very quiet. They looked at King Lars and he looked back at them.

Steelstrom, at the window, held his breath. The silence in the courtyard grew. Eventually, the colour slowly faded from the King's face and he hissed,

'Be here in the morning and we will hunt the Troll. Fail me again and you will die!' He turned and walked back into the Beer Hall. The soldiers let out the breath they had been holding. Steelstrom chuckled to himself, left the window and headed down to the main hall.

There was something wet on his face. He could hear some kind of sniffing. He had a terrible headache, he could feel it. He would have kept his eyes closed if it were not for the wetness on his face. It was at this point that he began to remember. He was...he was...Thwurp! That was a shock! He had been charging the troll and then...and then?

He wasn't sure. His head hurt so much. He had the feeling he should be worried. The troll was dangerous. It might still be about. If it was, he thought, there wasn't going to be very much that he could do about it. He didn't care. He was tired, so tired. All the guarding and fighting, stamping and shouting; it wasn't really what he had wanted.

Thwurp tried to remember what it was that he had wanted, all those years ago; before King Lars, before the battle of Bryjansk, the war at Warsaw and the Essen engagement; before the medals and uniforms and Steelstrom 'Technology' weapons. Whatever it was, he thought, it is gone. I'm just here, an old guard in his armour lying in a dangerous place, waiting for some enemy to finish me off.

He wondered if he were lying in a puddle. That might explain the wetness, but not the sniffing? It was too much trouble to try and figure it out. He did wonder what he would have done if he hadn't become a guard. His father had been a farmer. Thwurp remembered working on the farm as a child. He would have been a good farmer. He was strong, he was good with animals.

The thought of animals made him think about the sniffing. He was startled. He didn't want to be eaten by animals. He had seen battlefields with rats attacking the bodies. He struggled to try and open his eyes as a sense of panic enveloped him.

It passed. He didn't have the strength. He couldn't find any new pain, only the dull throbbing from his head. The wetness didn't seem to be hurting him. He wondered whether he would survive. He decided that if he did survive, he would give up soldiering and become a farmer, or maybe open an inn. He would do something quiet and gentle and he would get a dog.

A dog? He thought that maybe there was a dog. Maybe that was the sniffing sound. He struggled to open an eye and was surprised to learn he was right. There was a dog licking his face. If he could have laughed he would have, but nothing happened. His eyes shut. Some time passed.

When he next opened his eyes he was very surprised.

'Gareth?' he tried to say. He wasn't sure what came out. He tried again,

'Gareth?'

It was definitely Gareth, the royal dog. Thwurp had found the King's dog, or, he reflected, the dog had found him. He was so pleased. He wanted to say, 'Gareth, you found me, you saved me! You are a wonderful animal!' but before he could attempt this he found himself lifted from the ground by a pair of huge hands that had gripped the breastplate of his armour. He was raised up until he was looking into the grim, menacing face of a huge male Troll. He looked at the hard brown eyes, the long pointed nose, and more importantly the huge fanged jaws. They were moving. What he thought may be his last thoughts were interrupted by a deep, sonorous voice that said,

'I think we should talk.'

To his relief, Thwurp fainted.

Chapter Eight,

In which we pay proper attention to the unassimilated experiences of Gareth, the Royal dog; and an old lady makes an interesting discovery, while attempting home improvement.

Had Gareth, the Royal Dog, been a reflective dog; he would have, when he examined his conscience, found that he had been bored in the Greatest Beer Hall Ever Built. He had originally been given to King Lars as a battle hound, or war dog. He was trained to follow armoured men on long marches or ship journeys, travel considerable distances to war torn parts of the world, and there, when necessary, to fight men, horses and dogs in the noble art of warfare. Gareth had been a properly trained, well-disciplined dog of war who had earned the respect of his master in many a skirmish and battle. On the march he was a tireless trooper, in battle he was a ferocious killer. There was a close bond between hound and master and Lars would have happily knighted Gareth, if that had been the done thing with war dogs.

As it was, he had trailed behind his Master's horse, curled up at his Master's feet, eaten from the same plate (more or less) and fought side by side. All of this, he had enjoyed immensely, however, when Lars decided to retire to the Beer Hall the rot had set in. There was not enough to do. There were guards who exercised him; but this was not the same as marching and fighting. He could sit in the Great Hall and eat his Master's scraps, as he had done in the good old days; but he had not acquired the hunger that gave the meat its flavour. There was a considerable amount of beer (here Lars made the mistake of many people who identify with their pets) and Lars had begun to give Gareth beer as a way of passing the pointless evenings of feasting and drinking.

Lars and his cronies (courtiers! Royal cronies are courtiers!) liked nothing better than to give Gareth beer and watch him frighten the servants. There were few things that gave them greater amusement than watching as Gareth jumped out from under the table and terrorised a servant, hopefully causing them to drop whatever they were carrying, opening them up to all kinds of abuse for their 'cowardice and dereliction of duty.'

This had all had a very negative effect upon the dog. He had become lazy, even more aggressive, badly-behaved and rather fond of drink. Guards and servants had become (sensibly) afraid of him. On the night he met Grendel he had escaped from the Beer Hall and was enjoying being chased by the guards – this being the only entertainment now open to him apart from heavy drinking, overeating and menacing the weak creatures who waited on the King in the beer hall.

If Gareth, as was mentioned before, had been a reflective dog, or a dog with even a small degree of self-knowledge: a dog who took any active interest in the structure and meaning of his existence, he would have agreed that he was bored and needed a new challenge, or a different life. He was not, and so had merely experienced these things, however, on that night he was instantly excited as soon as he sensed the strange and dangerous creature that was lurking in the garden.

He had growled menacingly at the tall creature in the woods. To Gareth's surprise and delight the creature had growled back and not run away. This was fun! Gareth felt his muscles clinch ready to spring while his heightened perceptions detected the same movements in his opponent. They paused, briefly trying to assess a weakness in each other's defences. Gareth leapt, sensing that he had the upper hand and would bring down the other creature.

As Gareth sprang forward, he had the satisfying sensation of knocking his opponent back against the wall, but he then felt momentarily dismayed that his powerful jaws had not found his victim's throat. Instead he found that the creature had wedged its elbow under his jaw and was using this to lever him up and away. Gareth twisted to try and break the creature's grip, but he was surprised to find that he was being held. Not only that, the creature was squeezing him, crushing the air from his lungs. Gareth was unused to his attacks not succeeding. His strategy, such as it was, was to knock his opponent down and bite them. This had always worked before and his canine brain was not equipped to come up with a new plan. He recognised a superior opponent and, rather than be completely crushed, he went limp to show he understood who the lead dog was now.

Grendel understood this gesture and released the dog. Gareth rolled on his back and looked up at Grendel. The Troll towered above him in the night sky. Grendel looked down at Gareth, the Royal Dog, and laughed.

'You belong to me now,' he said.

Gareth would have nodded. His new master had spoken.

Since then, Gareth had lived with Grendel. Now he was jumping around Grendel's ankles as the tall Troll carried the unconscious body of Thwurp back towards the lake.

Had he been a thoughtful, analytical dog; a hound used to regularly casting a critical eye over his life choices, he would have observed how much happier he was than when he lived in the Beer Hall. He would have been surprised to find how a world of possibilities had opened up for him. Had he been self conscious at all, he would have realised that a life of freedom and adventure, while being bonded to a powerful hunter, was what suited him best of all. He was none of these things, and so merely rejoiced to be running in the sunlight at the heels of his new master.

The new master's mother had returned from her encounter on Troll Ridge in a mood that approximately mirrored the joyful reincarnation of Gareth. She, an old Troll, had fought the enemy and won. If it didn't make her feel young again it did, at least, make her feel powerful. She felt strong. She was ready to fight again.

She made her way back to the lake and briskly dived below the surface. She swam through the rock tunnel that led to the cave that was home to her and her son. She climbed out of the water into the main living area, where there was space for a fire and two rough mattresses. Normally she would have slept, but she felt too exhilarated. She wanted to do more to fight the enemy.

She sat down and thought about what could be done. The problem was that there were many more of the human vermin than there were trolls. Even though trolls were much stronger, in the end, the numbers would win. She considered that the trolls would be most vulnerable if the men could find them and she supposed, that it would only be a matter of time before that happened. A key problem was that there was only the one way out of the cave, and so anyone who watched for long enough would be sure to spot it being used. In order to be effective at fighting the men, she and Grendel would need another way and now that her energy had returned, she thought that it was possible she could create one.

When Grendel was much younger, she and her husband had blocked up an exit from the cave, as they feared the young troll might explore it and become lost or harmed. She knew this exit lead into a number of passageways and that somewhere in the caves was an underground river. She was not sure if it reached the surface at any point, however, it seemed that it would be a good idea to unblock the exit and explore the possibility. She got up and began to unpick the rocks and stones.

After some work she had made enough of a gap to squeeze through. She found herself in a long passageway that curved down into the earth. It was narrow and small for her, but she squeezed through. After a while she came to a junction where one fork went up and the other down. She explored the up fork, but it became a dead end quite quickly. She retraced her steps and began to climb down. Somewhere she could hear the trickle of water.

She climbed further and further down and realised that she had travelled a long way, much deeper than she had intended. She slowed her pace and began to feel a tingle of fear; she also began to feel tired and cursed herself for being a foolish old troll who didn't know her limits. She was preparing to turn round and climb up, when her foot slipped on a loose stone and she began to slide. Desperately she tried to grab hold of the rock, but more stones slid and she began to roll in a hail of scree; down a slope into the darkness. Her attempts to cling on achieved nothing and she rolled head over heels until the ground levelled out.

It was very dark where she was and although troll's can see very well in a little light they have no ability to see in complete darkness. This was where she found herself. She lay still and checked to see that she was unhurt, which she was apart from some scratches and bruises. Then she listened and looked as hard as she could into the dark.

She could still here a trickle of water, and when she really looked as hard as she could there was some light. It seemed to be a shaft of moonlight, coming from some place high above. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see that she was in a large cavern where there was a small pool of water. There seemed to be no way out. The slope she had fallen down was steep and the she could see the tunnel she had come through, high above her. She looked back at the column of moonlight and realised that there was a shaft coming into the cavern from above. It illuminated the far end of the cavern. She picked herself up and began to carefully move around the pool towards the shaft. It was high above her, a strangely perfect circle. It clearly led to outside. When she was nearly beneath it she stopped abruptly. She noticed that, lying in the moonlight, with a crimson ribbon held in its hand, was the body of a human child.

Chapter Nine

In which the power of destiny is discussed; and two plans emerge for dealing with the problem of the Trolls. The King demonstrates his obvious and unquestioned superiority in selecting the right course of action.

Gnosser, the Royal Historian, was a small, wrinkled man; who almost disappeared under the large baggy, green cap he always wore. He was a shrivelled, mediocre, malodorous individual, whose work consisted exclusively of chronicling the magnificent conquests and achievements of the mighty King Lars and comparing him (favourably) to the less exalted monarchs of the past. He was sat in a recess in the Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been scratching away at his long awaited 'The Conquests and Triumphs of Lars the Strong'

He was surprised to see the King coming over to join him.

'Don't get up!' ordered Lars taking a seat at the parchment and inkpot filled table.

'Majesty!' Gnosser adopted the submissive, ingratiating, wheedling tone that he believed had secured his position as Royal Historian. In that belief; as with much else, he was mistaken; Gnosser was the only historian Lars had ever met and he was far too impatient to interview candidates for the post.

'It is a rare honour to be visited by your Grace...' Gnosser trailed off as he saw the King glare into the middle distance. It was true. Since the start of the troll problem, the King had lost all interest in his past glories.

'Am I cursed, Gnosser? The King stared directly at the historian, 'Have I done something wrong that has caused this crisis? Are the Gods perhaps jealous of my accomplishments? Have I done more than man should do? Did I risk the wrath of Heaven by building the Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been?'

Gnosser eyed the King thoughtfully. This was a question that required careful handling. Lars clearly wanted to be reassured, and so Gnosser would have said that the Gods would not be angry; however, if the establishment of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been was not such a mighty feat that the Gods might not be provoked and so feel angry with the perpetrator, then there was a fair chance that the perpetrator of the potential abomination might be quite angry with the reckless Historian who pointed this out. He grimaced, a facial expression he considered expressive of both the quality of his thinking and the pain and effort he endured to sustain such a powerful cerebral process.

'The Gods are inscrutable,' he croaked, deciding ambiguity and obfuscation were the tactics of the day. 'Man cannot fathom fully their infinite design. They are shrouded in mystery; they are clad in the incomprehensible miasma of the unknown. They dwell without our sphere; and though we may gain intimations of their limitless luminescence, can we truly say in what light they behold this vast and noble creation...'

'Rubbish!' interjected Steelstrom, who had crossed the Beer Hall to the recess and now stood at King Lars' side.

'The Gods love this Beer Hall! It is the zenith of human achievement to imitate our mighty masters, and in erecting so fine an edifice as this, our great King can only be complementing the all-seeing ones with his virtuous and noble effort. It is plain and obvious to all right-thinking men that the this glorious structure could not have been created in the face of opposition from those above and it is therefore self-evident that the Gods themselves willed the creation of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been. They bless the great and mighty Lars, ruler (of at least a fair portion) of the Earth!'

He glared mightily at the historian, his brows furrowing with rage.

'And those that say otherwise are traitors to the King, his state and they are an affront to the very Gods themselves! If those that walk upon the earth as Gods are not meant to rule the Earth as the Gods themselves, then who could be?'

Gnosser had no reply. He had no intention of being traitorous, blasphemous or anything else that could threaten his comfortable position. Thankfully, he was excused from the need to reply by the appearance of Bjorn the Banker, who had silently slipped across the Beer Hall floor to join the debate.

'It is admirably arranged to be, in essence, exactly as our imperial industrialist has exposited. Worldly wealth is, as it were, a blissful benediction, a godly gift; a divine deposition that deliberately displays the fond favour, or godly grace of those who govern our globe. It is an accurate assurance of the help of heaven.'

Although all present were sure that they agreed with the banker, they remained silent, being slightly unsure what he had said.

'Then this Troll problem might be a divine judgement.'

Gnosser, Bjorn and Steelstrom were all taken aback by this logical deduction from the King; who had worked out the possibility that; if worldly success reflected divine pleasure, then it was equally possible that worldly trouble reflected divine anger. None of the courtiers had ever considered him capable of thoughts more complex than 'Attack!' and 'Charge!' They regarded him curiously and waited for him to continue.

'If all my successes, from the Skirmish at Skane to the Onslaught at Omsk were signs of divine favour, showing that the gods loved and favoured me, then surely the attack of the Troll may be a sign of divine displeasure. How have I offended the Gods?'

The advisors looked at each other. Steelstrom, as the most devout, was prepared to take this question on. Steelstrom had considerable skills at prevarication. These he had developed over the years to ease his conscience in his chosen profession. His mastery of this skill was so complete that he was able to practice it effortlessly and remain unaware of its employment.

'This is nothing more than a test, your Highness. Surely your Grace has been tested before?' He chuckled, as if reminiscing about a pleasant happening in the past, 'For example, at the Multiple Mass Massacres at Munchen things did look a bit black for a time!'

Gnosser and Bjorn nodded their support.

'The Rout at Rheims was another testing time for your Highness, all appeared lost until...'

The King laughed, 'You arrived with reinforcements in Steelstrom improved plate, carrying new axes and things got better straight away. I see what you mean.'

'Exactly,' continued Steelstrom paternally, 'From time to time the higher ones test our faith with these setbacks and when we keep our faith, and how can we not when we look at such a splendid edifice as this Beer Hall, we are rewarded with the defeat of our enemies by the grace of the Gods.'

'Hear, hear!' Bjorn and Gnosser chorused their approval of these pious sentiments and their admiration of the persuasive power of Steelstrom's religious interpretation.

'Then who will deliver us from our tormentor?'

This unwelcome interjection came from the Queen, who had appeared at Bjorn's elbow during Steelstrom's speech. There was an uncomfortable silence. All the men looked displeased, except Bjorn the banker, who could not fully suppress a look of admiration. As the silence grew Gnosser ventured,

'It seems, my Lady, that there is no immediate remedy to this problem.'

'Nonsense, 'shouted Lars, 'I already have a plan. I am not without resource. I will call for champions to come and slay the beasts. The strongest and best men from the whole of the civilised world will flock to our door to earn the honour of delivering The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built from the monster. I am sure that you will donate towards a reward,' he added looking at Bjorn, 'and that you will find a suitable weapon to offer as well.'

'My services are at your disposal.' agreed Steelstrom, while making a mental note that they should be charged for, as he had not agreed to help for nothing.

'It will not be necessary,' replied the Queen.

The courtiers laughed, with the exception of Bjorn who looked uncomfortable.

'I am the King! I have spoken. I have a plan. It will save the realm.'

'There are numerous precedents for champions slaying monsters,' agreed Gnosser; who had never considered the importance of women in history, 'Consider Theseus or Perseus. They were divinely called to slay monsters.'

'I'm sure there will be no need to inundate his Highness with foreigners,' said Steelstrom, who had not had the benefit of a classical education.

'It seems to be a perfect plan,' agreed Bjorn cautiously, 'but what does her highness suggest.'

'She suggests nothing!' shouted Lars, 'She is a woman. Women do not suggest things,. They listen to, and agree with, suggestions made by men! I am the King. I have spoken!' He stood up to draw attention to his fine manly height. The Queen was not intimidated.

'I suggest nothing.' She agreed. 'I have merely sent for Beowulf.'

There was a very long silence. Steelstrom looked hard at the Queen, as if she might change her mind, when nothing came of this, he smiled politely and looked at the King with an air of sympathy. Gnosser looked down at his writing table and Bjorn rubbed his hands together nervously. The King spoke again, this time more quietly, but the anger in his voice was clear to all.

'I have spoken, there will be champions. The champions will come. They will kill the monster. This is how it will be.'

He turned and walked away to the far corner of the Beer Hall where the royal chambers were located.

The others stood anxiously, until he had departed. Gnosser began to write notes, so that the great decision of the noble King Lars could be included in his book. Steelstrom decided that there were business matters to attend to in the light of the upcoming tournament. This left the Queen and Bjorn the Banker standing by the historian's table. They walked a short distance in the direction of the counting house, mostly to get out of the range of Gnosser's intrusive hearing.

'Beowulf?' questioned Bjorn, 'Will he come?'

'I sent for him.' replied the Queen. Bjorn nodded and replied,

'Then he will come.'

But it was impossible to tell from his expression whether he was sad or happy. The Queen turned away and began to walk back towards the royal chambers. Bjorn watched her go and then strode off, alone, into the counting house.

Chapter Ten

In which two acts of kindness are misinterpreted.

Despite being terribly afraid, Thwurp was remarkably glad to be alive. He was very surprised that he was alive and also very surprised to be lying on the floor of a large, damp cave. The Troll was in the cave. That was why he was afraid. Gareth the royal dog was also in the cave. He didn't seem to be afraid. He seemed to like the Troll and the Troll seemed to be treating the dog kindly. He had not harmed Thwurp either, although he had taken his Steelstrom 'Technology' Anti-Troll Axe and a number of other weapons that the Captain generally carried. Thwurp was pleased to note that the Troll had somehow missed his Steelstrom 'dagger in the boot' stiletto; however the thought of trying to stab the muscular Troll with the concealed weapon was as attractive as the idea of taking on a tiger with a toothpick. Thwurp decided to sit up. This pleased Gareth, who ran over in a friendly way and knocked him down. Thwurp realised he was weak and dizzy. He would need to be patient. The Troll spoke in a surprisingly soft and musical voice. As soon as he spoke the dog went to him.

'Dog, our visitor feels weakness.

We must allow him time to rest.

When he has recovered his strength

We will find why he hates our kind,

Why he poisons our streams and lakes,

Why he hunts and kills our people.

Until that time he must have rest.'

Thwurp closed his eyes and tried to imagine a way in which this could end well for him.

'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

Down in the well. I found him. Look!'

Gently she laid the body on the ground in front of her. The villagers looked and saw the body. Some of the villagers began to mutter and their grip on their weapons tightened. The noise rose to an angry buzz.

'Why have you bought it here?' asked the first speaker. He was an old man and remembered the times before the Beer Hall, when the village and the trolls lived in peace.

'I do not know. It came to me,

I bought him here to be with you

I wanted to find his Mother.'

Momentarily the crowd softened. They did not trust the Troll, but her words sounded true. Thwurp decided to intervene. He stepped out from his cover and walked to join the villagers.

'Why, creature?' he shouted, 'did you want to kill her too?'

The villagers looked from the Troll to the man in armour.

'Look,' he shouted, 'This is the beast that has been killing Men at the King's Hall. Now it is killing children. Kill it!'

Grendel's Mother looked up,

'This is not so.'

'Of course the beast lies! They eat children, they eat our kind.'

The people were unused to fighting and each feared to strike a blow, but the crowd had turned..

'Nasty beast!'

'Go on, get it then!'

The men edged forward.

'I did not do this,' protested Grendel's Mother.

A woman in the crowd through her rock,

'Murderer!' she screamed. Her rock went wide, but the crowd was now able to attack. Rocks and stones flew at Grendel's mother. They smashed into her arms as she covered her face. From somewhere she found a desperate strength and set off for the trees.

'Stop it!' shouted Thwurp and some of the men made ready to chase.

'There is a cave,' he said, 'stop it from getting there.'

The villagers continued to throw stones and chased after Grendel's mother, but they did not go to fast, as none of them wanted to face the Troll alone and this allowed her to reach the relative safety of the trees. She began to head for the cave, but almost immediately she saw that Thwurp and some other men had begun to cut that route off. If she was not so tired she knew she would have fought them and that they would have run; as it was, she turned and ran deeper into the forest with the stinging stones hitting her on the back and legs. She spotted a winding path that lead up and realised that the bends and the slope would help protect her.

As she started up the slope she heard the winding sound of arrows in the air. The first arrow shot past her ear. This caused her to panic and run faster, using up her air and energy. The second caught her in the shoulder; she thought it had deflected away, but when she risked a glance she saw it was stuck there. With a groan of horror she ran on, but her confidence was ebbing. She was sure the archer was finding his aim and that it was only a matter of time before a fatal blow was struck.

She was angry that the last sound she would hear was the stupid shouting of the hunters. She was angry that she had been foolish enough to try to help. She was angry that she would never see Grendel again.

At that moment an arrow hit her and she lost her footing. She crashed off the path and into a sharp patch of brambles. She felt herself rolling and crashing through the bushes, gathering speed as she slid, fell and bumped down a steep slope, hitting rocks and branches. She felt a tearing pain in her back, bruises on her arms and face. She wondered what would happen next. Then she heard a cracking sound and knew no more.

Chapter Eleven

In which two weeks pass without the occurrence of any great events or the resolution of any conflicts; however a fair amount of scheming, plotting and spying takes place. A dispute amongst the King's Champions is resolved in an unusual and surprising manner.

Two weeks passed and nothing of great significance occurred.

King Lars sent his troops out to search for Grendel on the morning after what became known as 'The Battle for Troll Ridge.' After a fruitless morning searching for the troll they arrived at the small village where Thwurp was organising the villagers to search for 'The Child Murdering Troll' in the woods around the village. They did not find her.

When they returned to the Beer Hall that night Thwurp told an improved story of his escape from the troll. King Lars was furious with him for failing to rescue the Royal Dog and Steelstrom was furious with him for failing to point the troops into the caves where the Troll was obviously hiding. After such ferocity, Thwurp almost wished himself back in the scaly hands of the troll. The next morning the troops returned and fearfully explored the caves. They did not find a way to Grendel's cave, as, after he had put a rudimentary bandage on his leg, he had worked to seal up and disguise the crack in the wall that led into the caves beyond. He had then rested, until he became worried about the whereabouts of his mother.

The return of the body of Puck the Pot Boy caused the Queen some apparent grief. She began to spend more of her time in the counting house where it was believed that Bjorn the Banker comforted her. The King was too busy to notice this. Firstly due to the hunt for the trolls and then due to the arrival of the armed champions, who were to defeat the troll on his behalf.

More champions arrived at the Beer Hall each morning, usually clad in their best armour and displaying their best Steelstrom weapons. They all seemed to posses large retinues of guards, retainers and camp followers, who all needed accommodation. The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built was steadily filling up with The Greatest Gathering of Spongers and Boasters Ever Assembled. The champions drank loudly into the night and King Lars felt that perhaps the good days had returned. He was also pleased that there had been no new deaths. He was puzzled that the troll seemed to have given up its resistance, but he felt grateful. He looked forward to holding a tournament for the champions and after that to them killing the troll and peace returning. There was, however, something else on his mind and this he discussed with Steelstrom and Thwurp in a secret meeting that they held in one of the small upper floor rooms of the Beer Hall that Steelstrom liked to use when he was at the Beer Hall.

'I am worried about the security of the Royal Bed Chamber,' Lars said. I want a special lock made that can only be opened by myself.'

Steelstrom smiled,

'Trolls cannot open locks, your Majesty. This is well known. You have a special Steelstrom Stalwart padlock for your door.'

'But Thwurp and the Queen also have keys. You may have a key as your men manufactured the lock.'

'How can this be a problem, your mightiness? Thwurp is loyal, and the Queen is your Queen. I have no copy of the lock.'

Thwurp grunted his assent before adding perceptively,

'Trolls don't do locks. Everybody knows that.'

King Lars looked shiftily around the room as if a spy might have been listening (as in fact there was) and said,

'It's not the troll that worries me.'

Steelstrom and Thwurp looked blank and remained silent; the troll clearly worried them. He explained,

'It's Beowulf. I know the Queen asked for him and he may not come. And if he does come, which he might not, he should be on our side. I mean he is human. At least I think he is human; but he has a certain reputation.'

Thwurp nodded, wisely and then unwisely said,

'You mean, he kills his employers and takes everything?'

King Lars glared at Thwurp. Steelstrom decide to calm things,

'He does have a reputation, I agree; but I believe his vengeance on Hamlyn was because of an unpaid bill. I know he has acquired a number of territories, however, I have not heard that he has behaved unethically.'

'That's because anyone who says that would be dead.' The King's voice had become a furious whisper,

'Inviting him in is a terrible thing, however if he is coming I must make sure that he can't kill me and take the Beer Hall.'

'And you suspect treachery?' asked Steelstrom, who could see that this was a very reasonable fear. 'I think a special lock could be made. I have heard of a design that has two keys, you would have one, the Queen would have the other and both keys are needed to open the lock. One from the inside and one from the outside. I could have one made.'

'You would have to trust the Queen.' observed Thwurp, who seemed intent on aggravating the King.

'Of course I trust the Queen,' he said. 'She is a woman. She will do what she is told.'

'Then that is settled' said Steelstrom, 'I will have the lock constructed at once.

'And you will strengthen the guard, to keep an eye on this Beowulf.' said King Lars to Thwurp.

'Could you not un-invite him?' asked Thwurp, who was a novice at diplomacy.

'Not without offending the Queen, or the Duke of Jutland – he is some kind of relation to their family.' replied King Lars.

'Family,' grumbled Thwurp, 'then you probably are stuck with him!'

Their conversation was overheard by Grendel who was hiding on a balcony at the barred window. He had started to use the key he had taken from the sergeant to slip into the Beer Hall after dark. Although this gave him ample opportunity to attack the men of King Lars, he no longer wanted to do this. He thought the way to end the conflict was to kill King Lars himself and so was trying to find a way into the innermost chambers of the Beer Hall in order to achieve this aim. He was also looking for information about what had become of his mother.

All he had been able to find out about her was that a 'Child-killing Troll' had attacked the village and been driven off. Grendel's impression was that the humans could not tell one Troll from another and that they had mistaken his mother for him. This did not help him find her and he was worried. King Lars would have been worried too, had he been spying on the conversation that was happening in the Counting House at the same time as his meeting with Steelstrom and Thwurp.

'I will use Beowulf to destroy the troll and then the King.'

It made Bjorn the Banker excessively nervous when the Queen spoke like this. In fact he was reconsidering his rather rash liaison with the Queen, which seemed to have gone far further than he had at first intended. It was true that, and he had acknowledged this in the 'assets' column; which he kept in the ledger of his mind; that she was a fine, brave, attractive woman, however; and this had to feature in the 'liabilities' column; she was ambitious and reckless to a degree he had not initially perceived. While Bjorn was prepared to be 'decisive' and on occasion 'bold', he preferred to do this in a cautious way; having a tempestuous affair with a regicidal regent was not what he had planned for and while remaining 'completely committed to the Queen's cause' he was secretly looking for a way to decrease his downside and 'limit his exposure in a worst case scenario'.

'While it would be passing pleasant to purify the realm with the disappearance of the King, are the dangers involved not sufficient to suggest that an alternative approach to the royal removal should be swiftly sought?' he inquired hopefully.

'What do you suggest?' asked the Queen, 'We wait for him to die of old age, or let the troll overrun the kingdom?'

This silenced Bjorn; these were the viable alternatives, and they were not appealing.

'Or we could wait for him to find out about us and then we could lose our heads,' continued the Queen, 'Does that appeal to you?'

It did not. Bjorn was not at all keen to die. Having considered the options, he was much in favour of remaining alive. The thought struck him that, if the King was dead, then the Queen would be unattached, and he, who was attached to her, would be in a very favourable position, regarding future prospects. He speedily calculated that it would be better to help.

'How can you trust this Beowulf?'

The Queen smiled.

'We were children together. He is my cousin, or possibly my illegitimate brother, I'm not sure which, but I know that he will help me and he is the most feared man in the world.'

The thought of this was quite unnerving and Bjorn decided that the conversation must move on.

'How will you get in touch with him, without the King noticing?'

'I already have,' replied the Queen. 'In the letter, I explained it all. He will find a way to contact me. He will rid us of the loathsome Lars and the kingdom will be mine.'

Bjorn wanted to point out that she meant 'ours' but this seemed graceless so he contented himself with a nod of agreement. He understood that it was a hard, yet rewarding, task; working with Royalty.

Had the King had a spy, listening to Bjorn and the Queen, there would have been a very good chance that their treasonable words would not have been overheard, as the noise from the Beer Hall was cacophonous. Military champions do best, what military champions do best. It is alleged that what they do best is fight and kill things, however that is what they do second best; what they really do best is drink and celebrate being military champions. This is what they were busily engaged in doing every night in the Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built and their joy was very great, for not only were they mighty, military champions but all their celebrating was at the King's expense.

The noise at this moment was particularly intense as Dunnik the Dirty had just insulted Sir Kushmore of Koln and they were happily engaged in the verbal build up to a brawl.

'Kushmore? What kind of cowardly name is Kushmore? It sounds like "cushion" and cushions are soft!'

Dunnik the Dirty was a red-faced, portly knight who had won fame for looting from villages in the aftermath of a serious plague. His nickname was not derived from his personal appearance, even though it would have been well-deserved; but rather from his fighting techniques, which even the most sympathetic observer would have described as 'unfair.' His opponent was a tall, silver haired raider, who had come to prominence by discovering the uses of the crossbow more swiftly than his neighbours. Neither could be described as the greatest of champions. 'Opportunistic mercenaries lacking any moral scruple' would have been a more accurate description. Like many of their contemporaries they had seen the words "meal-ticket" written on King Lars' slightly desperate proclamation and had swarmed North like wasps to a beer spill. They were hoping for an extended feast at the King's expense and were relying on someone else to slay the beast.

'I am as hard as iron; Dunnik, as strong as steel! I have a nobler name than "Dunnik," but then again, who has not? Dunnik is as Dunnik does, I suspect and we all know what Dunnik does and that is nothing!'

The other champions had begun to get excited by the prospect of the fight and were egging on the contenders.

'Strike him Dunnik'

'Kick him out, Kushmore!'

'He said you looked fat in your armour!'

They squared up.

'I will strike thee, with my iron fist, Dunnik!' bellowed Kushmore as he advanced.

'If you are lucky, you will live to regret this!' rejoined Kushmore. The Champions had gathered into a circle in the centre of the Beer Hall, shouting and jostling each. They had begun to throw food at the contenders and Grendel, who having sneaked in from the outside, was watching from a shadowy place on the interior balcony was unimpressed by the martial prowess. He thought they would be easily scared and decided to test his theory.

Grendel sprung from the balcony and landed between the combatants and in the middle of the circle of champions. The men were so surprised and startled (and befuddled with drink) that they were momentarily unable to react. As their brains responded to this new, large and fearsome piece of information they each spontaneously took a step backwards and looked at their neighbour to draw his sword, axe or crossbow and kill the beast. When nothing of this order happened they first looked at each other and then they looked at Grendel.

The huge troll stood, unmoving in the centre of the mass of men. He looked at them with disdain and waited for them to make a move. The hall fell silent and the moment stretched out, growing ever more uncomfortable. At the point where each of the heroes knew they could stand it no more and that their honour absolutely required that, if someone else wasn't lucky enough to get there first, they were going to have to draw their sword, axe or crossbow and kill the beast (or, more likely die trying) Grendel took a large step towards Sir Kushmore and let loose a huge, wall-shaking roar.

The heroes, to a man, lost all thought of glory and fled for the far corners of the Beer Hall. In their panic they dropped their swords, axes, crossbows, plates, mugs and shields. Their one desire was to escape from the dread Beer Hall of King Lars. They each regretted two things; firstly that they had answered the King's call (there really is no such thing as a free lunch) and, secondly; that a Beer hall so large had so few accessible exits.

The only exception to the general exodus was Sir Kushmore. He had not fled for the exit. Instead he had fainted and had fallen helplessly to the Beer Hall floor.

Grendel stepped over his body and roared again, before climbing back onto the balcony and escaping, through the window.

Dunnik the Dirty, who had run the wrong way for the exit and had found himself trapped in a corner, was relieved to see the troll go. When he was sure it was safe, he stepped out from his corner and shouted,

'See, Kushmore! Soft as a cushion! I would have had him if he'd stayed another minute!'

He was determined that he would be on his way out of King Lars' lands before the sun had risen very high the next day. He walked back through the debris of the Beer Hall, looking for an un-spilled drink to help him make his travel plans.

Chapter Twelve

In which there is no contest, due to a general lack of interest. The achievements of Beowulf are reviewed. The King reaches a new low and we experience the profound disappointment of becoming reacquainted with Klug, who is offered redemption of a kind (but only of a kind that would be acceptable to Klug and therefore not likely to be redemption at all.)

There was no contest of champions. In the morning all the champions departed from The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built. It seemed that the military might of the world was united in holding the view that no man could kill the troll. The more affluent loaded up their carts, mounted their warhorses and set off down the road. The less well off loaded their mules, mounted their ponies and set off down the road. The lowest tier of champions picked up their backpacks and set off down the road. The union of fighting men were unanimous; there were easier pickings to be had elsewhere.

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 accustomed 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 sometimes 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.'

He was about to run from the room, when he remembered his authority and, as a result added,

'Remain in prayer, until I return!'

The Queen watched as he left the room. The workmen watched the Queen carefully, but they could not tell what she was thinking. After a minute, she turned away.

Steelstrom had gone to the counting house to seek out Bjorn the Banker. He was not at all surprised to find him seated at the counting table and working on the Royal accounts.

'The good servant, ha!' he observed, taking a seat next to the younger man. 'And a very important task it is too, managing the Royal finances. Are they in good order?'

Bjorn, who in many ways was not a fool (although one could be forgiven for reaching this conclusion, based upon his speech and actions) wondered what Steelstrom wanted and, more importantly, was there something he could gain from an alliance with the industrialist.

'The regulation of the Royal Revenues respectfully cannot concern commercial interests, such as your own, you know. They are the private privilege and prerogative of the princes of the principality and can endure scant scrutiny from scriveners such as you.'

Bjorn felt he had established his loyalty to the crown and could now unbend in a 'generous and genial' manner.

'But you are very welcome. You are their Majesty's most munificent magnate! I know how they esteem and value your support.'

Steelstrom's face was never an easy read. Despite his profession, he looked and sounded like a nice old man. He looked gravely concerned.

'Bjorn, my friend and colleague, I believe that, if you spoke from your heart, you would say that these are dark, desperate and dangerous days. Monsters manifest themselves while the state stutters. I believe it is time that loyal confederates of the monarchy, such as ourselves, put their cards on the table, see which way the wind is blowing and understand that what needs to be done, needs to be done; and that we are the ones to do the doing. I will take you into my confidence and I hope that you will reciprocate.'

Bjorn was surprised by Steelstrom's frankness, although he suspected the old man might be mocking his speech. He decided to be artful.

'And what would that involve?'

He waited, not really expecting Steelstrom to say anything of any importance and so he was very surprised by the directness of what came next.

'You are playing hanky-panky with the Queen, contrary to the laws of God and man, and if I were to take this matter to the King then you would be a head shorter before dusk!'

Bjorn was unable to retain an indifferent look. He struggled not to let his anxiety show; however, his quick brain had already noted that Steelstrom had not gone to the King and was talking to him. He was unsure what it meant, but knew it meant something, and that this something was the thing that would save his life. He controlled himself.

'If this were so, then what would it be to you?'

Steelstrom laughed.

'It is so, and it could mean any number of things to me. At the moment it means that there is a crisis which the King is not able to overcome. This has empowered the Queen to enlist a dangerous and unpredictable ally, who, if he is loyal to anyone at all, is more loyal to the Queen than the King. This means to me that it is possible, and I mention this only as a possibility, that there could be an imminent change in the ruler in our kingdom. If this were to occur, then a wise man would know which side of his bread was buttered and when to embrace change.'

Bjorn thought this through, approved it and then saw the catch.

'And if this did not occur?'

'Then a loyal citizen and a god-fearing man would have little choice but to do his civic duty. He would be unable to stand idly by while an unlawful and unholy dalliance tarnished the very gold of the crown. I fear, my friend, that in that case you would......lose stature?'

Steelstrom stood up, his right hand gently scraping across his throat.

'Time is short and opportunity knocks but once. I am afraid I cannot speak more plainly. I will take my leave.'

As he departed Bjorn said, almost to himself,

'That was plain enough for me. We must hope that Beowulf is all she hopes him to be.'

'I think that should be your hope,' replied Steelstrom at the door, 'Perhaps your only hope? I hope not! Fare well!'

Bjorn returned to the accounts, but for the rest of the afternoon nothing would quite add up.

Moonshine had come to the King.

The King was in the armoury sharpening his daggers. As Moonshine entered he looked up.

'What do you want?'

'Your Highness, I come from the Queen. She is anxious to be reconciled with you.'

Lars thought about this. It seemed unlikely. He said so.

'Your Majesty, I believe she was inspired by her religious faith to set a fair example for the people of the kingdom. She recognises her fault and is willing to make amends to your Grace.'

'Are you sure? That would be the first time that the Queen has ever apologised for anything. Sometimes, she looks as if she might, but it is generally a trick to get you to lower your guard. Then she resumes her original position and you look foolish.'

The King spoke from bitter experience. Moonshine considered; he was quite definite that the Queen had said she would apologise, could he have been mistaken?

'The Queen,' continued King Lars 'is an evil, manipulative, calculating bitch. You can trust her as far as you can throw her; and only then if you are watching her all the time. I've known Barbarian warriors who are more kindly and vipers that are less venomous. If she is offering to apologise then I want to know what's in it for her.'

Moonshine put on his solemn face. He had worked at this expression for several years and he believed it communicated great sympathy and compassion.

'Her Majesty has properly repented of her error in acting beyond the remit of the King's Royal Word. It is my belief, as a humble servant of the Gods and the State, that she wishes to be formally reconciled as is proper and appropriate (and in accordance with the will of he Gods) and I am endeavouring to bring this about. Is it your royal wish that this should I should go on with this undertaking?'

Lars was not keen on being spoken to bluntly and replied,

'Don't get uppity with me Shaman. If the Queen does want to apologise we can do this in the Beer Hall tonight. But if there is any funny business, then it's your head that's going on the block. Got it? So you had better be sure, because we don't have any messing with our Royal Person, right? Undertaking is the right word; if you're wrong you'll need the undertaker.'

Lars laughed heartily at what he thought of as his sublime wit, giving Moonshine cause to consider, but the prestige of orchestrating a royal apology was intoxicating. He beamed with what he assumed was spiritual joy,

'It shall be so, Highness, it shall be so.'

He almost skipped out of the armoury, leaving the King to sharpen his knives.

If Gareth had been a reflective dog, he would have noticed a change in his new master. Unsurprisingly, he had not.

Grendel had taken to spending the mornings searching the area around the lake and village for his mother and the evenings sneaking into the Beer Hall to spy on the humans, hopeful of either finding information about the whereabouts of his mother, or of finding an opportunity to kill Lars. He slept uneasily in the early mornings and afternoons, but seemed to gain no benefit from this. Gareth had originally found him an exciting new master, ready to play and run and wrestle; now he found him a dour and taciturn creature, whose thoughts were clearly in another place. Had Gareth had the capacity to be concerned he surely would have worried about his new master, however, as he had not, he remained a hopeful soul and each morning was ready to run and search through the deep undergrowth that was found in the woodlands around the village. This at least was far superior to the life he had led in the Beer Hall.

Grendel was increasingly concerned about his mother. Trolls do often wander for considerable distances and they are hardy creatures, who are quite comfortable to sleep out of doors; but it was unlike his mother to go missing without telling him. As each day passed he became more anxious. An additional source of worry was the rumoured approach of Beowulf. Grendel was unsure who or what Beowulf was, but it was clear that the humans held it in awe. They were worried about the arrival of Beowulf, but also seemed to think thy Beowulf would destroy the 'monster.' Grendel could not understand whether the humans wanted Beowulf to come or not. When Grendel imagined Beowulf he thought of something like Lars only bigger, stronger and more awful. This was alarming.

His other concern was his developing conscience. For a while he had been entirely happy to wage his guerrilla war on the Kingdom of Lars and to feast on the flesh of his enemies. By rights the betrayal of his trust by the creature Thwurp should have hardened his instincts against the humans, as should the disappearance of his mother; but the perception that they were essentially creatures like him that had been led astray by King Lars, seemed to him to be an inescapable conclusion. Although he was sure that he could defend himself if threatened, he felt he could no longer continue to hunt and eat his fellow creatures. This did make him wonder if he was somehow weak and he longed to discuss this with his mother.

Each day he searched and each day he returned home, disappointed.

Early in the evening all were gathered in the Beer Hall to see the reconciliation of the King and Queen; all that is apart from the King and Queen, who had not yet arrived. Moonshine had been explaining to the gathered throng the correct relationship of man and wife, King and Queen and the way that this mirrored the love of the Gods for the people on the Earth. The most discerning of the throng had already gone to refill their drinks.

'When there is disharmony in a marriage it is an offence against nature, an offence against heaven,' intoned Moonshine, 'The King and Queen are our mirrors of heaven, they are the embodiment of the spirit of the Gods on Earth and their love is therefore like unto that mirror and when that mirror is, as it were, cracked, then our very image of the Gods is distorted.'

Thankfully at that point the Queen arrived, shortly followed by the King. From the back of the Beer Hall it appeared that the King and Queen embraced, Moonshine blessed them and they left together to the Royal Chamber (complete with its new lock). Moonshine then returned and blessed the assembled congregation who then got down to the serious business of drinking themselves insensible. What actually happened was far more interesting.

The Queen looked fiercely at Lars and whispered,

'I am here for show. If you ever touch me again my father will hear and you will be gutted like a stuck pig!'

'You'll do as your damn well told and if I hear a threat concerning your father one more time I'll raise an army and burn his palace to the ground.'

Moonshine (who had not been attending, so pleased was he to have drawn such a crowd) said.

'Noble Queen, do you beg the forgiveness of your Lord?'

'Certainly,' replied the Queen and then in an undertone, 'but if he thinks he can slap me around like some third rate fishwife he had better have a care where he leaves his dagger at night.'

'And do you Mighty Lars our beloved King, accept and reconcile to your Queen?'

'I do,' pronounced Lars firmly, and then more quietly, 'but if you think you can threaten me with your Beowulf and your Duke of Jutland, you don't know who you are dealing with. It wouldn't be too tragic if you were to have a riding accident one day.'

Finally Moonshine awoke to what was happening in front of him; at that moment the Queen sprang at the King, clawing at his face in an effort to gouge his eyes. With a shriek of horror Moonshine wrapped his arms around the couple locked in combat and pushed them out of the main body of the Beer Hall and through the door to the Royal Chambers. With an extra effort he was able to shove the Royal couple firmly through the doorway. He quickly slammed the door on them and returned to the crowd.

'Where there is harmony in the Royal marriage, there will be joy in the kingdom!' he declared, before having to stop to catch his breath.

Thwurp, who was guarding the Royal Chamber, noticed that shortly afterwards the Queen came storming out. She went down the corridor that led out to the stables, where it appeared that she exchanged a note with a shabbily dressed fellow who seemed to Thwurp to be disturbingly familiar. She then went away to another part of the Beer Hall. He had the feeling that this may have been important and that he should report it, but then he noticed an unattended flagon of ale and forgot all about it.

Chapter Fourteen

In which Beowulf finally arrives and all are impressed.

The King was at the docks, the Queen was at his side. They were both slightly scarred from their reconciliation of several nights ago, but neither was willing to miss the arrival of the long awaited Beowulf. Steelstrom, Bjorn, Gnosser and Moonshine were also in attendance, while Thwurp was in charge of security, which was serious. Thwurp had hired extra crossbow men and pike men to provide an extended bodyguard for the King who was suspicious of the intentions of the newcomer. These burly, heavily-armoured men were drawn up in ranks before him, providing a human shield against any assault. Their armour gleamed in the morning sunlight. There was also an extraordinarily large gathering of common people who clearly expected to see anything between a messiah and a monster. They were very excited and were already clearly enjoying the day.

At a prearranged signal a gangplank was lowered from the ship to the dockside and the first of Beowulf's guards began to march across and onto the land. These guards were all tall, fully armoured and carrying large axes and shields on which Beowulf's fire-breathing wolf sigils were boldly emblazoned. As these guards came across the gangplank the crowd burst into spontaneous applause due to the fine appearance of the troops and their armour. A front rank of twenty guards fell in directly, facing the King, and more guards continued to file across the gangplank. The crowd were clearly enjoying the stately pace of the martial procession; however Lars and his advisors were beginning to worry.

'Very well equipped!' observed Steelstrom, with professional pride.

'I thought I recognised the brand.' Replied Bjorn, and then more quietly, 'They had best not turn out to be enemies.'

'They look like someone's enemies,' observed Gnosser, who had overheard and then rather injudiciously continued, 'This is the fabled Wolf Guard of Beowulf- I do hope we get to see all three hundred at once!'

'Did you know there would be three hundred?' asked Thwurp angrily. Thwurp had only bought three hundred of his own men, which he had considered perfectly adequate to meet a "distinguished guest and his small retinue." He was comparing the quality of the men, armour and equipment, without finding any of these in his favour.

King Lars was thinking similar thoughts and nudged Thwurp to push his troops to a higher state of alert. The crossbowmen trained their crossbows on the troops who were now three ranks deep on the docks. The pike men fingered their pikes nervously, however, at sixty men the troops stopped coming; the crowd stopped cheering and all waited. King Lars noticed the Queen was smiling a particular smile; it made him uncomfortable.

From onboard the ship a drum began to beat causing the crowd to anticipate the coming of the hero; and as they stared at the ship, from one of the aft cabins an enormous armoured figure appeared. The crowd gasped as the armoured man appeared to stand close to seven feet tall. He was clad in sparkling silver armour with a red crested helm and across his back was slung the largest sword any of the crowd had ever seen.

'Triple forged, best quality steel, honed to perfection. A masterpiece!' sighed Steelstrom, awed by his own creative genius.

'Beowulf! Beowulf!' the crowd began to chant as the huge figure ambled across the gangplank. To increasing applause he marched around the back of the troops, worked his way around the left hand side and came to a halt in front of the King, who was safely protected by Thwurp's crossbowmen and pike men. As he stopped, he pulled off his fine plumed helmet, revealing a mane of dark brown hair and a fine, square-jawed face. The crowd cheered even more enthusiastically.

The giant put up his hand and immediately the crowd fell silent. The giant had a loud voice with a thick foreign accent.

'Zank you!' he growled at the crowd, 'Zank you for zis mighty velcomen. But I am afraid that you must be disappointment in me.'

The crowd, the King and all who were not 'in the know' wondered how this could be. The giant was magnificent. He looked as if he ate Trolls for breakfast on a daily basis. He continued,

'Yes, yes. Disappointment you must, be for I am not the great Beovulf!'

The crowd gasped. The King looked shocked. The Queen suppressed a snort of laughter and Steelstrom smiled discreetly.

'No, No! I am not the Beovulf, I am the captain of his guardian.'

At this there was a tremendous outbreak of cheering as the crowd reasoned that a hero who had this man-monster as a Captain must truly be something to behold. It took some time to become quiet enough for the giant, or Captain of the guard, to continue.

'Zank you again and again. You are a great and velcoming people!'

This caused further cheering which the giant again silenced this by raising his hand.

'I am Roscow and I serve zhe great Beovulf. He is here on the ship and is anxious to be greeted by Zhe Great King Lars, zhe Lord of Zhe Biggest Beer Hall Zhere Has Ever Been. Is Zhe King Lars here?'

This was a strange question, as Roscow was clearly speaking directly to the King, who was stood on a raised platform protected by four ranks of troops.

'Careful, sir' growled Thwurp quietly. He did not like the look of Roscow and the hairs on the back of his neck were bristling. There was a few moments silence and then Roscow spoke again.

'Is zhe famous King Lars here? My master zhe great Beovulf vishes to meet him and share together zhe embrace of friendship.'

The crowd began to look at Lars, who hurriedly decided to respond.

'I am he! I am King Lars the mighty, victor of many battles, conqueror of many lands and peoples and builder of The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been! I am here! Let your master present himself and I will greet him warmly to my realm.'

Roscow appeared to consider this and then looked, very pointedly at the ranks of guards that stood between himself and the King. He answered thoughtfully,

'My master is here, at zhe great King's invitation, to fight zhe enemies of Zhe Great King Lars, particularly a certain fearsome troll. Beovulf does not expect to be greeted by Zhe King's bodyguards or Zhe King's Captain! He expects to be greeted by Zhe King!'

He paused to let this sink in, favouring the guards with a look of withering contempt, before continuing,

'In person!'

King Lars and Thwurp looked at one another. The King was afraid, but did not want to seem so. It was a reasonable request to be greeted by the King on entering his service. The King looked to each of his advisors in turn, but none were quick enough to give him advice as he needed it. Bjorn and the Queen appeared to enjoy his discomfort, Thwurp was clearly angry, but had no idea what to do and Steelstrom and Gnosser appeared lost in the military spectacle. Lars was completely on his own. He felt that too lose face here, in front of all his people, would be unforgivable. So, with a small flap of his hand, he descended from his podium. His troops parted to let him through and soon he was stood next to Roscow. Lars was himself a large man, but he was considerably overshadowed by Beowulf's captain, who looked down on him in a quizzical and (Lars felt) condescending manner.

'So you are Zhe King!' observed Roscow, with only the tiniest trace of disappointment, 'and now you are here to greet Beovulf. Zis is a great day. Hurrah for King Lars and Beovulf!'

The crowd took up the shouting and the King waited nervously on the dock with the giant Roscow as the drum on the ship began to beat again. The ranks of Beowulf's guard reformed to make a guard of honour for their leader to pass through. The crowd held its breath.

And then it breathed out a great sigh. There was a huge sense of anti climax as a short, tidily-dressed, bald, middle-aged man with a thin moustache and small beard walked quietly onto the gangplank.

'He looks like a bowling ball!' Thwurp muttered inappropriately.

'Lars!' the small man shouted in a cheerful voice. 'How are you? So good of you to turn out! And such a wonderful crowd!'

He stopped to admire the crowd.

'This is just fantastic! I am so pleased to be here. You can't imagine!'

The crowd had fallen completely silent. Could this be the great Beowulf? Roscow had looked a far more likely candidate. The crowd and the King were equally unsure. The small man approached the King.

'Lars! It is Lars, isn't it! I recognise you from your coins! Although you've obviously put on a few pounds. Now come over here and let's get acquainted.'

He beckoned furiously to the King, who being utterly unsure how to deal with such a rude, yet obviously friendly, approach was standing on the dock glaring at the small man. The small man suddenly stopped.

'Forgive me! I'm so sorry! I was just a bit excited to finally meet you. I like to think of us as sort of family (which we sort of are!) and it made me completely forget my protocol!'

He dropped to one knee.

'Dear King, Oh mighty Lars. I, Beowulf, have come to serve you and deliver your kingdom from the monstrous incursions of the troll! I pledge my allegiance and all that other important and honourable stuff to you. I offer the support of myself and my men to help and serve you through the dark days that lie ahead! Might I kiss the Royal hand? I am so honoured!'

Next Beowulf, if this curious creature was indeed Beowulf (and there was clearly considerable reason to doubt this), shuffled across the dockside on his knees and grabbed Lars' hand. Some of the crossbowmen's trigger fingers twitched. Then Beowulf kissed the King's hand and jumped to his feet, grinning in a good natured way.

'So pleased to see you. I feel welcome already. Shall we go on to the Beer Hall and discuss the troll problem?'

Then he appeared to notice the crowd, which had grown uncomfortably silent.

'Hang on!' he whispered to Lars. Then he walked over to Roscow and whispered something to him. Roscow held up his hand for silence, which was now easily achieved. He bellowed,

'Zhe great Beovulf, vill now address you. Zhanks for your listening.'

Beowulf turned from the King and looked directly at the crowd.

'Loyal citizens of King Lars' land, I understand from your silence that you are surprised and that you have not seen what you expected. You thought that I, Beowulf, would be a warrior of great stature. Like your great King Lars, or my Captain, the valiant Roscow. I sense that you would like me to be a giant, hulking barbarian warrior, rippling with muscle and armed to the teeth. Is this not so?'

The crowd nodded, but where impressed with the small man's confidence.

'Well, I would like that too!'

Beowulf laughed briefly and the crowd realised this was a joke,

'Then it would be much easier for me to impress the women!'

The crowd liked this.

'But I think this will not happen, that I should grow so large at my age,' he continued, ' and so I have found other ways to fight my battles, solve my problems and much more importantly- impress the women!'

'I have bought my army, and my captain to the service of your King, but I have bought that which is more important. I have bought my wits, my determination and my courage. With these, I can do great things. Do not be deceived by the outward show of things- I am very, very dangerous and soon your troll will be finding this out. Your King was wise to send for me and soon his problems will all be disappeared. So do not worry loyal subjects of Lars; The Biggest Beer Hall there has Ever Been will be saved. The troll will be slain and all will be as it should.'

'Now you should cheer your King for his courage and wisdom in sending for me and we should all go about our business.'

When he finished the crowd did indeed cheer Lars. Lars embraced Beowulf and led him through the ranks of guards to his courtiers. He smiled and nodded to Steelstrom, who he seemed to recognise; shook the hand of Bjorn and laughed about starting an account with his bank that Bjorn politely, yet rather stiffly, acknowledged. He complemented Gnosser on his writings, showing a familiarity that surprised Gnosser. He complemented Thwurp on his armour and defensive positioning, which surprised and worried Thwurp. When he reached the Queen he stopped.

'Sort of Sister! How beautiful you have become! I am so glad to see you. And what a fine husband you have. You must be very happy!'

'I am, now that you have come.'

'Well, we must make the best of every opportunity. That is what I always say. Let us go to this magnificent beer hall!'

'I will lead the way,' said King Lars.

'Excellent,' replied Beowulf.

The Royal party set off towards the Beer Hall and the crowd cheered again.

Klug, who was part of the crowd, and a great deal more sober than he had been in the cellar, laughed out loud. He continued to laugh until he saw Roscow making his way towards him, with townspeople quickly making way for his huge frame. He waited until Roscow arrived. Then he was handed a note.

'He says talk to zhe banker first, zhen zhe steel smith. Zhe plan will be enacted as he has explained'

Klug nodded, but Roscow had not waited for a reply. Klug could see him making his way through the crowd and joining onto the back of the Royal party.

Chapter Fifteen,

In which something stirs, and much stirring takes place in the Beer Hall. Plans are laid and alliances formed. Beowulf and Steelstrom have an exchange across the chessboard. Bjorn and the Queen explore morality; at which, she is clearly better than he. Roscow and Thwurp discuss guarding and Beowulf and Lars have a conversation regarding Kingship.

The Troll Hunt draws near.

She was conscious. At least she was conscious of being conscious.

'I still exist,' she thought; but then all the rest was darkness.

When he was at the Beer Hall, instead of his country estate, Steelstrom favoured the small, narrow ante room that was to be found on the first floor. He liked the room, as it overlooked the entry to the Beer Hall and this enabled him to keep track of who was coming and going. Over the past few months he had arranged to have some of his possessions moved into it. He liked to sit in his favourite chair, overlooking his favourite table on which he had always set out an ornate obsidian and gold chess set. It was here, the day after his arrival that Beowulf found him.

'Chess!' Beowulf observed cheerfully, 'I love it. Don't you? Fancy a game?'

Beowulf dropped into the chair opposite Steelstrom, who eyed him thoughtfully.

'No?' questioned Beowulf, 'well I'm sure there are other games or topics of conversation that we would both enjoy. No! Don't speak! I can see you don't want to, so just let me speak for both of us. I am sure we can reach a pleasant understanding.'

As Steelstrom said nothing Beowulf continued,

'We are both men of the world. We both would like to win. I am more than confident that the initial problem here can be easily overcome and it is clear to me that the inability of the person who should have resolved the problem to resolve this problem poses....not quite another problem, but certainly an opportunity?'

'And we both agree with seizing opportunities I am sure. So, I think that you would not be adverse to activity that resolved both the main and the subsidiary problem in a creative and acceptable manner, as long as the right interests (and by this I mean your interests) are not in any way disadvantaged. I suspect that you would be even happier if these were positively enhanced. Did I mention I knew a Polish Count whose guard really need re-equipping? Remind me to give you his particulars in a few days.'

'Now, there are ethical considerations to be considered, and I have considered them. I can see that it would be unseemly for one of your stature to be implicated in anything that does not support the status quo. After all, the arms trade is the backbone of the free world, as I'm sure we are very much aware. There are countries all over Europe that are grateful for your services and intervention. I have no desire to besmirch that fine commercial reputation and therefore am not in any way looking for an active partner. I believe there are two rather fine candidates for this, who could be described as "close to the source of the problem". They will do well for the enactment of whatever plan should prove either expedient or necessary. All I really need are two things:

'Firstly, after whatever happens occurs, I will need after a suitable period of heart searching; a period of pondering of irresolvable dilemmas, a grudging acceptance that what is, is. This would mean, that, sadly, whatever has happened, has happened; and that in the interests of all people, this must be accepted as irreversible. In the east they call this 'the mandate of heaven.' Your acquiescence to this new order would be valuable, valued and appropriately (after a certain time) compensated.'

'Secondly I need knowledge of a way in. You are a master of security.'

Beowulf looked intently at Steelstrom. Steelstrom pretended to study the chess board.

'Should the inevitable not occur,' ventured Beowulf, 'I believe we just met here to play chess.'

After a long pause Steelstrom looked down.

'One of your principals holds a key.' He said, slowly.

'Thank you,' said Beowulf, standing up, 'you don't really play, do you?'

He smiled.

'How do you know?' asked Steelstrom.

'There are two black bishops on black squares. That would never happen. I will enjoy working with you in the future.'

Beowulf left the room. Steelstrom continued to look thoughtfully at the board.

The Queen was in the counting house, again. She was talking to Bjorn.

'We must be ready. I have had a note from Beowulf. When he has killed the troll he will help me.'

'Can he kill the troll? None of the King's men have achieved this. If he does kill the troll, what can he do to help you?'

The Queen smiled.

'I do believe he can kill the Troll. He has killed all kinds of things. It is his speciality. I'm sure you understand how he could help us.'

'Do you mean what I think?' Bjorn was quite flustered, although he was a very experienced banker he preferred to follow the law, where possible.

'What do you think I mean?' asked the Queen angrily, 'I mean that Beowulf will use his speciality in such a way that I am relieved of an unwanted burden and we are free to make new plans. There is no other way that I could be free, is there?'

Bjorn could think of no reply.

'You don't know what it is like to be a woman. We are bought and sold and used; like a commodity. I was the daughter of The Duke of Jutland and he used me to pay of the leader of the army of Lars, so I became Queen to his King so that he could have royal children.'

Bjorn was philosophically offended by these remarks and replied.

'But that is nature's way! You are surely not advancing your legal relationships with your father and spouse as the justification for committing the most serious of crimes? It is not the fault of the legal system that we wish things to be other than they are. That is a spurious argument and I renounce it!'

The Queen laughed,

'You are a banker! So your justification, for doing what we propose to do is that you choose to ignore the law in order to gain advancement and power, but you still think those laws apply and would have them apply to others?'

'Of course,' agreed Bjorn, 'otherwise everyone would do as we do, and where would we be then?'

'Everyone does,' replied the Queen, 'or everyone could if they chose to. Lars does as he pleases and calls it law. My father does the same. You do it with your banks and money. You make up rules and call them law, but really these are just a masquerade to hide your will and desire. I am tired of following the laws and will make my own.'

Bjorn thought about this. He did find it exciting. In fact the Queen was very exciting. He thought about possessing her, about sharing the Kingdom. Yet he was displeased that she was so dismissive of tradition and law. 'Without these things', he thought, 'how will we keep and control what we take?'

'Why would he help us...or you?' he asked, petulantly, 'What would be in it for him?'

'I am his almost sister,' the Queen smiled again, 'and he hates my father. We will overthrow Lars and use his army and Kingdom against my father.'

This really frightened Bjorn,

'What? You will plunge us into war with the Steel Duke? What foolishness is this? I thought we would rule the kingdom in peace. This is not a sensible plan!'

'But it is one that has been a long time developing.'

Bjorn was further taken aback.

'I thought, I thought,' he began, but could not quite put his thought into words.

'I thought that you wanted rid of Lars because of... me!' The words surprised him as he delivered them, but they seemed to come as no shock to the Queen.

'I know you did.' She put a hand on his arm. He was tempted to brush it away, but he waited.

'And in a way, it is. There is now you to consider.'

She smiled again and edged closer.

'I have been in touch with Beowulf since my marriage and since I came here. We have planned for a moment when Lars was weak, but since then I have met you. And you have changed my plan.'

She took hold of him by his collar and kissed him in the way that he liked. For a few moments Bjorn forgot the plan, the risks, the things that needed to be done, the assurances necessary for the plan to work and things nearly went too far.

'Wait!' he shouted, 'What if someone should come in? What if we are discovered? What if Beowulf fails?'

The Queen smiled again and recomposed her clothing. She spoke softly, as if to a child.

'They won't. We won't be. He won't. We will succeed. My will for power is strong. Our plan is sound. When the troll is destroyed, Lars will drink. When he is drunk, he will be destroyed. When he is gone I shall be free to marry and bestow my kingdom on who I want.'

Almost hypnotised, Bjorn agreed.

'It will be as you say. I will help you.'

He got up to leave.

'We will succeed. Think of me when we are apart.'

'I will.'

Bjorn left the counting house in a very thoughtful mood. The Queen continued to sit at the bankers table. She appeared to be lost in thought. Bjorn, pausing at the door, turned and saw this and was flattered that she was thinking of him. However in this and many other things he was deceived, for the Queen was not thinking of him at all.

'This is a regular heavy club,' said Thwurp, 'we have plenty of these; but, on the whole, we prefer to use the reinforced extra heavy club. You find it knocks people back on their backs a lot faster.'

He demonstrated, waving the reinforced extra heavy club at Roscow.

'Zhat is great. I like a big clubbing! But zhis is all Steelstrom stuff? It all comes from zhe big man?'

Thwurp laughed.

'Vhat you laugh for? Steelstrom, he is zhe big man in zhe armaments vorld?'

'It's just that he is not very big!' laughed Thwurp, 'He's not much bigger than the reinforced extra heavy club, is he?'

They both laughed, Roscow a little cautiously.

'But zhat is not all to think about,' he insisted, 'size is not everything.'

This caused Thwurp to laugh again.

'It is in guarding though. If I'm bigger than you then I'm going to knock you down and if not I'm not going to win.'

'Zhen you're not going to vin, are you?' laughed Roscow, genuinely this time, 'vor I am bigger than you by far!'

For a moment Thwurp was both surprised and taken aback by this very obvious fact. Then they both laughed again.

'Zho you see,' continued Roscow, 'it isn't just your size and zhe size of your club. It is the size of your friends and all of zeir clubs. It is also zhe moment of surprise, the cunningness of zhe plan, who you know and vot you have got. All zhis decides who is knocked down and who is not.'

'Modern warfare,' observed Thwurp sadly, reaching for the small barrel of ale they had bought with them to the armoury, 'I'm not all for it. I'm not even sure I understand it.'

'Evidently,' agreed Roscow, 'let us talk of happier zhings; like clubs.'

'Yes,' agreed Thwurp morosely, 'you know where you stand with a club and if you don't then-'

'You might knock yourself out!' Roscow interrupted to complete the old guardsman's joke.

'But to get back to zhe clubs.'

'The clubs, yes.'

'Zhe clubs and all zhe other weapons, zhey are all in zhis armoury here?'

'Zhat, I mean, that! That is correct. All the weapons, for all the guards are kept here in the armoury and I am in charge.'

'And zhat is the key?' asked Roscow pointing to the large iron key Thwurp wore around his neck.

'That is the only key! And I keep it with me always. It is my key.'

'Zho,' asked Roscow speculatively, 'If I vas to hit you over zhe head vith zhis reinforced extra heavy club and take zhe key, I vould, in effect, control all zhe veapons in zhe Beer Hall?'

'Zhat is right, my large friend,' Thwurp agreed, 'if you were to do that all the weapons would be yours. It's a good thing we are all on the same side isn't it?'

'Yes,' replied Roscow, 'Zhat is a very good thing.'

They would have continued drinking well into the night, except the Troll hunt was due to start the next day and they both wanted to be fresh for it.

The King, attended by his many guards, sat in the Beer hall far later than this. He was still drinking heavily and hoping that it would fall to Beowulf to kill the beast. He was surprised when Beowulf entered the hall and came to sit with him.

'Worried about tomorrow?' asked Beowulf, 'You shouldn't be. We'll get it all sorted. The troll's no match for me and the men. We've sorted out plenty like this.'

'Good,' muttered King Lars.

'But that isn't the real problem, is it? How's a King to be a King if he can't get the job done. That's the problem. Saving the realm from monsters, invaders, and so on. That's the King's real job. Inspiring confidence and wonder and awe in the general populace. That's the ticket! I mean, if you can't get that bit done, it doesn't even make any sense to slay the beast and deliver the realm, because, after all, who are you delivering it for, or to? I can see that's on your mind. And you needn't worry.'

'That's good,' slurred Lars, 'why not?'

'Because, your highness, I've got your back. I know which side of the bacon to fry. I know your job and my job and I'm pretty clear that we can square it. I do the deed, burst the bubble, trap the troll or mash the monster and I make sure that you take the credit, reap the reward or grab the glory. That way we all win! I do my trouble buster bit and you stay regal and in control. I get paid, you stay employed and we all tick along nicely. Now that's a proper job.'

'Why?' asked Lars, and then could not articulate what he wished to ask.

'Why don't I exploit the situation and undermine the state?'

Lars nodded, that was what he had meant.

'Bad business. I mean it is bad for business. A solutions focussed consultant like myself requires a stable base of employers to keep him in work, and the work is very lucrative! (Are you aware that I'm richer than you already? Planning my own little Beer Hall away in the neutral lands.) So I need to work for kings not depose them. Although there is a good bit of work in undermining monarchies at the behest of outside agencies. I'm not above doing that! But it seems none of your neighbours want you gone, despite the boastful Beer Hall thing. I would guess they would be worried about having your troll problem, if you were gone. I mean it's a particularly unpleasant version of your typical kingly problem. What do you do with the indigenous population when you grab their land?'

Lars grunted.

'Me?' continued Beowulf, 'I'm a traditionalist. I'd burn their corn, knock down their shacks, kill or enslave their men folk and exploit their women and young. Obvious, classic, straightforward. In the end they're usually happier, because they know where they stand (or kneel!) I'm not for this modern, welfare kind of thing. I mean, who needs trolls? They may be an endangered species, but they should be an endangered species. That's where I stand on this. I'm a traditional supporter of traditional, right-wing monarchies; and you sir, are a traditional right-wing monarch and I am going to take out your troll and leave you sitting pretty. And on that happy note, I will bid you good night and sweet dreams.'

Beowulf jumped up and left the hall. King Lars sat looking into his beer, then drank it and called for another cup.

Chapter Sixteen

In which dreams reveal the hearts and minds of men; and women; and trolls.

The head that wears the crown was not sleeping easy; even though the crown had been carefully removed and placed it in its appropriate place beside the royal bed. In spite of, or perhaps, because of, the King's regal intake of beer; the King slept fitfully that night. He kept imagining he heard the trumpets to sound the start of the troll hunt, and each time the loud, martial blasts came, he fought to wake up, muttering, 'its not time, its not time.'

Then he dreamt it was morning. He heard the loud trumpets and said, 'I'm late, I'm late' and when he looked for his crown he couldn't find it. He called for the servants, but no one came and so he set off around the beer hall to look for it. The first person that he met was the Queen and he asked her if she had seen the crown, but she hid her mouth behind her hand and went of giggling. He went to follow her, but instead found Thwurp.

'Thwurp,' he said, 'I can't find my crown.'

Thwurp had looked at him in bemusement, before replying.

'I haven't seen it. I haven't got it. It isn't my job to look after everything. I've got enough to do. All those axes to sharpen, all those shields to polish! Do you think I have time to look for your crown as well?'

'I'm sorry to trouble you,' said the King; and he walked on to the counting house. He tried to find Bjorn, but Bjorn was hiding behind a screen and wouldn't come out. He didn't say that he wouldn't come out, but he kept on shouting out excuses, such as,

'I'll be with you in a minute, your Highness!' or, 'I'm just coming to the end of a reckoning!'

Eventually Lars grew bored of waiting and walked into the gardens. He had forgotten how beautiful they were. The apple trees were very fine and the late evening sun was pleasant, without being too hot.

'I should spend more time in my gardens!' resolved Lars and looked for a courtier to approve his wise and kingly resolution.

However, when he turned around a giant black shadow fell across him and the orchard. It was the troll! But it was much larger than life. This troll towered over Lars, the apple trees and even the great Beer Hall itself. For a moment Lars stood, rooted to the spot in horror. The troll was going to get him!

But then the Troll laughed; a huge booming, deep laugh.

'Oh Lars, Oh Lars!' laughed the Troll, 'If only you knew what was coming! It's not me you need to worry about!'

At this point, Lars ran from the troll, back into the Beer Hall. He ran across the main hall and up the stairs into Steelstrom's room. As he came through the door, he found himself sat in a chair opposite Steelstrom, who was looking at him very mournfully.

'What a to do!' intoned Steelstrom miserably, 'lost your crown and then forgot you lost your crown. Whatever next? Oh yes, I remember. Met the enemy and ran away. Not very kingly I'd say.'

Lars tried to interrupt, to explain about the size of the troll, but it seemed he had no power to speak. He was trapped in Steelstrom's visitor chair. The old man continued,

'I saw it coming. The Biggest Beer Hall There Has Ever Been! Hubris! Tempting the Gods! And, what is worse, laziness and drunkenness! It isn't a King's job to stay at home and rest. It isn't a King's job to stay at home and drink. He's supposed to lead! To conquer! What have you done since you built this great big shed? Lost your Queen, lost your crown, lost your kingdom! The best thing that you can do is go back out there and be eaten by the troll and save everyone else the trouble of killing you off!'

The King was ready to leave, but again he heard the trumpets. This time he was relieved, for the trumpets were real and he finally woke up.

Grendel's mother dreamt that she was in the forest. She dreamt that she was lying in some soft grass and she could hear a gentle breeze blowing. She also thought that she could hear a trickle of water, not far away. She dreamt that she was thirsty and so she opened her eyes and slowly got to her feet. How her body ached! She was glad this was a dream. She looked at her arms in the moonlight, which was flooding through the trees, and saw that her arms were bruised and battered. She used them to push aside the undergrowth and follow the sound of the water.

She was not in a part of the forest that she recognised.

'I must have fallen a long way,' she thought.

She noticed that the grass and bushes were of a finer quality than the real forest. It was as if they had not been attacked by Lars' pollution. She wondered how this could be so.

'It is like the land of my childhood,' she thought.

'It is like the land of your childhood,' a voice replied.

She looked around but could not see anyone.

'Come to the lake,' the voice spoke again. It was a gentle, female voice that blended well with the moonlit forest.

'It could be the voice of the forest,' she thought.

'It could be the voice of the forest,' the voice said. It was as if, whatever it was that was speaking could see straight into her mind.

At this point, she broke out of the undergrowth and found that she was by a small, still lake. The moon reflected brightly in its dark waters and at the far end a small waterfall cascaded into the pool. She was very thirsty.

'Drink,' said the voice.

She fell to her knees, at the side of the pool and began to drink the still, sweet water. Eventually her thirst was gone and she looked into the pool seeing her own reflection, the night sky and the moon.

'This is as it should be,' said the voice, 'This is the world that should be yours.'

Grendel's mother wept. She wept for all that was gone and would not return. She wept for the memory of the land of her childhood. She wept for her son, who would never see these things as they should be seen; and she wept for herself, for having lived long enough to see them all change and fade.

'There are no more tears,' said the voice, after a time, 'There is no more time. There is what there is and your choice is now or never. Your hour glass has run dry and you have done nothing to save this, which should have been saved. You have hidden, clothed in old age and fear and left your son to fight your battle. You have nothing; you are nothing, if you are not part of this.'

Grendel's mother felt a terrible fear that she would die before she was able to do something. What the something was she did not know, but it was to do with helping the forest and being part of the earth.

'I am too old and too tired!' she wept, but the voice did not reply. Eventually she said,

'I do not know what to do.' But again the voice did not reply. Exhausted, she crept back to sleep in the bushes.

The Queen was in her coffin. It was on the dining room table in the hall of her father, The Duke of Jutland. She could hear her father's braying voice, coming from his seat at the head of the table.

'Yes, a stupid girl she turned out to be! No credit to the family at all. Fixed her up with a noble king we did, but all she did was mess it up! Tried it on, you know! And with a banker! A banker! Well, she always was a greedy little thing, but you would have thought that breeding would have given her some sense, but no! She turns out to be a disgrace and a disappointment.'

Furiously, she sat up.

She was astonished to find that her father had two dinner guests, King Lars and Beowulf.

'You must be quite put out!' said the Duke to Lars, 'Imagine that! A King not good enough for her! Was that Beer Hall a bit of overcompensation?'

The Duke gave a dirty laugh.

'And you!' he pointed at Beowulf, 'You must feel a bit let down. I think you thought that you were special, but imagine, she jumped into bed with a banker before you came along!'

Now her anger was at its peak. She shouted,

'That is not true!'

The men laughed. This made things worse. Beowulf must know. He must understand. They had loved each other since they were children. He must know he was special!

The Duke nudged Beowulf heavily,

'Look! It talks! But then it always did. "Didn't want to do this", "didn't like to do that!" Nothing was ever good enough for it! Well, look where it's got itself now.'

The Duke pointed to the coffin.

'I am here!' she shouted.

'We can see that,' replied the Duke, 'We know that! But the point is, why? Why are you here? You aren't any use. You're not a good Queen, wife or mother! You're certainly no use at all as a daughter. You're not even a good treasonous whore! So why are you here, lying on the table, messing up the feast, making a scene again. Do you think this sort of thing impresses anybody?'

The Queen jumped up and stepped out of the coffin. She could see that her father's sword was lying in its scabbard on the table.

'YOU WILL NOT SAY THESE THINGS!' she shouted as loud as she could and grabbed the scabbard.

The Duke continued to laugh and point at her, while nudging the other men to join him. Lars looked happy, although perhaps a little sheepish. Beowulf looked down and would not meet her eyes. She drew the sword.

'Careful,' shouted the Duke, 'You wouldn't want to hurt yourself or spoil your pretty dress.'

He continued to laugh and jeer.

She drew the sword.

'Do you think anyone's impressed by that?' he shouted, 'A girl with a sword! How ridiculous! Do you really think a woman can change the world! Ha Ha!'

She struck his head off with one ferocious blow.

'YES!' she screamed, 'I do think that!'

The Duke's head bounced onto the table and rolled until it was looking directly at her. Then its eyes opened and it spoke,

'Well, you're wrong again, you stupid girl! Wrong, wrong, wrong'

She threw the sword down and ran, but the Duke's laughter followed her down all the corridors of the castle until it was morning.'

Klug neither slept nor dreamt if he could possibly help it. It was past midnight and he was still sitting up in the Beer Hall kitchen, trying to stay awake. He did not want to see his dreams again. The Beer Hall staff all knew that Beowulf's servant was a haunted man. He reminded them of someone, but they could not place him. He was not allowed to drink, until this was over. Beowulf had told him. He had also promised him that he knew a way that Klug could sleep again and that he would share it with him, in return for his services as the go between.

Klug knew that this was a slim hope, however it was the only hope he had and he clung to it. He could feel himself drifting off and so he got up and walked out to the stables. He had to be particularly careful where there might be outdoor guards who would recognise him, but there seemed to be none here.

He walked into the stable building and was surprised to find Beowulf, asleep in a stall.

He was wrapped up in his cloak, curled up in a foetal position. In sleep his smallness was pronounced and with his smooth bald head he reminded Klug of a baby. His brow was smooth, his breathing was regular. For a moment Klug was so angry about this that he imagined taking out his dagger and stabbing the sleeping man. But he did not do this. Instead he sat down and watched Beowulf sleep and wondered what dreams a hero dreamt. Was he imagining his victories, reliving the fights that had bought him his reputation or was he envisioning the cheering crowds that marked his successful progress? Did he dream of love; or glory?

Klug sat and watched the hero sleep and passed the time by thinking what dreams a hero might dream, but the innocent face of the sleeping Beowulf gave nothing away and there they stayed until it was morning.

Chapter Seventeen

The Troll Hunt

The hunt began at dawn with the blasting of the trumpets. The guards of both Beowulf and Lars had been up in time to be ready for this. They had polished their armour, sharpened their weapons and made themselves ready. They were now assembled outside the Beer Hall in two big blocks, like the adjacent sides of a square. In front of the King's men stood Thwurp and in front of the guards of Beowulf stood Roscow. They both shouted greetings as the King and Beowulf appeared on the steps of the Beer Hall.

The troops cheered as the King got ready to speak. Beowulf bowed to the King and took a step backwards. Under his breath he said to Lars,

'You do your part. I do mine.'

Although Lars felt unwell, tired and shaken by his bad night's sleep he was used to addressing his soldiers,

'Men! Today we end the Troll's reign of terror. Today we will strike him down. Today he will feel our steel and tonight we will celebrate our victory!'

This caused a good cheer to issue from his men, but after a few moments this dissipated as they were not sure exactly what they should do, or where they should go. Beowulf took the stand.

'Your King's plan is this. You are to search the area around the lake, always in groups of ten or more and to make as much noise as you can to drive the creature into the open. Chop down any trees you encounter, despoil any plants and decimate its natural cover. When the beast is sighted; blow your horn. One loud blast means that you can see the troll. I will then come and slay it. Do not engage the troll directly, although you may put some crossbow bolts in it if you get the opportunity.'

'Set fire to any dry vegetation you find, they particularly dislike smoke and fire. If you see any tracks, you are to call your leader or myself and the King. We are with you on this hunt and will put the disgusting creature out of it's misery by nightfall.'

The men cheered again. This time more confidently and they began to move off. The King and Beowulf waited while two horses were bought round. They then mounted and set off together to follow the marching soldiers, who seemed to be in good voice and quite happy at the prospect of burning and destroying.

'I think this should proceed very smoothly,' said Beowulf to the King, 'The men will enjoy banging and burning. I think we should let them progress around the area for the whole of the morning before we call them back together for lunch at the lake.'

'But what if they should discover the Troll, before then?' asked Lars.

'I think that is very unlikely. The Troll will hear them coming. Look here is the village.'

Before Lars could ask more about what Beowulf meant, they were greeted by the villagers from where Grendel's Mother had taken the body of Puck the Pot Boy. The villagers cheered the soldiers and shouted encouragement to them. Lars was gratified to be so well received and waved to the people.

'See,' whispered Beowulf, 'the appearance is everything!'

They rode on.

Thwurp was in his element. He had organised braziers to supply a constant source of lighted brands, which he was happily distributing to soldiers with the considered military advice of 'Burn the bastards out!'

The men had warmed to the task and were setting fire to any vegetation or wood they could find. The dry grass by the lake had begun to burn well and a large black cloud was beginning to take shape and even overshadow the past pollution of the area. Some early problems, where the younger recruits had started setting fire to the trees in the Beer Hall orchard, had been sorted out and all of Thwurp's men were concentrating on the destruction of what natural forest remained around the lake.

Roscow was keeping pace with the achievements of Thwurp and his men were searching the piles of rubble and the ravines that had been created in the acquisition of building material for the Beer Hall. They had considerably less opportunities to start fires, but were compensating admirably by breaking or defacing anything they came across. They had a large selection of drums and trumpets and these concentrated on producing the loudest and most raucous sounds, as a way of maintaining their high morale and 'putting fear in the opposition.'

The villagers were inspired by such a well organised military expedition and abandoned their normal work to join the hunt for the 'child-killing trolls.' They formed a third group, armed with tools and their own burning brands. They mostly marched behind where the soldiers had been, to maximise their enjoyment and to minimise the risk of actually discovering the Troll.

The only person not enjoying the morning's hunting was Klug.

Earlier, Beowulf had sent him with another message to the Queen, which he had delivered. She, in turn had given him a note for Beowulf and another for the banker. He had delivered both of these. The banker had nervously pocketed his missive and scuttled away. Beowulf had opened his, read it swiftly and then laughed happily.

'Klug, we'll soon have you sorted at this rate.'

Then Beowulf had gone to join the hunt. Klug, having nothing else to do, had followed on behind. As the morning progressed Klug became more and more disgusted with the process. He had never claimed to be an ideal man or even a good man and nowadays he was convinced that he was a very bad man; 'the lowest of the low!' as his old mother would have said, if she had been there. But even he could see the stupidity and the brutality of the hunt. He realised that it served no purpose. The soldiers could not catch or trap anything; they were just engaged in random destruction. He wondered what Beowulf's plan might be. He decided to keep following in order to see what happened.

Also watching the hunt was Grendel's Mother. She had woken refreshed and well in a thick, patch of undergrowth in an unharmed patch of the forest. She had got up and explored the area and, much to her surprise, she had discovered the lake that she had dreamt of the night before. As in the dream, she had drunk the lake water and felt invigorated. She realised that if she climbed the rocks to the side of the small waterfall then she would find herself on top of a small hill peak that overlooked the lake and the surrounding area. She had climbed, and when she reached the top she was appalled at the picture of destruction that greeted her.

There were men, burning and destroying everywhere; cheering to each other to continue their senseless waste and destruction. It was as the voice had said in her dream; her time had run out. If she was to do anything to prevent the desecration of all that she loved, now was the time to act. Again, she was staggered by the difficulty of doing anything against so many, but compelled by the need to act before all was lost. She huddled down on the hill summit, looking for inspiration or an opportunity.

King Lars was also growing tired of the senseless hunt. He could see that there was considerable vandalism going on and that the already inhospitable environment was being substantially degraded, but he could not see how this was helping to kill the troll.

'I hope your plan produces some effect soon!' he said, slightly huffily, to Beowulf, as they rode along.

'Oh, it won't, it won't,' said Beowulf breezily, 'it has almost no chance of success. This is no way to hunt a troll at all!'

He rode on. Lars spurred his horse to catch up.

'What do you mean?' he spluttered angrily.

'This is no way to catch a troll. In fact, it is entirely the wrong way to go about catching a troll! If we were seriously hunting for trolls, we should have waited for nightfall, moved silently, used nets and traps. That is the correct way to hunt for trolls.'

'Then what is the meaning of what we are doing? We are not catching the troll, nor are we finding out where it is. Why have you sent all the guards out? You will make us look like fools.'

'I hope not.' Beowulf replied, 'I hate to look foolish. What we are doing this morning is restoring the troops' morale and building confidence. We don't need any of them really. After lunch I shall deal with the troll; alone, as has always been my plan.'

Lars was now angry.

'Then why have you not told me of the plan. I have been riding around on a wild goose chase all morning to no good point. You are supposed to be helping me, not wasting my time! Explain yourself!'

Beowulf smiled.

'I am helping you. Have you not noticed all the support from your people? Have you not seen how happy they are to be engaged in delivering themselves from the monster? They will remember that you organised this glorious hunt, which they have all enjoyed and later they will be able to celebrate because the troll will be dead.'

'But you can't be sure of this. We have not discovered the troll's lair. If we cannot find it, we cannot kill it!'

'I already know where it is,' replied Beowulf smirking happily.

'How?' asked Lars in exasperation.

'Study.'

'What?'

'Floggorskrom's guide to 'non-human creatures of the world' clearly describes the living habitats of trolls. I have been fortunate enough to read a copy, before I came. Trolls, Floggorskrom writes, fall into two categories, Mountain Trolls (trolska alpinia) who live in the high peaks and tend to dwell above the snowline, in shallow hollows, carved out of snow; and Lake Trolls (trolska laccasia) who live in naturally occurring caves, 'usually entered below the surface of the lake.'

'Now, you have no mountains to speak of; so my surmise is that we are not dealing with the former species, and the proximity of your lake to all known sightings of the Troll inclines me to the belief that we are dealing with trolska laccasia. Therefore, we will all shortly proceed to the lake, congratulate the troops on the mighty job they have done in driving the troll back to its lair in the lake. I will then set up some specialist equipment, before diving into the lake, locating the lair of the beast; wherein I shall engage it, bring it to the surface and kill it, using a specific technique that I have perfected over the years. Now this all seems to be entirely in the spirit of our contract, if slightly eccentric in methodology. But you are the client. Is there any suggestion you would like to make as to how I might vary the plan to your greater advantage? If so, I am at your disposal.'

He rode on leaving Lars staring at his back.

'You're mad!' shouted Lars at the retreating hero.

'Mad, bad and proud of it!' replied Beowulf grinning, 'shall we do lunch?'

King Lars, Beowulf, the troops and the villagers gathered at the side of the lake for lunch. Beowulf had ordered supply wagons to meet them there with food and beer. This was very well received by the troops and villagers alike, and the good name of the generous and brave King Lars was often toasted, as was the name of the mighty hero Beowulf. The troops and villagers settled down to share the best meal they had seen for some time. They were tired and happy after their morning's work and they were curious to see what form the next phase of the Troll Hunt would assume. They had lost their fear, as Beowulf had predicted; and they were feeling confident that they would prevail over their enemy, under the splendid leadership of King Lars and Beowulf.

One of the wagons was a covered wagon that did not contain food, but a curious set of equipment that Beowulf's most trusted men assembled under the direction of Roscow, while the others ate lunch. At first it seemed that there were a number of thick beams of wood and the more knowledgeable soldiers began to discuss the possibility that Beowulf was building a siege engine, catapult or trebuchet; however, this proved not to be the case. The beams of wood were joined together to create a square platform that was the size of a small room. Onto the platform Beowulf's soldiers fixed shining wood blocks that formed pleasant symmetrical patterns.

'Parquet flooring,' explained Beowulf to a bemused King Lars, 'very fashionable in France nowadays. I think it lends a certain elegance to proceedings.'

When the entire area was finished it shone rather beautifully in the sun and Roscow declared that the next equipment could be brought in. This proved to be two large and very finely made padded, wooden chairs. Beowulf supervised the exact placing of these so that they were slightly off centre and almost adjacent to each other. He sat in one and beckoned Roscow to take the other.

'Hello, good Troll,' he said to Roscow, who laughed and replied in a impression of what he thought a Troll sounded like,

'Me beat you very bad. Me mess up your face!'

'Very nice,' replied Beowulf, 'almost done.'

He then helped Roscow move a heavy cube shaped item that was covered in a protective sheet from the back of the covered wagon. He placed this item between the two chairs so that it was at arms length from where each party would sit. Then he unveiled it. It appeared to be low table carved from bone.

'I'd call it Ivory,' said Beowulf to Lars, 'but that wouldn't mean anything to you. And I'd call it a coffee table too, but you wouldn't know what that was either.'

'And this equipment will help you kill the Troll?' asked Lars incredulously.

'Couldn't manage without it,' replied Beowulf, who then appeared to reflect, 'well perhaps I could, but it would be nowhere near as much fun.'

He looked over the two chairs on their wooden platform by the side of the lake, ran a finger along the edge of the ivory table as if checking for dust and then gave a grunt of satisfaction.

'One more piece of equipment to get and then I will be ready to explain the plan.'

With this he disappeared into the back of the wagon and was gone for several minutes.

When he emerged from the wagon; Lars, the soldiers and the peasants all burst out in a spontaneous gale of laughter. Beowulf had removed his armour and all his clothing. He was an unimpressive sight. The thought that this small, bald, naked man was about to destroy the creature that was the bane of their kingdom was too much to be taken seriously. Beowulf accepted their hilarity gracefully and appeared to be completely unembarrassed by his nakedness or their laughter. He walked over to the wooden platform, climbed up and turned to address Lars and the troops.

The idea that a small naked man was about to address the army and the King produced a fresh round of laughter and Roscow was forced to stand up and lift his clenched fist to achieve silence. The crowd fell silent, partly due to fear of Roscow, but mostly to hear what the mad, naked man would say next. He did not disappoint them.

'The Greeks venerated the naked form, you know,' he began, 'but then you probably don't know that, and it is quite irrelevant to our purpose. And this is a purposeful mission upon which we are engaged.'

He appeared to think for a moment and then began again.

'Friends! Forgive my strange attire. I mean no disrespect to yourselves or to your King. I am merely equipped for the task I must now perform; killing the troublesome troll who has plagued your Majesty's Beer Hall. Thank you for your help and cooperation up to this point. Under the manly direction of King Lars we have driven the beast to its lair beneath the lake. These creatures often have secret caves hidden beneath the waters where they think they will be safe from the long arm of the King's justice, but today I will out the creature from its foxhole and slay it, here on this platform, before you, this afternoon.'

'Now this is a difficult, dangerous and most of all, a delicate business and I shall need your assistance again. Not in an arduous practical way like this morning. I don't need beaters, shouters, archers or spearmen. What I need is a quiet audience that is patient, respectful and obedient. Can you provide this?'

The multitude was entranced.

'Yes!' they cried, although many of them did not understand the words that he had used at all. He continued,

'What will happen is this: I will dive below the surface of the lake. I will be gone for some time, longer than you would think possible. In this time you must be quiet and wait. Do not make any noise, as this may disturb the beast and spoil the plan. You must also not worry. It may appear that I have been drowned or killed, but that will not be the case. You must remain calm.'

'After a long time I will come to the surface of the lake and the Troll will follow me. THIS IS MOST IMPORTANT! You MUST NOT shout out, you MUST NOT try to harm the troll at all. No shooting, spearing or other attacks must be attempted or the troll may escape.'

'When we come out of the water I will sit here,' he gestured to one of the chairs, 'And the troll will sit there.' He pointed to the other chair.

'We will talk for a long time. You may understand some of what we talk about, or you may not. The important thing is that you STAY QUIET and LISTEN! That is the only way that the plan will succeed. Is that all clear?'

The crowd considered and were mumbling their acquiesce when Thwurp stepped forward and said,

'I don't see how any of this is killing the troll! Shouldn't we stab, bludgeon or burn it as soon as it comes out. That seems a much sounder plan to me.'

Beowulf waited, allowing Thwurp to feel a little foolish and uncomfortable.

He then allowed himself a pained, yet sympathetic smile.

'And in most cases, you would be absolutely right, dear Captain. I can see that your King chose you for your bravery and tactical acumen! Yes, stabbing, burning and bludgeoning are generally very effective methods of disposing of your enemy, however in this case there is a difference.'

'What is that?' asked Thwurp.

'This,' whispered Beowulf, 'is a surprise attack.'

'A surprise attack?'

'A surprise attack. I will attack the creature, by surprise. You are by way of being a (very large) diversion. Need I say more?' concluded Beowulf, 'you are a military man.'

'I am,' replied Thwurp,' not another word!'

'Perfect,' agreed Beowulf.

'This is the plan again; in the simplest form that it can be. I dive into the lake. You wait quietly. I return with the troll. I sit here. It sits there. We talk. You listen. I kill the troll. Are we all agreed?'

The crowd nodded solemnly.

'If anyone messes up, the Roscow will take their head off!'

Roscow grinned evilly and brandished his sword. The crowd were very silent.

'Well then,' said Beowulf, 'wish me luck!'

And he turned and dived into the lake. The crowd sat quietly and waited.

Chapter Eighteen

In which Beowulf dives to the lair of the beast and pleasantries are exchanged.

The crowd sat at the water's edge and waited.

Beowulf swam down into the depths of the lake, concentrating on looking for the kind of opening he had seen illustrated in Floggorskrom's book. He had trained for a number of years to enable himself to hold his breath for a long time and his barrel chest was a testimony to the capacity of his lungs. He scanned the rocks and plants and eventually saw what he was looking for; a small outcrop of rock, next to a hollow that had obviously been enlarged. The front door! With a grin on his face, he swam down and disappeared into darkness.

Gavin was sleepy. Grendel had not taken him to the surface that morning, due to the prolific activity of the men on the lakeshore. Grendel himself might have been able to swim up and escape into the bushes and gullies of the lakeshore, but Gavin would certainly have been detected. So they had stayed in. At first Gavin had felt lively and run around the cave, sniffing the lichen and barking, but by mid afternoon the poor quality of air and the lack of response from Grendel, who continued to fret about his mother had worn the poor dog down and he was feeling tired. He had just curled up in his favourite spot in the cave when he heard a splash at the entrance. He was instantly alert and noticed that Grendel was too. Grendel raised a large strong hand and Gavin obediently held his ground. They were ready to strike. Gavin felt a low, soft growl gather in the back of his throat. He felt his muscles tense. He felt the strength of his claws and jaws and waited for a movement to trigger his spring. He was therefore surprised when no one entered the cave. The seconds stretched out, until he heard a cheerful voice call.

'Hello! Hello in there! Would it be all right if I came in? I am alone, unarmed and very peaceful!'

Gavin did not understand the words, but he could recognise tone. This was friendly, confident, non-threatening. He looked at Grendel for guidance. Grendel appeared to be as nonplussed as Gavin. He seemed to be considering what to do when a small, naked, bald man with a neat moustache and small beard came through the entrance to the cave. The man stopped as soon as he was in the cave proper. He spoke,

'Here I am. I am here unarmed, alone and naked to negotiate for peace. I hope that I have the right cave?'

Grendel spoke,

'Man, I do not trust you, or your

King. Stay there, where you can be seen.

I will look. If you speak the truth

You will come in and we will talk.

This is my word. Do you agree?'

Beowulf replied, imitating the slow rhythm of formal troll speech,

'Troll, I hear you and I consent.

Your needs must be satisfied, so

My honour can be establish'd.

I truly swear I am alone.'

Gavin was confused, the man sounded just like the Troll! He looked hopefully at Grendel. If Grendel was surprised he did not show it, although the time he took to move cautiously around Beowulf to check that the entrance to the cave was deserted could well have been extended to allow him to process the information that this human clearly knew something of trolls. When he returned to the cave proper he sat slowly and carefully on the cave floor and with a gesture invited the visitor to do the same. The troll spoke,

'We will talk. You will speak, I will

Listen to what you have to say

And, perhaps, we will find concord.'

Beowulf cleared his throat.

'It is hard for me to convey

My message in your way of speech.

Yet I value your tradition

And speak thus, to be plain with you.'

The Troll smiled.

'I understand your language and ways of speech, Beowulf. I assume you are Beowulf, although you have not yet shown the courtesy to reveal this. Would you be worried that a Troll knew your name and reputation? I believe you are a monster slayer; or was that just a story?'

Now Gavin was very confused. The Troll was making human sounds and the man sounded just like a troll. He was very relieved when the man began to speak in his normal voice. He laughed.

'Everyone has a reputation to keep up. Are you not the fearless brutal monster who is oppressing the Kingdom of poor King Lars? And is he not the glorious warrior, who has built The Biggest Beer Hall Ever Built? We all have names and reputations and roles; such is life.'

'I am Beowulf; I have a reputation as a monster slayer, although I prefer to think of myself as a consultant. I am someone who can resolve problems that are beyond others. This is my task, but not my essence; I like to think of myself as a philosopher, a student of thought and meaning. The people of the Kingdom of Lars would be happy if I was to slay you, but that is not my intent. I believe a solution to the conflict between you and the Kingdom of Lars can be peacefully mooted and enacted. That is what I am here to discuss. But I get ahead of myself, I have introduced myself, and I, of course, recognise Gavin, the former Royal Dog, but I do not know you or your name, and I am in your home.'

'I am Grendel. This cave is mine.

You are welcome to stay and be

Safe from harm. Speak of your desires.'

He bowed his head briefly, although continually he kept his eyes fixed on Beowulf, who he suspected might attack him in an unexpected way the moment his guard was down. Beowulf returned the bow more fully, making the point that he was not watching or suspicious of Grendel.

'It is more your desires that I am interested in. The Kingdom of Lars is willing to settle this dispute, without recourse to further bloodshed. The King is at the end of his resource and would be very happy to have a sensible conclusion to this trouble, and that could lead to a lasting peace. What he wants is clear, what you want is less so. I am told you have stopped killing the guards since you attacked the child in the village, this indicates to me that you are willing to change the course of events?'

'I attacked no child! This is a lie! I have never attacked the children or women. I am no coward, nor am I a monster. At first I killed in self defence, I was attacked; and then I killed as the men have spoilt our land and we must survive.'

Beowulf noted the 'we.'

'I must have been misinformed. There was a troll with a dead child in the local village, and the people believe the troll killed the child, but if it was not you, then I accept your word. I do not know who this troll was.'

He watched Grendel's face, but the troll revealed nothing.

'I do see, though, that you have tired of the killing and that you seek a different solution?'

Beowulf smiled at Grendel who was finding the conversation difficult. He no longer wanted to kill men and he did wish to discuss this and what it might mean, but he felt that he should not reveal his thoughts and feelings to this strange man, who had such a reputation. Beowulf sensing this picked up the conversation again.

'You are right not to speak yet. After all, who am I? What do I know of these things? You are right to pose these questions and I will answer them as well as I can.'

'I was not always what I am today. Before I became who I am, I was a child and lived with my sort of father, the Duke of Jutland. You may have heard of him? Now, he is not an easy person to live with and very early in my life I discovered that I had begun to believe what he said of me. What he said was that; I was small, stupid, and unfit for anything; not a son, not a warrior, not a statesman. In my anger with this I set off into the world to prove him wrong. I commanded armies, I killed my enemies. I acquired wealth and fame, but in my heart I was empty. I had not disproved his assertions to myself, although I had achieved a great deal.'

'This led me to wonder about the human condition. I suspect the troll condition is similar: we find ourselves in the midst of this world without much understanding of who or what we are, and we have to get on and live as best we can. This moral dilemma is forced upon us, unsought. Even if we decline to choose our actions then we make a choice for which we are responsible. When faced with this knowledge, I have had to decide what it is, or who it is, that I will be; and having come to a conclusion about this I then have to act in accordance with my beliefs.'

Beowulf paused to observe Grendel. Grendel was struck by how well Beowulf had outlined his dilemma. The Kingdom of Lars had put him in the position where he had to kill or not kill and he had not sought this choice; it had been thrust upon him against his will. Impulsively he asked,

'How would I decide what to do?

I know no God or Troll who guides.

I am forced to choose, but have not

The wisdom or experience.

How do you reason these things out?'

Beowulf smiled a genuine, kind smile.

'I suspect that we do not have long enough to debate that in full! However, there are some principles that can be used to determine what to do in a difficult situation, and this current situation is undeniably difficult. The first I call the moral approach. This assumes that there is some kind of God, or world spirit, or a type of moral goodness in sentient beings. It also assumes that there is innate goodness and moral sense in all of us, which we are able to access in order to establish what is right. It is an approach that leads to powerful and convincing arguments, but is very vulnerable to a sceptical attack that says these assumptions have no base in reality.'

'The second approach I call the immoral approach. This denies all the assumptions of the moral approach and posits the position that we are inherently alone and have no spiritual connection. Therefore we should do what gratifies us best. There is a more well thought out doctrine that recognises that we may need to delay our gratification and co-operate with others as part of an enlightened self interest; but only on the basis that we are still pursuing our own ends.'

'There are other theories, for example "nothing means anything at all and we cannot in any way know what we are, what we do, or the meaning of any of these things" but I regard these as silly diversions, not serious philosophies; and I deduce that we are serious men; if I may use the term "men" to cover both of us.'

There was a silence. Grendel was clearly considering Beowulf's words.

'The humans in the Hall said that you were here to kill me.'

Beowulf met the Troll's eyes with a solemn gaze.

'And now you doubt?'

Grendel was terribly afraid. He was quite ready to fight and defend his home, but he knew that he had a sense of something greater or better than himself. He could not define or quantify it, but he knew that it was this that had stopped him from killing the men. He also knew that this belief was part of his anger with and opposition to King Lars; he believed that what Lars had done was 'not right.' He did not know where the idea of 'rightness' came from and he saw that this was terribly important to him. It struck him as bitter and ironic that his 'enemy' should bring the enlightenment and understanding that he sought in his own life. Part of him was determined to resist, but the larger part was desperate to know and understand. He was also very afraid that he might be being tricked. He nodded,

'Now I doubt. I doubt many things.'

'Then you become a philosopher too, Grendel. No one knows the answers to life's great questions. Many people have stood where you stand, dissatisfied with the understanding of the world that they currently hold, but unsure as to how to move forward into the light.'

'Then there is light?' Grendel asked.

'I think so, of a kind,' replied Beowulf, 'I do not mean there is certainty or, heaven forbid, 'enlightenment' but I think that if one works to understand ones' own thoughts and the world around oneself, that one can begin to be comfortable with the relationship between oneself and that which we do and do not know. I do not know if that is what you seek, but it was this knowledge which left me free to live my own life.'

The atmosphere between the two was so intense that Gavin whined with distress. Beowulf laughed kindly and gestured to the dog,

'He is freed of these concerns!'

For the first time they smiled together. Grendel spoke next,

'You asked what I desired most and

Then you showed it me like a dream.

This understanding is something

That I want more than anything.

This would be the price I would ask

For peace, and for peace to pursue

This knowledge. I do not know how

You can change this situation,

But if you can create this peace

I will subscribe and hold to it.'

Beowulf sat quietly, thinking. At length he spoke again.

'I am convinced. I see the hunger for understanding in your heart and I hear it through your words. I believe that you will keep your word and that the Kingdom of Lars has nothing to fear from you; however I am a different kind of man from those who are camped around your lakeside. I have seen enough of the world to know the truth from the lies. All those above, sadly including the King, have no great knowledge or experience. They are ignorant peasants who believe all that they are told, that trolls will eat their children and they are cruel unthinking monsters. I know differently, however, it is my problem to convince them of what you have convinced me. I must think how this can be achieved.'

Grendel considered; he could see the sense of this. He did not imagine that he could win the trust of the humans. After all, he had killed and eaten many of them. He also wondered if the troll that was alleged to have attacked a child was his mother. He did not think that she would attack a child, but he did not know of any other trolls who were still living in the area. He was worried about this.

'I also have a mother.'

Beowulf nodded,

'And she is the one who took the child?'

Grendel frowned,

'I am not sure. I have not seen her for some days. I have heard the humans at the hall say that a Troll attacked a child; but I do not think that she would do such a thing. If there is to be peace, she must be included.'

Beowulf nodded again,

'I can see that. It adds more difficulty to the task. King Lars cannot outrage his people. Perhaps a solution is beyond us.'

He looked despondent and small, sat naked on the stone floor of Grendel's cave and the Troll felt a degree of pity.

'Are you not cold? I am sure that

I am more used to stone than you.'

'Thank you. I am quite all right. I am just thinking of how we can convince the King and his people of your sincerity.'

'I fear they would not let me speak.'

Beowulf looked up, suddenly much brighter.

'That is the answer! They must hear you speak! When they hear the truth from your own lips they may understand. That is a brilliant solution.'

The Troll smiled, sadly,

'But not one I think, even you can achieve. They would cut me to pieces before I could utter a word!'

'I think not! I can think of a way that this may happen.'

Beowulf jumped to his feet,

'I will swim to the surface and command them to listen. You and I will talk in front of them. Then they will see what I have seen.'

He moved to take the Troll's hand. Grendel stepped back.

'They will not allow it,' he said, and for the first time his voice betrayed a hint of fear and doubt, 'they are too full of hatred.'

Beowulf delicately stretched out his hand,

'I will place you under my protection. I have a reputation far greater than their King's. I will speak and they will listen. I will command and they will obey. We will go to the surface. I will explain what I know of you and we will agree the terms of the peace in front of them. Then they will be bound by the King's word. You will be under my protection, the only one you need fear is me.'

Grendel looked down. He towered over the small man. He looked into his eyes, thinking that he might see into his soul.

'You swear none of them will harm me.'

'I swear that none of them will harm you. You are under my protection.'

Grendel took his hand.

'Then I put my trust in you.'

Chapter Nineteen

In which the financial world tries to get to grips with the Queen. There is considerable boredom at the lakeside, finally enlivened by a most surprising debate which reaches a rather unusual conclusion.

The Queen was not in the counting house and had not been there all morning. This was greatly distressing for Bjorn, who was left anxiously fingering the note that she had sent. It was a note that he had long hoped to obtain, but it was also a note that he had dreaded receiving. The note meant action. With his heart pounding and his fingers shaking he opened it again, having first checked to see that no one was watching. It said;

'Come to the chambers. R'

The 'R' stood for Rosamunde. Rosamunde was the Queen's name. The chambers were the Royal chambers. Bjorn had never been to the Royal chambers. He knew that if it were reported that he had gone to the Royal chambers he would not be able to explain why. He knew that if he did not go then the Queen, Rosamunde, would think him less of a man; or perhaps, no kind of a man at all. Beowulf would go. He was sure. Bjorn distrusted Beowulf and his 'childhood friendship' with the Queen. He meant Rosamunde. The man, Beowulf, was up to no good. Obviously he was up to no good! He was plotting with Bjorn and the Queen to murder the King so that they could take the Kingdom.

Bjorn knew that he was in too deep to back out, however he was aware that the situation was making a coward of him. The Queen- No! Rosamunde had finally sent for him and he had vacillated for half the day, hoping that she would come into the counting house, like she had done in the old days; in the old days when this was just an innocent conspiracy. But things had moved on. She would not come to the counting house again. He would need to go to her. She was expecting him. She was expecting him.

He cleared the papers to one side of his table and got up. It was then that he noticed that while he had been thinking Steelstrom had slipped into the room. He was holding out a small velvet bag. Bjorn was confused, what did this mean?

Steelstrom spoke,

'If you are going where I think you are going, then you had best take this.'

He handed over the bag, which was heavier than Bjorn had expected. He had assumed that it contained papers or precious stones, but when he drew the drawstring and looked inside he saw that it was a dagger in a scabbard.

'A Steelstrom "Sharp-Sticker,"' Steelstrom said with pride, 'The most efficient portable personal protector you can purchase. A real rib-tickler I call it! This one though, is free. I fear you may need it and I would not see a friend left defenceless.'

Bjorn was shocked,

'Are you a friend, then? I had never supposed so.'

Steelstrom chuckled,

'In my youth I was something of a romantic myself. I had dreams of justice, freedom and ambition. They never came to anything. Oh, I grant that I have made a very creditable material success, but I never, as it were, rescued the princess from the tower.'

He looked momentarily wistful; then in another vein, he continued,

'I have a plan to get you in. Most of the guards have gone to the hunt, leaving only two. We will walk outside the Royal chambers and I will fall. You will exclaim! They will help a poor old man and you will knock and slip inside.'

The old man turned and set off.

'Something of an adventure!' he observed.

Bjorn quickly put the dagger back in the bag and set off after the old man, who took the corridor into the Beer Hall proper and then set off across the main atrium towards the Royal chambers.

'I don't know how I will ever thank you.' whispered Bjorn.

'You'll think of something I suppose when you are K-arg!'

Steelstrom fell dramatically to the floor grabbing at his lower leg.

'Help!' shouted Bjorn and the two guards ran over.

'Ach!' Steelstrom said to the guards, 'I'm getting to old to be out. Could you help me up and on to my room?'

Miraculously, it seemed to Bjorn, that the plan had worked. Suddenly full of confidence he stepped up to the door and knocked, quietly, but firmly.

'Rosamunde! Rosamunde! It's me, Bjorn!'

The Queen opened the door and for a moment Bjorn's banker's heart was alive with joy. Then he saw that she was furious. She pulled him in and slammed the door.

'You fool!' she hissed, 'Are you trying to get us killed!'

He was too taken aback to reply at first, but then his breath returned.

'Your note. You said to come! Rosamunde!'

'Don't call me that!' she snapped, her face a white mask of anger. 'I am the Queen. I am called Majesty, Grace or Highness!'

Bjorn's face fell.

'I don't understand?'

The Queen seemed to take pity, or at least her level of anger reduced slightly.

'If people hear you call me that, what will they think? It is only a King who can call a Queen by her true name!'

Bjorn understood that,

'Then I will be your King!'

He took her in his arms, as he had long desired. He felt her respond. She was soft and warm and in his arms. He found her lips and the kissed. Bjorn was delighted. He had known this day would come. He tried to pull her towards the bed, but again she shocked him by pushing him firmly away.

'Do you think I summoned you here for that?'

She glared at him furiously. 'Do you understand nothing?'

This was an accurate appraisal of Bjorn's understanding of the situation although he was unwilling to admit to this. He looked blankly at Rosamunde. The Queen? He had no idea what she wanted from him.

Suddenly the Queen grasped this fact. She almost laughed.

'Bjorn,' she said, much more softly, 'I am so sorry! But the danger I am in. What if the King should know, what if he found out? What would we do?'

Again, Bjorn had no answer. She continued,

'He would kill you. And without you, I too, would die.' She paused and now almost sobbed,

'We have only one chance. Tonight, after Beowulf slays the troll, there will be a great feast. The King will drink a great deal and when he and I return here you will kill him, you can hide in my wardrobe. I have arranged for a servant to tell the King that you are sick and will not attend the feast. You can hide there now. You have brought a weapon?'

He showed her the dagger in a state of incredulity and disbelief. He had assumed that Beowulf would kill the King. After all, he was the warrior, but now he saw; if he, Bjorn was to be King, he would need to act in a kingly way. It was his kingly duty to kill Lars in order to take his throne and win his wife.

'I'll do it!' he said.

'I knew you would not fail me,' the Queen replied.

Nothing was still happening at the lake.

Grendel's Mother was watching from her vantage point. She had been amazed when the little naked man had come out and spoken to the crowd and further astonished when he had dived into the lake! For a short time she had been very worried, but when the minutes passed she had begun to feel relieved. Clearly the fool had drowned! He would not have found the cave; and if he had found the cave he would have been no match for Grendel. The man was not even armed!

But still she felt uneasy. Experience told her that humans could not be trusted. She settled down to watch and while she watched her thoughts returned to the problem of what to do about the humans in the Beer Hall and their desecration of the lake area. What she wanted to do was get inside their Hall at night and kill as many as she could; especially the King. He was clearly the source of the problem, but she could not think how she could get in. They had gates and locks, as well as guards. The guards she was less afraid of, but she had no knowledge of how their mechanisms worked. There was no straightforward answer. She continued to watch and think.

Also watching and thinking was Klug. He was very puzzled by Beowulf's actions. It seemed, to Klug, that Beowulf had taken an enormous risk; the troll was twice his size. It could easily kill him. Klug deduced that Beowulf must have some kind of trick that he would use. Klug had listened carefully to what the small man had said. He had given very precise instructions, appearing entirely confident that his plan would succeed. He could not understand how Beowulf would persuade the troll to come to the surface and sit on a chair and talk to him, yet everything else he said or did seemed to work in his favour. Klug was envious of anyone whose life showed some sense and order. He decided to watch and wait with the rest.

After almost twenty minutes had passed, the King beckoned to Thwurp, who lumbered over and bowed.

'Majesty?'

'What do you think is happening, Thwurp? He cannot still be alive. No man can hold his breath for this long.'

Thwurp knew this, but had no solution.

'There is no body,' he pointed out, 'but that doesn't mean he hasn't drowned.'

'You were in the beast's cave, weren't you Thwurp? Before you escaped; did you think it was under the water?'

Thwurp thought back. He remembered when it had appeared that Grendel had let him go and suddenly, much to his embarrassment, he understood.

'I think it was; but I didn't know. I think it bought me there while I was unconscious and I escaped by another way.'

Thwurp thought about it.

'He's probably in the cave.'

They both thought about it.

'Rather him than me,' said Lars honestly.

'I'm with you on that, sir,' Thwurp agreed.

'What do you think we should do?' Lars asked.

'Wait and see?'

Some of the soldiers and villagers were getting impatient. They had enjoyed the morning's hunt and the meal at the lakeside. They had been amused by the naked man and his plan seemed almost unbelievable and this combined with his courage in going to a Troll's cave on his own, with no weapons, had created a mood of awe that had lasted for quite a while, but as the afternoon dragged on the suspense gave way to doubt and frustration. Occasionally there were angry murmurings from the crowd about what was happening and why it was taking so long. Roscow was unhappy with this and stepped onto the platform to address the crowd, who immediately fell silent. None of them wanted to face an angry Roscow.

'People!' he boomed, 'Ve must vait as Beovulf has commandment! He is the vileyest man alive and he vill bring zhe Troll out as he has told you. You must be quiet and have patience. Have none of you ever been a fishermen? Fishermen vaits by the vater for a long time quietly to catch a fish. Zhat is vot ve are here to do. Does anyone disagree?'

No one disagreed, for the obvious and basic reason, and the crowd sat down and tried to be restless more quietly. After what seemed like an eternity there was a shout from the people nearest the lake. They were coming out!

Roscow was quick to hush the crowd; but everyone could see that Beowulf had surfaced and was swimming towards the shore. For a moment the crowd felt a sense of disappointment and let out something of a sigh, until a sharper eyed soldier pointed out into the lake. The troll was following behind! A pulse of excitement and exhilaration went through the crowd. He had done it! They did not know how, but it was clear that Beowulf had achieved the impossible. The troll was following him! Spontaneous applause began to break out, until it was curtailed by Roscow and the rest of Beowulf's stony faced guards. Nevertheless, the crowd hummed with anticipation as the small man climbed onto the bank and walked to the platform. The crowd gasped as the troll followed, Beowulf having beckoned to it. Somewhere near the back a voice said in admiration,

'The man must be a sorcerer!'

Beowulf stood, ready to speak, the troll near his side. The crowd were entirely silent, waiting to hear what he would say.

'Good King Lars, people and soldiers of the Kingdom of Lars, this is the troll, Grendel. He is here under my protection and he must not be harmed!'

This brought a low growl of disapproval from the crowd. Beowulf immediately continued.

'I repeat; this troll must not be harmed; he has come freely to negotiate with me and in plain view of you all. I shall now ask him to sit.'

Beowulf gestured to one of the chairs and they both sat down.

Grendel's mother was shocked to see her son accompanying the man and surrounded by all his enemies. She realised that she was much too far away to call, but as soon as Grendel sat, she turned and began to climb down the slope. To reach the lake she had to go around the back of the hill, as the side facing the lake was too steep. When she could not see Grendel, she began to run. As she ran and scrambled she was desperately worried. She had no plan for what she would do when she reached the gathering; she just felt an overwhelming need to be there.

'Troll Grendel,' Beowulf began, 'we have spoken at length about the conflict between you and the Kingdom of Lars and how this may be resolved. My proposal is that we discuss this again in front of King Lars and these witnesses, so it is clear that justice and honour prevail and a fair and lawful settlement to this dispute is found, do you consent?'

Before Grendel could reply he was interrupted by an angry human voice from the crowd.

'Monster! That is a monster and cannot be reasoned with. It is a beast and should be destroyed!'

The speaker was one of the larger members of King Lars' army; he pushed his way to stand at the side of the platform. Beowulf stood up and went over to the man.

'That is an interesting contention,' Beowulf observed, 'what is your test for rationality? What is the difference between a monster and a man? How do you judge?'

The soldier answered without thinking.

'It kills; it eats the flesh of men!'

Beowulf left a pause for the crowd to murmur its assent; that was their view.

'And we are different in what way?' he inquired, 'We kill, we eat the flesh of other species. Men kill men, for greed, jealousy and anger; or sometimes justly in defence of what is ours. How is the troll different?'

'He is a beast. He has no reason. He is a vile, evil monster!'

'Let us see.' said Beowulf, deliberately lowering his voice so that the crowd would need to quieten in order to hear him. 'Let us see. Please be so good as to sit down again,' he said to the soldier. He then turned to the crowd.

'I will show you something else!' he turned and went back to his seat. When he had sat, he turned to Grendel and said,

'I was asking whether you consented to be part of these negotiations, regarding your dispute with the Kingdom of Lars. Do you consent?'

Grendel replied solemnly, his strength had been going into controlling his body and emotions in this terrifying situation. Everywhere he looked he could see his enemies; they were angry and full of hate. He doubted Beowulf could persuade the mob, but there were no other options left open to him from where he was.

'I do consent to play my part

In these negotiations, and

I swear that I will speak truthfully

At all times, even to my own

Detriment. Where I am at fault

I will admit it and swear also

That I shall try and set it right.'

'Thank you Grendel, for your word,' Beowulf then stood up, smiling, 'That sounded rational to me.'

He quickly sat down again and asked his next question, barely giving the crowd time to argue or disagree.

'Grendel, there was no dispute between you and King Lars or the men of King Lars' Kingdom before the building of the Great Beer Hall was there?'

'No. I and my family have lived

Here by the lake, all the days that

I have known. We had no quarrel

With men before the Beer Hall came.'

'Could you tell us what effect the building of the Beer hall had on the lives of yourself and your mother?'

Grendel paused and looked at the mass of men. He wanted to speak with courage and honesty, but without anger. He also wanted the people to understand.

'The lake used to be full of fish. We would catch the fish and that was our food. When the brewery came it poisoned the lake and all the fish died. The food that we had depended on was destroyed.'

Many of the villagers nodded and murmured agreement; they had also used to fish in the lake.

'And this was your grievance with King Lars? This was why you began to kill and eat men? Because King Lars had taken your fish?'

Beowulf asked this question as if it was of only minor importance, a fact that needed to be checked. Grendel was anxious that he was being led into a trap.

'No!' he replied immediately, when the fish were gone we talked with important men and tried to make other arrangements. When this did not work we hunted around for scraps and lived as best as we could. We became hungry, but that did not make us killers. That came later.'

'Tell us about that.'

As Grendel became more heated, Beowulf became even more calm and controlled. Grendel found that he was unable to resist telling the truth and so continued recklessly.

'I was attacked! I got lost and wandered into the orchard. I was trying to leave, but guards chased me and when they attacked me I defended myself.'

'And killed one?'

'Yes, I killed one. He tried to kill me.'

'And then you ate him?'

Beowulf pronounced this as provocatively as he could, his question produced uproar from the watching humans, who began to get to their feet and shout. Roscow called for silence, which uneasily returned. Grendel looked at Beowulf as if to ask, 'why are you doing this to me?' Beowulf met his eye and continued.

'You ate him.'

'Yes,' said Grendel, 'I had not eaten. I had fought and run. I was angry and I ate him.'

This time Roscow and Beowulf's guards were ready to try and stem the uproar that came from the crowd. All the men were now on their feet and shouts of 'Monster!' and 'Murderer!' where quite clear; eventually the crowd was quietened.

Beowulf continued with a tone of sadness,

'And after that, you got a taste for it?'

'No,' Grendel replied and then stopped, 'I mean...I suppose..'

'Well?'

Grendel was looking down, the crowd were hissing with fury. Then to everyone's surprise Grendel began to cry. The crowd were puzzled by this and grew quieter; none of them had ever seen a troll cry. At length Grendel pulled himself together. He looked directly at Beowulf.

'To some extent. I justified myself- I said that it was right to eat my enemies. That they would kill me if I did not kill them.'

Beowulf stood up and turned to the crowd,

'We can all understand this,' he said, 'when threatened we respond with anger and we justify our aggression as self-defence.'

He sat down again and asked another question,

'But this changed?'

'Yes,' replied Grendel, 'I was out walking and I came across the unconscious body of this man.' He pointed to Thwurp. 'I had begun to feel it was wrong to kill and so, when I found him, I took him to my cave and spoke with him. I let him go, but he returned and stabbed me in the leg.'

Thwurp looked embarrassed, but did not intervene.

'And have you killed since then?'

'No. I have not.'

Suddenly there was a shout from the crowd,

'What about the child?'

This was generally taken up by the crowd until Thwurp, who had now fully understood that Grendel had not tricked or tried to kill him shouted;

'That was not this troll, it was another one.'

This caused some confusion, until Thwurp explained how he had escaped, and then seen the other troll carrying the body of the child. People from the village were also prepared to confirm that Grendel was not the troll from the village.

The mood had now changed in the crowd. They had begun to see Grendel as a creature that was much more like them than they would have believed. Some pitied him and others empathised with his fight against the autocratic authority of King Lars. Grendel began to fully appreciate the manipulative skills of Beowulf, somehow by showing the best and worst of him he had made the crowd understand.

King Lars was not happy. 'What is he doing?' he thought, 'Trying to justify it! He is supposed to be killing it, not inviting it to join us!' He wanted to interrupt the proceedings, but before he could Beowulf continued;

'I think we can all see that you have spoken truly and from the heart. However we now must clear up some legal points. The lake and all in it belong, do they not, to the Great King Lars who has lawfully seized them, by right of conquest and eminent domain?'

'I do not know,' replied Grendel, 'we do not have laws like this. The lake is there, the fish belong to the troll who catches them.'

Beowulf looked stern and magisterial,

'Well troll, there are laws; and by right the lake belongs to King Lars and to fish in it you should have requested royal permission.'

'I did not know.'

'In order to settle this dispute, you must acknowledge the law. Then we can come to a lawful agreement. Do you understand this?'

'Yes,' replied Grendel.

'Then do you consent to be bound by the laws of the Kingdom of Lars?'

Grendel thought very hard.

'It seems unfair. The Trolls were here before Lars and the lake should belong to itself. But I do not wish to fight, I will accept the laws.'

'Very wise,' agreed Beowulf. He stood up and addressed the King,

'King Lars! We have heard from the troll. All can see that he speaks plainly and honestly, even to his own discredit. He fell into a state of discord with your most revered Majesty due to his bestial ignorance of human law, which we have now corrected. He will agree to no longer steal from the royal lake and to seek legal employment. He has killed members of your guard, as one would in a state of war. I believe you can now accept his surrender, he may pledge allegiance and your realm will have gained an honest and hard-working subject. The troll is clearly innocent of the murder of the child and will assist in finding the guilty troll. I propose that your Highness should accept the troll as a subject and he should then return home.'

The crowd and the King were staggered. They had not foreseen this possibility at all, but they could not muster a logical objection. Swiftly Beowulf moved on.

'Kneel, troll, and accept your new king.'

Grendel's Mother had missed all of this. The route through the forest to the lake side was long and winding and she had been recently injured. She was soon out of breath and had to cease running and instead walk as swiftly as she could. She had passed the lake and the village, but still had a considerable way to go through the woods until she reached the lake side. What further hampered her was that the fires that had been started in the morning were still burning and at times she had to leave the path and scramble around plumes of smoke and flame. The smoke was also hindering her breathing. She feared that she would not get to the shore in time.

Much to his surprise, King Lars had accepted Grendel the Troll as his subject and granted him the right to live in the cave beneath the lake in return for fealty and obedience to the King and the laws of the realm. He had acknowledged Grendel as his subject. The crowd had not been keen to accept this, but none of them were prepared to challenge Beowulf in argument and so Grendel's assimilation had occurred unopposed.

Beowulf thanked the King, Grendel and the crowd.

'And now I think we should all go home,' he said. The crowd were reluctant to leave, but some started to move off while Beowulf merely stood on the platform. No further entertainment seemed available.

'You too,' he said to Grendel.

Grendel was in a state of shock, he had faced his tormentors and they seemed to have forgiven him, or if not, they had accepted him. He was overwhelmed.

'Thank you.' He said to Beowulf, who smiled.

As Grendel turned towards the lake to begin his walk home, Beowulf swiftly slipped his hand under the seat where he had been sitting and produced a long steel knife. He jumped high into the air and firmly drove the knife into Grendel's back, twisting it so that it slid through his ribs and pierced his heart.

Grendel fell instantly to the floor with blood gushing from the wound. Roscow stepped forward, as if he had been expecting this event and handed Beowulf an axe. Beowulf walked up to the fallen troll and hacked of the troll's arm. When he had achieved this; he took the arm and began to beat the fallen body of the Troll, shouting and cursing as he battered the already lifeless creature.

The crowd stopped and watched in shock and horror, both at the twist in events, and in the savage brutality of Beowulf. Eventually Beowulf's frenzy abated and he threw down the arm and kicked the body. Then, still entirely naked, yet covered in the Troll's blood, he turned to the King. He grinned, and said,

'Now that is what I call a surprise attack!'

Chapter Twenty

In which a bereft mother finds an unlikely friend, a feast ends with a twist and a close escape is not quite the blessing it appeared to be.

Klug was sat in one of the chairs on the platform by the lake. He was looking at the body of Grendel with terrible care and sympathy. It was as if he was looking at the remains of his own stupid, torn up, wasted life. Everyone else had gone. When the crowd had recovered from the shock of Beowulf's onslaught they had cheered; at first half heartedly, for, in truth, many of the people were ashamed; but the cheering had increased as the crowd sensed that it would feel better if it could recapture the mood of the morning.

The King had declared Beowulf a hero, with a brief speech in which he praised the hero for his cunning, bravery and loyalty. He had then suggested that perhaps the hero of the hour should get dressed before an audience with the King. The laughter around this had made the crowd feel better and so Beowulf had dived in the lake, to wash of the blood, and then had modestly retired to the covered wagon to get dressed. The Royal party and the soldiers had then set off to return to the beer hall and the villagers had also set of to walk home.

Only Klug had stayed, and he could not say why. As he had listened to the dialogue between Beowulf and the troll he had been amazed at Beowulf's skill to get the troll to reveal his thoughts and feelings. Listening to the troll had somehow reopened his own feelings. Klug was wracked with guilt. He had not intended to kill the boy; he was a bad man, he was sure of this; and worse, he was a little proud of this badness. He liked to be a bit cleverer than his fellow men and to use this to his advantage. He was not above lying and stealing; and he had always thought that a little bullying was good for the soul. He was happy to be a bit of a rogue, but he had never meant to be a murderer; somehow the dead body of Grendel made it terribly clear: there was no way back.

He was also alarmed at how evil Beowulf was. He could understand that a man might trick a troll in order to kill it and win favour with a King. That was what men did; but it was how the troll was tricked that appalled him. It was the way that goodness, kindness and truth had been used to bring about evil that most shocked Klug. He was also ashamed that he had helped Beowulf and was fearful about what this would mean for him. He suspected that Beowulf's accomplices might not outlive their usefulness. So he had sat there thinking as the evening stretched out into the night. He was unmoved by the darkness and indifferent to the rain that had begun to fall and that was why he was there when Grendel's mother finally reached the body of her son.

She staggered to the lake side area, already overcome with weariness, anxiety and pain. She had not recovered from the fall she had endured in her escape from the village; and the miles down the hill and through the forest had been too far for her to go. She had feared that she was too late, and then, when she had seen the people returning to the village, she had known it. Even before reaching her son's body her grief had begun and now that she saw him; it was too much to bear. She fell onto her knees and then crawled to the platform and lay next to him groaning and crying as the rain fell onto the wooden boards.

Klug sat silently and watched.

Also sitting silently was the Queen. She was pretending to be bored with the feast; which was at least half the truth. She was bored by feasts; men shouting, drinking and boasting to impress other men. This time she was merely pretending to conceal the excitement she felt at knowing how it would end. The plan, Beowulf's plan, required her boredom and low spiritedness. She was meant to find a reason to leave the hall early. For once, it was hard for her not be excited to be sat at her husband's side as he made yet another speech. She was sure that if she listened it would help her feign the boredom and tiredness she required.

'And then the mighty Beowulf grabbed the beast from behind. He hit it in the back with a fist as strong as a hammer and stunned the creature! It rolled onto its back, striking at him with its claws and talons and I feared our heroic friend had tackled his last monster, but then, but then...he gripped it by the arm and said, "You will trouble King Lars no more!" Then he ripped its arm off and beat it to death with its own arm! Ah! That made me laugh! Reminded me of a fight I had when I was younger... but enough of me! Let us toast the mighty Beowulf!'

Another toast was drunk. The King and Beowulf were recounting the day's tale to Gnosser, so that he could accurately include it in his history. To be precise, the King was recounting the story to Gnosser and Beowulf was listening impassively. Thwurp and Roscow were to one side of the main table discussing weapons. The Beer Hall was full of the soldiers of Lars who were cheerfully drinking the health of their mighty King, who had at last overcome his sinister enemy and they drank to the health of the great hero Beowulf, who had gone in naked to the troll, bought it back and killed it. They were in great spirits and putting a substantial dent in the Beer Hall's reserves of its favourite product.

Beowulf had left his guards outside.

Also noticeably absent from the feast was Bjorn the banker, who was unwell. 'Not surprising!' the King had observed contemptuously, 'These indoor types get sick at the first sign of action. Run a mile if blood is shed!'

Also missing was Steelstrom. Apparently the old man had fallen earlier in the day and had been ordered to rest. The King confided in Beowulf, who was his new friend, that he wouldn't greatly miss the old man as he had Beowulf, who was his new friend; and the old man wasn't really up to a good night's drinking any more.

'Really?' enquired Beowulf in response to this. He had smiled at the King and sipped his water.

Now, at the end of the King's toast to him Beowulf thanked the King and then quietly said,

'I think the Queen looks tired. Perhaps she should retire and then the men could really talk.'

'Yes! Yes!' shouted the King, 'Away with the woman; time for the men to talk and drink!'

As the Queen left the hall, she caught Beowulf's eye. His smile said that it was all going to plan. She hurried down the hallway to the Royal chamber.

Klug was still watching the grieving mother. The weight of his guilt threatened to crush him, and each desolate cry she uttered was like a knife stabbing into his own heart. Finally he could bear it no more; Klug began to cry, noisily and obviously. Grendel's Mother sat up and stared at him; noticing him for the first time. She looked at him in confusion, wondering why a lone human was here, apparently grieving for her son.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.' Was all that Klug could say.

Grendel's Mother looked at him again; she shook her head in disbelief.

'You did not do this thing to him,' she said,

'I can see that you grieve too, but

Why I cannot say. What was he

To you that you should be with me

In mourning him. He was my son.

Tell me, I do not understand.'

Klug was unable to reply. He kept sobbing and repeating that he was sorry. Eventually Grendel's Mother got up. She walked over to where he sat and crouched next to him. She put a hand on his hand.

'It was not right,' said Klug, 'The man, Beowulf, the one that killed your son. He tricked him. He pretended to make all the people understand what had happened, and then he did. The people would have forgiven him and then he just killed him. For no reason.'

They both sat in silence for a time. There was no comfort for either. Grendel's Mother remembered her dream.

'I must find a way to stop them,' she said, 'but I do not know how. I would get in their hall and kill them, but I do not think I would get past the guards.'

Klug replied,

'There is a cellar where the beer comes in. You can get in the cellar if you can get into the yard. The yard key is the same as all the grounds keys.'

He knew this from his work for Beowulf and the Queen. He no longer had a key or he would have offered it to her.

'My son had a key; he put it on a chain around his neck. He used it to get in and out.'

She went and searched his body. She showed Klug the key.

'Show me the way,' she said, 'And whatever you did will be forgiven.

They started up the path to the Beer Hall.

Bjorn was tired of hiding in the cupboard. He had hidden there for the whole afternoon. Rosamunde had gone out as soon as he was hidden so he had no chance to talk to her. He had nearly given himself away when the King returned. When he heard the door open, he had assumed that it was Rosamunde returning and he was ready to greet her. Then he heard the King speak to one of his servants. For the next hour the King had been in the chambers and Bjorn had wondered if this was his opportunity; but the servants were going in and out continually as the King readied himself for the banquet.

Bjorn learned that Beowulf had killed the Troll when the Queen returned,

'Devil of a fellow that Beowulf,' the King told her, 'dived into the lake, bought the beast out. Made it talk to us, made it almost seem human and the, when we all thought he was going to let it go; he let it have it! It was a good idea of ours to summon him. I wouldn't fancy trying to get the better of him.'

The Queen had remained silent in response to this. Bjorn assumed that she was getting ready for the feast.

'Come over here,' said the King, 'I think there is time before dinner.'

Bjorn gripped his knife. He did not care what the plan was. If the King was going to touch Rosamunde while he was there, then he would kill him now.

'Nonsense,' replied the Queen, the servants are ready to lead us in. Bjorn had breathed more easily and the King and Queen had gone out to the banquet.

Now in his cupboard he heard the door move again. It was time.

'Bjorn?'

It was the Queen, his Rosamunde. He stepped out.

'Quick. He will be here within the next hour. He will be drunk and afraid. When he comes in he will go to bar the door. I will sit here by the fireplace and you will hide behind that curtain. When he goes to bar the door you will be able to stab him in the back. It is time to get ready.'

Back in the Beer Hall, the King was boasting to Beowulf.

'I nearly killed a troll once, you know. I had just won the battle of Bo Marché and we had the other army on the run. Anyway, we were going through some woods and as we went along this troll jumped out at us; bigger than your fellow. He was just a mass of teeth and claws. I think he was trying to eat the horse!'

'Well, clearly I needed the horse more than he did, so I swung my axe and hit him. It should have taken his head clean off, but the axe twisted on the way through and so it hit him with the flat. Before I could swing again he'd run off into the trees howling, and there didn't seem much point in following and so I let him go. You must be very pleased!'

'I am.' Replied Beowulf absentmindedly, he was looking over the King's shoulder at the door that lead to the armoury.

Thwurp and Roscow had gone to the armoury to compare weapons, this being one of Thwurp's favourite pastimes.

'You haven't forgotten zhe key?' laughed Roscow drunkenly, 'Ve need all zhe veapons this night!'

'Of course not,' laughed Thwurp drunkenly, 'I always have the key; that's why I'm the Captain of the guard. What shall we start with; the clubs?'

'Zhat would be ideal,' agreed Roscow happily, 'I think I love zhe clubs best of all!'

Thwurp produced the key and they went into the armoury. They stopped at the rack of clubs. Roscow picked up a reinforced extra heavy club.

'Do you remember our conversation of zhe previous night?' he inquired politely.

'No,' laughed Thwurp, carelessly turning to look for a shield, 'I drank too much!'

'Zhat is good!' Roscow agreed, happily bringing down the club on the back of Thwurp's head.

'Now I control all zhe weapons in zhe Beer Hall! Von't the King be pleased vith zhis?'

He pocketed Thwurp's key and went to signal Beowulf.

Klug and Grendel's mother had reached the outer compound of the Beer Hall. No guards had been posted in celebration of the death of the monster.

'This makes things very easy,' observed Klug as they walked into the courtyard. He could see that there were guards on the doors of the Beer Hall, but they were not the regular guards who served the King. Peering through the gloom, Klug determined they were the very serious guards who had come with Beowulf. He had his first premonition that helping the troll might not be a very safe thing to do. Ruthlessly he shoved this thought aside. In his mind you were for or against something and it seemed that he was against Beowulf. The thought made him shiver, but he said,

'The stables are this way. I think the way will be clear and we will be able to use the key to get into the beer cellar.'

They crept around the building and found the trap door that led into the cellar. As they stopped to listen against the door they could hear singing coming from the Beer Cellar.

'I think they are drunk in there,' said Klug, 'If you wait here, I will go and check.'

Lars was now very drunk.

'It's a great life being a King,' he was confiding to an obviously bored Beowulf, 'You get to rule everything and tell everyone what to do; but it isn't easy. People think it would be easy, but it isn't. You have all that ruling and judging and ordering about; and the responsibility. It isn't easy holding all that. You have to think about everything and that isn't easy, let me tell you! Its much easier being a General or a hero, you just get on and do it and no one ever bothers you, but when you're a King, then everybody bothers you. "What do we do about this?" or "What shall we do about that?" It never stops! Endless pressure!'

At that point Beowulf saw Roscow re-enter the room. He held up a hand and made the motion of turning a key. Beowulf smiled, he relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands gently on the table before turning to look Lars directly in the face. Very quietly he spoke,

'I think that you are a terrible King, a pathetic sad man and a blister on the face of the earth. You are a blemish, an error, a worthless, blustering boastful bag of shit and wind. I think you are a cowardly, stinking dog and I would happily gut you in front of all your guards.'

He smiled at the King. Lars was too drunk to immediately process the threat.

'What?'

'Clearly you are deaf, as well as stupid and drunk. I also quite like the words "diseased" and "rotten"; "putrid" will also serve, as will "festering" and "fetid."'

Again he grinned at the King,

'Look in my hand' he ordered and when Lars looked he saw that Beowulf had a short, stabbing knife.

'I'm going to enjoy this, very much.' He said warmly, but surprisingly he paused.

Lars no longer had quite the reflexes that he had when he was an active warrior, yet something in his body remembered. He threw himself off his chair and was surprised to find himself still unharmed. He crawled as rapidly as he could manage along the beer hall floor towards the door that led to the Royal Chambers. He saw that it was guarded by two of Beowulf's men and he thought that his situation was quite helpless. But then one of them opened the door and the other stood aside. Lars pulled himself to his feet and ran from the hall, not wishing to squander his opportunity. As he ran from the hall Beowulf stood up and said to the assembly,

'I think the King has drunk too much!'

The soldiers laughed.

'I will go and see that he is all right!'

They cheered and Beowulf set off, smiling and waving, to follow the King.

Klug shouted down the ladder that led to the beer cellar.

'Hi! It's me. I'm coming down.'

He was met by a snatch of drunken song about a very, very, very, big pig.

He went down the ladder. King Lars' servants were making the most of the victory over the vicious troll. There were three of them sitting around a table doing what one should do in a beer hall. Two others had obviously done rather better and were lying passed out on the floor.

'Evening,' greeted Klug.

The servants laughed heartily at this and Klug decided that in a few more minutes they would also be unconscious.

'Do you know the drinking game "I says, says I; that you must drink?"'

They didn't, but they were very willing to learn.

Lars had staggered along the corridor as quickly as he could, while throwing backward glances at the doorway to the beer hall. He hammered on the Royal Chamber door.

'Let me in! Quickly!'

There was a pause and then the Queen replied,

'Who is it?'

'It's me, Lars. Quickly open the door.'

'I'm coming, what's all the rush? I thought you were going to be at the banquet for a long time yet.'

Lars could hear the Queen moving, but the door was still firmly shut. He remembered that it was a very secure door. He hammered upon it.

'Quickly, let me in. Beowulf is going to kill me.'

He looked back up the corridor; there was a brief flash of light. Someone had opened the door. Someone was coming up the corridor. It was Beowulf.

'I don't think he'd do that,' shouted the Queen, sleepily, through the door, 'didn't he just kill your troll for you.'

'Please, please open the door,' shouted Lars.

The Queen was almost moved, 'please' was not a regular part of Lars' vocabulary.

'I'm coming,' she shouted.

Lars looked back up the corridor. Beowulf seemed to be in no hurry. He was walking very calmly down the corridor with the knife clearly visible in his right hand. Lars heard the lock click and he pushed hard into the room, knocking the Queen back.

'Careful,' she shouted. He slammed the door.

'What are you doing?' asked the Queen.

'I'm keeping him out,' Lars replied and he turned to bolt the door.

'Ha!' he shouted through the door, 'you thought you had me but you were wrong! In the morning my guards will get you. You had best run away in the night, you traitor, you murderer, you assassin!'

At that moment, Bjorn stepped out from behind the curtain and stabbed him in the back. Bjorn was inexperienced in the art of stabbing and so the blade had not gone in cleanly. It had scraped off the lower part of the King's shoulder blade and then it had gone in further between the shoulder blade and the top rib. Lars fell over with the dagger stuck in his back.

'Bjorn?' he asked, stupefied. Bjorn was so shocked by his own violence that he was unable to reply. The King looked at him.

'Bjorn?' he asked again. He pulled himself up onto his knees, which caused Bjorn to back away. He looked in horror at the King, who still seemed incapable of understanding what had happened. At this point the Queen began to scream.

'Help! Help! Murder!' she shouted and then much to Bjorn's surprise she opened the door. Lars and Bjorn both half turned to see that Beowulf, Roscow and a surprisingly healthy looking Steelstrom accompanied by a number of guards were standing in the doorway.

'What are you doing?' shouted Bjorn at the Queen, but before he could say more the Queen had pulled the dagger from her husband's back, stepped across the room and stuck the dagger in Bjorn's throat.

Blood flowed from the King's back and from Bjorn's throat. Bjorn collapsed, bleeding and choking on the floor, while the Queen pointed at him and shouted,

'This man murdered my husband! He must have lain in wait in the corridor and followed him in here when I let him in. He stabbed him in the back! Arrest him!'

'Too late for that,' said Beowulf cheerfully. 'It looks as if you avenged him well.'

It was also looking to be too late for King Lars. The removal of the dagger had opened his wound and his blood was flowing quickly away. No one moved to help him.

'Traitor! Murderer!' he gasped, but all present could only assume that he meant Bjorn. In a few moments more he lay still on the floor.

'The King is dead,' said Steelstrom.

'Long live the Queen!' said Beowulf.

'Long live the Queen!' chorused the guards.

The Queen was suddenly overcome, with either exhaustion or relief. She turned to Steelstrom,

'Please see that things are ready for an immediate coronation. It is very dangerous if there is a lapse in the leadership of the country. Although I am overcome by grief, I know my duty and both the nation and my dead husband's spirit would want the throne properly occupied as soon as can be arranged.'

She addressed the guards,

'You must remove my husband's body and that of the traitor. Then you may leave us.'

Beowulf smiled at the Queen. She smiled back,

'Beowulf may remain.'

Steelstrom left to oversee the preparations for a coronation, although he had made most of the arrangements in the afternoon. The guards removed the bodies. When they shut the door Beowulf and the Queen were left alone.

Chapter Twenty One

In which plans are delayed or carried out, Moonshine and Steelstrom discuss affairs of state and Beowulf and Rosamunde reveal their true feelings.

'I says, says I that you must drink, that you must drink, that you must drink,

I says, says I that you must drink so drinking you must do!'

Klug poured his companions another drink each, and they all tried to down them in one, but they were so far on in their drunkenness that they mostly only managed a brief swallow before spilling or spitting out the rest. Nevertheless, Klug observed, it was getting the job done. He poured again,

'Next round!'

In a brief gap in the game he had climbed the ladder and told Grendel's mother to wait. They were so drunk that Klug thought he could have almost walked her through, but he wanted to take no chances. They had the whole night.

'Let me get you a drink.'

Steelstrom did not actually get up and get a drink for a rather shaken Moonshine, who found himself sat opposite the elderly arms dealer, but he pointed out the bottle and a glass. Moonshine wondered why he was there when he would have much rather been asleep. Minutes earlier, two of Beowulf's heavily armoured guards had turned up at his quarters and told him to get dressed. He had asked them why he was needed and what was so important that it could not wait until the morning, but they had been very far from talkative while being persuasive in the way that large, heavily armed men are persuasive. They had briskly escorted him to Steelstrom's room. He assumed that they were still outside. He poured a drink and nervously waited for Steelstrom to explain.

Steelstrom, in turn, eyed Moonshine with curiosity, while he professed himself to be extraordinarily devout Steelstrom was entirely devoid of any religious, moral or spiritual feeling. He was not troubled by conscience. Whatever he imagined would be best for himself seemed to have an unshakeable moral definition that he was always able to find and justify. It occurred to him that Moonshine might be a creature of different beliefs and behaviour; possibly a less venal creature altogether. If that proved to be the case then Steelstrom realised that he would need to be either cunning or very firm. He was happy with either position. He decided to be blunt.

'The King is dead.'

Moonstone was startled and disbelieving.

'What? How?'

'He was murdered. He as stabbed by that ingrate, Bjorn the Banker. Tonight, after the banquet.'

Moonshine appeared to still be failing to assimilate the information.

'Bjorn the Banker lay in wait for our noble King Lars the First, and, as our great late King returned to his Royal chambers, after the feast in honour of the hero Beowulf, who slew the troll Grendel, the cowardly banker jumped out and stabbed him in the back. Fortunately, the good Queen was on hand and killed him with his own dagger.'

Steelstrom paused, Moonstone vacillated.

'But why?'

'Why did the Queen kill Bjorn? Well, obviously he had killed the King. It was the right thing to do. What do you mean "why?"

'No. Why did Bjorn the banker kill the King?'

Steelstrom thought; the truth would do the surviving monarch and her new associate no good at all. He lied,

'Because he thought that the King owed him money.'

'And did he?'

'I don't know. What difference would that make?'

Steelstrom glared at Moonstone, Moonstone wilted.

'None at all, I suppose.'

'Exactly.'

Having triumphed in the argument and cowed his interlocutor, Steelstrom pursued his purpose.

'There will need to be a coronation immediately. You will officiate.'

Moonstone considered this. It was his job to officiate at coronations; however he was sure there should be a suitable delay for planning. He attempted to diplomatically explain this to Steelstrom, but he was cut short immediately.

'Security of the realm!' explained Steelstrom, 'a vacant throne is a vacuum and we all know what nature feels about a vacuum, don't we?'

was not sure what a vacuum was or what nature felt about it, but being unwilling to demonstrate his ignorance he quickly concurred.

'So in a few days?' he asked hopefully. He was aware he would need some good robes to appear to best effect.

'Tonight, before dawn,' retorted Steelstrom, 'Before anyone knows what has happened and can take advantage.'

'Oh,' agreed Moonstone, 'then I'd better get on hadn't I?'

'At last!' thought Steelstrom, but he said,

'Yes, you'd better get on.'

Moonstone drank up, feeling that he had earned it for surviving the conversation. Then, as he was almost out of the door, a thought struck him.

'Who am I crowning?' he asked, politely.

Thwurp was very tired. His head was very sore, but he was alive. He was tied up in the armoury and Roscow was explaining things to him. He had already been drunk before he was hit, very forcibly, on the head and so he was finding it difficult to understand Roscow's explanation, although Roscow's speech had considerably improved. That was the first thing that Thwurp took in. Roscow didn't really have an accent.

'I put it on to make people think that I'm stupid,' he had explained, 'it gives them confidence.'

The next bit he found quite hard. It seemed that the noble Beowulf had learned that there was a plot against the life of King Lars, which was being hatched by someone close to him and so he had come ready to protect the King; however, he had been mislead and he had been given poor information that had led him to suspect that Thwurp, the Captain of the Guards, was the likely traitor. As a result of this Beowulf had cunningly got Roscow to knock Thwurp out and take control of the Beer Hall. This Thwurp had to admit had been very effectively done; however, it turned out that the threat had not been from the loyal Thwurp, but from Bjorn the scheming banker. Sadly, this information had come too late and the evil banker had already struck the deadly blow.

The upshot of this, Roscow explained, was that Thwurp was free to go, unless he was also working for the evil banker, in which case he was not free to go and would soon be on trial.

Bewildered as he was, Thwurp was happy to confirm that he was not in the pay of Bjorn the banker assassin and that it would be quite safe to let him go. Roscow released him.

'You'll be going to the coronation.'

'What coronation?'

Rather tiredly, Roscow explained that when the King died, there was a thing called 'succession.' This involved the new monarch being crowned.

Thwurp was aware of this, but not very happy to be patronised by this new Roscow, who could speak and argue.

'I understand that,' he said. Then he noticed that Roscow still had his key.

'My key, please,' he stretched out his hand.

'My key now,' replied Roscow, 'call it a changing of the guard. You are going to the coronation, because I'm keeping you on. Try not to let any more assassins succeed or you will be out of a job.'

The beer cellar workers were snoring cheerfully. Klug again climbed the ladder and called Grendel's mother in. They crept through the cellar looking for the ladder to go up and into the Beer Hall kitchens.

Grendel's mother noticed that there were a large number of barrels of oil also stored in the cellar.

'Is this area directly below the main hall?' she asked.

Klug thought that it might be. Then he realised what she was thinking.

'If we fail to get in,' she said, 'it is a possibility.'

Klug nodded.

Moonshine was inspecting the Hall to see that it was ready for a coronation. The King's guards, almost oblivious to their failure to protect the King, were still celebrating the death of the troll and were all in place for the coronation.

Moonshine thought that they were rather to drunk to behave in a seemly way at a state occasion, but he could see no way that they could be evicted; so they would have to remain as the audience. He thought that they might be improved by eating some more. As this thought occurred he spotted Thwurp re-entering the hall with Roscow. He explained his idea and Roscow, flushed with his new responsibility delegated the services of Thwurp to go and stir the cooks to life.

Thwurp resentfully agreed to go and set off for the kitchen.

'At last!' cried Queen Rosamunde, skipping across the bloodstained floor to take Beowulf in her arms, 'you know how I have waited for this.'

Beowulf returned her embrace, but still seemed slightly aloof.

'Ever since I was forced to marry Lars I have dreamed that you would come and that we could take over his kingdom. We have managed it so beautifully! That fool Bjorn killed him, so no one can doubt my right to take the throne and then we can marry and it will all be ours.'

'Let us sit down,' said Beowulf kindly. He took her hand and led her to the bed. They sat side by side.

'You were so right,' continued Rosamunde, 'all that we needed was the will to power and to wait for the opportunity. Now we can always be together.'

Beowulf was silent.

'What is the matter, my love?' asked Rosamunde, 'All has gone exactly as you planned it.'

'That is so,' he replied, smiling slightly, 'all has gone well. We were able to take advantage of the troll threat to get me invited here and I was able to defeat the troll. You were very creative. I greatly admire the way in which you entrapped the banker. It showed a degree of skill and refinement that I was not sure you possessed. I am impressed by that.'

'Thank you,' replied Rosamunde, glad to be complimented, but she was concerned; something was clearly on Beowulf's mind.

'However, it also saddens me.'

'Why is that? I thought that you believed that there was no morality and that the ability to achieve one's own desires was the only good that could be sought. What is there to be sad about?'

'There is nothing I should feel sad about. I do believe that which I have told you. It is true. There is no good or evil, there is just desire. And desire breeds success or failure. The other beliefs are spurious, foolish lies and whims that are spread by those who want the people to live in chains.'

'Then you must be pleased,' she argued, 'you have achieved all that you set out to do.'

There was a long pause.

'Not all, not yet.'

He stood up and took a pace or two away.

'Do you mean our father?' she asked. He appeared to consider this, but then replied,

'In part, but there is still work here for me to do.'

'I do not understand. I have the throne I will share it.'

'Exactly,' he said, turning to face her.

For a moment the Queen did not understand. Then she did.

'You do not wish to share?'

'No,' he replied.

'But I thought you loved me.'

'No,' he replied. Then he appeared to relent.

'I suppose I owe you something of an explanation. Surely you understand? What is this love? I recognise that it is an emotion of some significance and in many ways it is a source of power and control. Look what love did for Bjorn!'

He laughed, mirthlessly.

'I acknowledge a degree of attraction to you that amounts almost to affection, which I rarely feel; and it is obvious that you have a reciprocal attraction. I think that there is a bond between co-conspirators, which we have always been, since we were children. I think that we both admire one another for our honesty, our ruthlessness and commitment; however this love you mention is one of the chief illusions of those who do not achieve as we do. It is one of the things they have to compensate for not being us. I think that you acknowledge where the balance of power lies in our relationship and therefore must endorse my decision.'

Very calmly, Rosamunde took time to think this through.

'I appreciate your rationality and frankness. In mathematical terms it is clear that a whole kingdom is greater than a half; that power shared is power divided and that as one who seeks power I should reach the same conclusion as you; but I don't.'

She paused and looked up at him with an air of defiance.

'What is the end of this power? You may gain a kingdom but what will it be for? I am not suggesting some romantic, "happy ever after" kind of solution, but seriously, after all the scheming and plotting, the tricks and the murders; what is it all worth if there is no sharing of it? Who but someone like me can appreciate you and see you as you really are?'

'Together we have defeated the Troll, the banker and the King. We have gained a kingdom and this is just a start. We could bring our father's house down around his ears and laugh as we did so; this should not be the end of our work, but the beginning.'

Beowulf grabbed her by the shoulders and she thought that the end had come, but instead he threw her back onto the bed and climbed on top of her. They began to kiss, but he sat up, realising his armour was not going to be easily removed. He laughed,

'You truly are a woman after my heart!'

Klug had lit a fire. At the moment it was only a small fire, but it would grow. When it grew it would eventually reach the oil casks and then it would be a big fire. Grendel's Mother asked what he was doing,

'It's like this,' he said, 'I don't think that if we go up there that we will be coming back and they need to be stopped. So I've started this fire. In half an hour it will burn through to the oil and that might be enough to burn this place down. If we can get into the hall, kill the King and Beowulf and get out, we could put it out, or at least tell someone, but if not, if we both die, it still gives us another chance to get them.'

Grendel's mother nodded,

'Let's go then.'

Klug looked around the cellar. He felt guilty about his drinking companions. If he had time he would have dragged them out. He started up the ladder to the kitchens.

'That was perfect!' said the Queen, 'but we shouldn't take much longer to get to the coronation, Moonshine will be waiting. We may be royalty, but we want it all signed and sealed.'

'You should be the Queen,' agreed Beowulf, 'you are able to make a most persuasive argument.' He managed to find his trousers and put them on, while the Rosamunde went to her wardrobe, where earlier Bjorn had hidden. Her eyes were drawn to the bloodstains that still covered the floor in part of the room.

It was in her mirror that she saw him coming. Her shoulders dropped.

'I thought that you had changed your mind,' she said.

'I was merely aroused, not infatuated, nor convinced,' he replied.

'A shame,' she said, noticing his hands coming up to grab her neck. At the last minute she rolled off the bed and scuttled across the floor looking for Bjorn's knife.

'I moved it,' Beowulf confessed, 'I knew that when it came down to it you'd fight.'

Rosamunde backed away, looking for a weapon of any kind, or an opportunity to slip out of the door.

'You are a monster! Does nothing move you?'

With a quick acceleration he had crossed the floor and she was caught.

'Yes,' he said, as he tightened his grip, 'the thought of power. That moves me. What I want most of all is that everything should be mine.'

When it was over he wandered across to the mirror. He smiled at himself.

'I have a coronation to prepare for,' he said.

There was no one in the kitchen. At first this puzzled Thwurp and then he remembered that when the King had left the feast, the kitchen would have closed. It was quite dark, as only a single lamp had been left. The kitchen workers were very concerned about the possibility of fire.

'Quite right too,' he thought, 'if you live in a wooden house, however big, you should think of these things.'

He was just about to go and report his failure when he heard a noise that sounded like a door opening. Thwurp did not know the layout of the kitchen but he remembered that there was a trap door to the cellar. Perhaps it was a cook. He started to move towards the sound when he heard whispered voices. He checked his belt for a weapon, but found that Roscow had disarmed him while he was unconscious. He could not find a knife in the semi darkness, so he picked up a pan and crept nearer.

Klug was pleased to find the kitchen empty. He assumed that it must be getting on towards dawn and so he had a sense of urgency to help Grendel's mother penetrate the Beer Hall before the people began the day.

'It is clear!' he whispered.

'I'm coming' she replied.

As he pulled himself up into the kitchen he was suddenly aware of someone behind him.

'Look out!' he shouted, trying to dodge as something swung past his ear and connected painfully with his shoulder, 'a guard!'

Having only partially connected with the burglar on his first attack Klug pushed with his considerable bulk against the intruder and was satisfied as the intruder lost his balance and fell backwards through the trap door. He moved over the trap door entrance and looked down, expecting to see worried and fearful men. What he saw was Grendel's Mother climbing the ladder as fast as she could.

'Troll!' he shouted and turned to run.

Chapter Twenty Two

The Coronation.

Roscow was tired. It had been a very long trying day. Somehow he had managed to restore order in the main hall. He had threatened and blustered enough to bring the drunken guards to order ready for the coronation. He had arranged some of them to clear away the top table and drag the Throne into a central position to make the main hall suitable. He had been about to go and investigate what had happened to Thwurp when Moonstone and Steelstrom had arrived with a fresh set of problems. Moonshine wanted music and Steelstrom wanted to make sure that there was a suitable crown; and that he had a place of honour on the platform.

There would be no music. Steelstrom and Roscow exchanged a look that told Roscow that Moonshine did not yet know who would be being crowned at the coronation. Roscow shrugged. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. Moonstone was bleating on about it being some kind of 'spiritual experience that refreshed and rejuvenated the nation.' Roscow was looking for problems and Steelstrom was thinking of future profit. Everything was ready, they were waiting for Beowulf.

'What do you think the Queen will be wearing?' asked Moonshine displaying the train of his plum coloured robes, 'will these be concordant?'

It was at that moment Roscow was sure that he could hear shouting.

Beowulf was ready. He admired himself in the mirror again. He was momentarily irritated that he had not thought to bring coronation robes. It should have been an obvious contingency. As it was, he had taken what of Lars would fit him best and although it was not perfect he felt content that he looked sufficiently regal.

'What do you think?' he asked the body of the late Queen Rosamunde, 'But then you no longer have a view, do you? It is what I think that matters. It will always be what I think that matters and,' he paused to contemplate himself one more time, 'it is my royal opinion that I look quite...Kingly!'

He laughed happily, content in his triumph.

'I have beaten them all,' he thought, 'friends and enemies, monsters and kings. I, Beowulf by my might and skill and cunning have taken all this and this is just the start. How many more things shall come my way?'

He laughed again. This was good.

He really was ready.

There was a smell of smoke and a sharp pain in his leg. Something was burning. What was it? Klug opened his eyes. He was on the floor, at the bottom of a ladder. There was smoke, a lot of smoke.

Then he remembered.

He was in the cellar. He had been pushed through the trap door. He tried to move, but when he tried nothing happened. Things were broken. He found he could just turn his head, but there was nothing much to see; just the cellar floor and the smoke. Then he remembered the fire. The wave of panic that went through him was surprisingly brief. There was a fire, he couldn't run. He didn't want to run. He had done what he could. He laughed. Let the fire come!

He was sorry he had killed the boy, but glad that he had helped the troll. He didn't suppose the two balanced out, but then he had never been likely to end his life in credit. He was tired. He could hear noise from far away, but it seemed to be nothing to do with him. He closed his eyes.

Thwurp nearly crashed into Roscow as he ran out of the kitchen. They looked at each other.

'There's a troll!' said Thwurp, 'another one, a bigger one. We should run.'

Roscow put a hand on his shoulder to detain him.

'We can't. It's the coronation.'

'Well I'm not fighting it.'

Roscow looked around and made a quick decision.

'Barricade it in!'

Thwurp and Roscow began to clear the drunken guards from their benches and tables and then to jam these up against the kitchen door. The guards appeared not to mind, it was a strange feast but there was still drink. Some joined in pushing benches against the door in a haphazard and careless way.

'What are you doing?' shouted Steelstrom from the podium, 'The new king is nearly here!'

'What new King?' asked Moonshine, 'You mean the Queen?'

'No.' said Steelstrom, realising the moment had come, 'There will be a new king. The new king will be Beowulf.'

Moonshine struggled with what to say, as more guards joined in barricading the door.

'Can you smell something burning?' one of the guards asked.

'How can that be?' asked Moonshine, 'the King could be succeeded by his wife or his child, but Beowulf is none of these!'

Steelstrom felt that a graphic illustration was needed. He produced something from his belt.

'Do you know what this is?' he asked politely.

'It's a dagger,' replied Moonshine with his a nervous tremor in his voice.

'Actually, it is a Steelstrom finest 'man gutter' mark two, a particularly useful concealed weapon suitable for combat in confined spaces, but I think your identification will suffice on this occasion. Do you know where an item similar to this will end up if you fail to co-operate in King Beowulf's plans?'

Moonshine gulped,

'I can imagine.'

Steelstrom smiled. Then he wiped his brow. It was getting quite hot.

Grendel's mother had called to Klug, but got no answer. She would go back for him afterwards, if she survived. She followed the route taken by the fat guard. She came to a door. She was sure this was the door to the hall. Behind this door were her enemies. She felt strong and alive; this was what her dream had told her to do. Hunt her enemies and destroy them. She tried the door. It seemed locked, but then she realised that there were things piled on the other side to stop it opening. She shoved hard and felt a small response. She tried harder and felt the door rock. She could hear shouting from the other side.

She would not be stopped now.

She stepped back and then ran and threw herself at the door as hard as she could manage. She would do this until the door broke.

Beowulf nodded to the guard, who threw the door into the main hall open with a flourish. He was prepared for a regal and stately entrance, but before he could step into the room he saw that things were wrong.

The Throne was in place on the dais at the far end of the hall and there, waiting for him were both Steelstrom and Moonshine; and Moonshine was holding a crown in his hands. On the left hand side of the hall there was an audience of guards that had been got into some kind of order and they, at least had the appearance of being ready to attend a coronation. But on the right hand side Roscow, Thwurp and a number of guards were piling furniture against a door that was obviously being assaulted from the other side with something like a battering ram.

Roscow ran up,

'There's another troll. In the kitchen. What do we do?'

Beowulf considered. Postponement could be fatal. There were other potential claimants. The Duke of Jutland had a sizeable army. Possession was important. The possessor of the crown was the King and then was in a much better position to fix the fight that may follow.

'Carry on,' he ordered.

Roscow returned to the barricade that was now beginning to shake. Thwurp and the guards were straining to hold the barricade in place against the furious assault on the door, which had begun to split in the centre.

Beowulf ignored this. He walked at a royal pace down the central aisle, with his eyes fixed on the crown and the throne. When he reached the raised area he stopped and Moonshine approached.

'It is my honour to crown this man as King Beowulf the First. Let him be a good and strong King, a father to his people, a steward of the land. Let him exemplify the values of goodness that come from the Gods! Let him be fair and just, honest and generous; grant him the gifts of wisdom, judgement and morality. Let him reign for a hundred years!'

Moonshine held the crown.

'You should kneel,' he whispered.

'I will not,' replied Beowulf.

At that moment, part of the floor in the corner of the room that was directly above the beer cellar exploded into flames and black smoke began to belch out into the hall. There was a cracking sound as the upper part of the kitchen door shattered and a strong scaly hand appeared, tearing the wood aside.

'I can see time is of the essence,' agreed Moonshine hurriedly, 'I crown the mighty King Beowulf!'

Having said this he placed the crown on Beowulf's head and having done his spiritual duty, he fled for the far door.

Beowulf smiled and walked to the throne to the accompaniment of shouting men and splintering wood. As fire blazed up in the corner, he seated himself, comfortably upon the throne.

He spoke quite loudly, but mostly to himself; the audience being distracted by the fire, the barricade and the fighting.

'Against the laws of man and gods, against the will of nature, in the fire and the fury; so begins the reign of Beowulf!'

He felt complete.

# The End

But don't worry!

Beowulf will return to further darken the dark ages in...

# Beowulf is Back!

Available October 2014

If you can't wait that long you can contact the author at willshand@live.co.uk and tell him to get a move on!
