Beowulf - Curse of the Dreygurs - Chapter 3
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When the group entered the village, the first small house revealed a shattered front door. One part of the wood door hung limply on its hinge. The rest of the weathered oak planks lay scattered across the ground. Only heavy blows, backed by powerful arms, could do such damage to the door.
Aeschere yelled out when he noticed tracks near the road in the frozen mud where a bucket of water lay on its side.
“These prints are not animals, but men,” he pointed out the trail. “Look, the footprints and the lines along the prints. It appears several men moved toward the building, and they dragged off something when they leave.”
“There is something wrong with those footprints,” observed Weohstan. “Each print appears to struggle with each step. It looks like the shuffle marks of an old man.”
“Tis strange,” Beowulf agreed, pausing for a moment. “But we now understand that men did this. It’s probably Brythonians who came across the river overnight. Still, I suspect wolves came in and ate on the bodies after the massacre occurred.”
He turned to Weohstan.
“I want men sent out to cover the outskirts of the village and meet us in the center. Look for any signs and let me know when you find someone alive. They can tell us who invaded.” Beowulf ordered before he spurred his horse back to the trail.
Pointing to the men next to him, Weohstan sent four riders several paces off either side of the path. Then, he had the others follow him.
The riders found the same signs of violence as they rode past more of the small wooden hovels with thatch roofs. They also came across more bloody footprints on the hard-packed soil. Beowulf and his men reached the public square.
It was nothing more than an old well in the center of a crossing point for wider roads leading in and out of the village. The biggest building was a feasting hall. Its broken entrance doors swung back and forth. A creaking noise came each gust of wind, giving the place an eerie atmosphere.
Weohstan jumped from his horse, running up the steps to look inside. He recoiled slightly when his nose smelled the foul stench of death. Bloody remains of human bodies lay scattered across the large, open room. The hardened warrior did not bother with trying to identify any survivors as he backed out of the entrance.
Weohstan announced his discovery to those riding up. Beowulf slid down from his mount, quickly taking the few wooden steps up to the entrance. Curiosity caught most of the others, and they pursued their leader. Weohstan decided he had seen enough, moving to tie off the mounts, which grew nervous from the smell coming from the hall. Weohstan knew well the raw violence and brutal killings during the slaughter of battle. However, such an experience did not stop his disgust at what he saw inside the hall. In battle, at least a warrior might save himself with his weapon and cunning. Instead, he found more savagery than he could imagine.
Beowulf and his men went inside, and the scene was worse than they expected. Wandering across the thick oak planks, they observed the brutal deaths within the lodge. It was clear the poor victims inside had little to defend themselves with beyond a few sticks and clubs. It was a massacre, not a fight. But those who slaughtered the villagers were not merely content to kill. Something with immense strength ripped apart some corpses. It was hard to identify either man or woman from the limbs strewn across the wood floor. Other parts of bodies bore the bite marks of animals with large pieces of missing flesh. Whatever came to this place killed the inhabitants, then ate the dead, maybe even the living. As people skilled in the tools of battle, none of the fighters could understand what type of men could tear apart people and eat their remains. The oldest warrior, a man named Ecgberht, who calmly walked through the gore.
“The giants must have come down from the hills and into the world of humans,” he told the group.
Beowulf glanced over skeptically. He acknowledged Ecgberht believed his incredible statement, but he harbored doubts. Beowulf attempted to recreate the brutal battle which occurred during the night. Struck because no bodies of the attackers lay on the floor, he also noticed no warriors were among the dead either. The shredded clothes revealed the people were simple farmers and merchant families. He decided the villagers must have tried to hold out inside the strongest building during the attack, but to no avail. The lack of dead Brythonians meant they took their dead with them. Deciding there was nothing more to be learned, he left the hall even more determined to find King Ida. Beowulf said nothing to his men when he climbed on his horse, looking around the quiet town. Weohstan asked if anyone spotted other signs on their way into the village.
Ecgberht, the best tracker, grunted and shook his head.
“The ground remains frozen,” he said. “I only saw a few prints, some with blood. They follow the road as it runs next to the river.”
As he spoke, Sigibert and Osberht rode up after finishing their burial task. Covered in soil and burned ash, they noticed the expressions on their friend’s faces. It told them all they needed to know about what lay inside the building. Sigibert asked if he should bury the bodies. Beowulf shook his head.
“Someone destroyed this hamlet,” he pointed out. “The people fought valiantly against the enemy, and we’ll honor them for such a fight. We’ll burn the mead hall in tribute. It will be up to Angles to populate this area again.”
“You know this country,” he directed his question to the monk. “Where does this road lead?”
The monk glanced around. He hated being the center of attention.
“It will lead us to Segedunum,” he told the group. “There is another old fort there as well, which lies off this old Roma road. We can reach it before the sun reaches…. um…. it’s height.” The monk caught himself from using the Latin term ‘Sext,’ or Sixth Hour.
He remained careful, using the foreign language around Beowulf and his pagan thegns. He believed Beowulf remained suspicious of his beliefs. Columbanus, his bishop, always told Sigibert to remain careful around the Geats.
“Bide your time among the infidels,” his mentor said. “Learn about them and their heathen ways so we can bring them to the glory of God!”
“It’s just a few leagues away. Perhaps that is where your uncle waits,” Sigibert said hopefully.
Beowulf acted like he didn’t hear the monk.
“Weohstan, I want you to take two men to look at the fort,” Beowulf stated as he nodded to Hrethric and Aeschere. Then he turned to Weohstan. “If you find anything important, send a rider to let me know. Otherwise, follow us to this place called Segedunum. It appears it should be easy to find if you follow the road.”
Beowulf adjusted himself in his saddle as the two warriors joined Weohstan. They galloped off toward the fort as he turned his mount toward the road.
“Sigibert, you will lead the rest of us to this village,” he told him. When Sigibert tried to explain that he was not a suitable scout, Beowulf interrupted.
“I told you to scout ahead. Now get up there,” he directed. “It’s time to earn your keep with the group.”
His face growing red at the rebuke, the monk galloped ahead of the group. When he got several horse lengths in front, the monk slowed to keep the band behind him in sight. Beowulf heard a few of the men chuckle after Osberht said something under his breath. He turned in his saddle, catching the young warrior’s smug smile. The sarcastic nature of his comrade was a way to keep him in the spotlight among the group. As the younger brother of Weohstan, Osberht sought to live up to his brothers’ fame in battle. Beowulf decided he needed another lesson.
“Osberht, since our young God thegn wears no armor, I want you to join him and make sure he doesn’t get lonely. I suspect your armor and wicked tongue should be protection enough for the two of you,” Beowulf said.
He did not bother to look back at the smattering of laughter. The Geat leader heard the angry man dig his heels into his mount, sending the horse into a gallop. Beowulf watched with satisfaction as Osberht shot past him to pull in next to Sigibert. Beowulf could already imagine the sarcastic comments directed at the monk. He watched the exchange between the two men as they slowly rode on. Sigibert was thin with an almost timid demeanor. However, he stood up against the massive, overbearing Osberht when the Geat mocked the monks’ beliefs. Beowulf decided the two thegns could pass as quarreling brothers, if not for the difference in their looks and stature.
Despite King Heardred’s distrust of the monk and his religion, Beowulf believed in Sigibert. His father was a noble warrior, and the monk showed exceptional sword skills during their few battles together. He also knew how to read and write in many tribal languages, a rare commodity in the North Sea. Traveling among the many diverse tribes and fiefdoms outside his native Geat land, Beowulf learned the hard way that people like Sigibert were rare and valuable.
“An honorable king learns from all those around him,” Beowulf repeated the words of his father, Ecgtheow, aloud.
“Osberht doesn’t seem to learn,” Ecgberht spoke quietly, bringing Beowulf out of his thoughts. The old warrior steered his mount alongside his leader after setting the mead hall ablaze. The men watched the spreading fire for a moment before turning their horses and trotting out of the small town.
“No, but he has a thick skull,” agreed Beowulf with a smile. “Fortunately, it’s saved him a couple of times in battles.”
Ecgberht smirked at the joke, but he remained next to Beowulf. He wished to talk.
“I always wondered why the monk joins us,” the old warrior remarked in characteristic bluntness. “Sigibert is fearless in battle but acts like a eunuch among the men.”
“We’re not used to his ways,” Beowulf replied diplomatically. “While he appears meek, Sigibert is the son of the mighty warrior named Clinoch, who was the scourge of Bernicia. I heard his father fought against King Ida before dying young. Sigibert is his youngest son.”
“The seed appears to have fallen far from the tree,” his thegn replied sarcastically. The warrior chuckled at his joke, then spat.
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