Beowulf - Curse of the Dreygurs - Chapter 10

An Abandoned Village?

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Chapter 10

“I think that makes sense,” Glappa replied. He appreciated the public display of cooperation from Beowulf. “However, since it’s a small village, I think we should split our forces to scout out ahead as well to ensure where the trail of the dreygurs leads.”

“What say you, Weohstan?” asked Beowulf, looking over at his large friend.

“I agree with Glappa. I’ll take my brother and Hrethric past the village and follow the other set of tracks,” said Weohstan.

“Good enough,” replied Beowulf, turning back to Glappa. “The Angle warriors can decide which trail they wish to follow.”

“I think I’ll go with you to the village. I’m sure Appa will join me.” Glappa glanced over at his brother, who nodded his agreement. They walked away to get their mounts.

Weohstan watched them leave, and when they were out of the range of his voice, he turned to Beowulf.

“They are seeking fame at your expense,” his friend said. He spat on the ground in disgust.

“Fear not, my friend. From the number of monster tracks, I think there will be plenty of these creatures to go around.” Beowulf gave a broad smile as he put on his helmet. “Besides, I like the competition. Who knows what evil may lurk in this village that is unafraid of these monsters?” His expression suddenly turned serious. “Remember that two of the Angles are sons of Ida. So, we can’t let them get killed, no matter how much you dislike them.”

“No need to worry. I’ll only feed them to the monsters if I get the chance.” Weohstan’s reply came with a grin. From his tone, Beowulf knew the warrior was only half joking. Beowulf chuckled as he took the reins of his horse from Sigibert.

“Since we have no idea how the village will greet us, it is better to trust in your steel than your God,” he told Sigibert.

Beowulf walked away with his mount, ordering his men to their horses. He threw his leg over the saddle and began the short ride toward the village.

The group of fighters split up just before entering the village, with three warriors peeling off to follow the second trail of the dreygurs. Beowulf slowed his horse, looking around the village when they passed the first line of homes. The familiar look of broken doors and ripped open walls greeted them. However, some homes showed no damage from the onslaught, and no corpses lay on the ground. They galloped over to the main hall where the light smoke came through the open hole in the roof. The mead hall was long and made of timber, with a thatched roof of straw. It also held an unusual symbol. On the door, a large cross hung. It was the same design as the one that Sigibert wore around his neck.

“Those inside the building come out now. I will hurt no one.” The monk yelled out suddenly from the back of the group.

Beowulf glared at him before he slid off his horse, putting his hand on his sword as he waited. He remained unsure of the reception they would face. After a short while, the door opened with a creak. A colossal head stuck itself out, looking at the warriors.

“Who dares threaten a house of God?” roared the giant figure, using the language of the Angles combined with a thick Celtic accent. He stepped out, and his frame filled the doorway. The bearded man looked over at the warriors before he turned his piercing gray eyes to Beowulf.

“Boy, tell me which of this rabble is your leader so I can tell him I only take orders only from our eternal Lord,” he said.

Beowulf’s expression immediately went dark as he stepped up to confront the man who towered over him. He pulled his sword slightly from the scabbard.

“I’m Beowulf of the Geats, you runt of a man. You need to learn some manners from your betters,” he declared. “Cross me, and I’ll string you up to watch me burn this village.”

The bearded man halted with a confused look before he let out a booming laugh.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said, with no sign of fear at the threat. “I did not know warriors were so young now. Please, my warrior friend, don’t take offense. All people are welcome inside this house if they enter in peace. Come, and we’ll find a drink for thirsty men.” He pulled back into the building while waving them to follow. Beowulf stared at the man for a moment, his face red with anger at his dismissal.

Suddenly, Beowulf let out a hearty laugh at the courage he just witnessed. He ordered his men down from their mounts.

“Any person who shows no fear of armed men in his midst is someone I need to know more about,” Beowulf told them.

Beowulf followed the bearded man into the building, his eyes trying to adjust to the dim light inside. His men swiftly joined him, happy at the thought of a drink and a warm building. The bearded man had already taken a seat at a large table. He ordered several of the surrounding women to bring drinks, and they quickly scurried to a large wooden vat near the hearth. Other villagers, mostly men dressed in the robes of farmers, remained in the back of the hall. They eyed the strangers with obvious suspicion.

“Introductions are in order. I’m Malo from Henllan. As you can see, I’m a follower of the Church,” he said. His thick accent made it difficult for the Geats to understand him fully.

“Those who stay with me are native Brythonians and some refugees who come from Bernicia after the Angles invaded,” he continued. “All who stay here believe in our Lord. These families and their slaves have come to me instead of running from evil. They know the right path to salvation.”

Malo waved over the villagers to introduce themselves to the strangers, and they did so, clearly nervous before the heavily armed warriors. Only the slaves, a few men, and women remained in the back of the hall. Their status made them unworthy of introduction.

It was clear the free villagers and farmers fully trusted the generous priest, who turned to Beowulf as he sat across from him. One young girl, no older than Beowulf, immediately caught Beowulf’s eye. He noticed his men staring at the raven-haired girl as well, while she filled mugs.

“What brings you to this village? The Geats haven’t joined with those damned Angles to invade the lands of these virtuous people,” he asked Beowulf.

“We track the evil creatures called dreygurs who came through this area,” Beowulf said as he shook his head. “I must admit, I’m baffled why you are here. Your accent says you’re an outsider as well.”

“Dreygurs, you say,” replied Malo. “Yes, we know of these creatures from hell. As for me, I come from the monastery at Henllan, as established by Dubricius. I’m sure you have heard of this place.” Seeing the blank look on the warrior’s faces, the priest frowned. “Eh, it is clear only one of you knows of such great things. The ignorance among those of your lands is worse than I realized.”

Beowulf interrupted him.

“We are here at the invitation of King Ida. We are following a trail of creatures that attacked lands to the south. The trail leads north of this village. Until we saw the smoke of your fire, we believed this village abandoned.”

Beowulf explained while his eyes followed the dark hair woman as she made her way to a bench which remained far away from the warriors. He noticed the woman did not sit close to Malo’s other converts.

“King Ida has no say in this land. Morcant Bulc is an overlord of the Gododdin land, so you will not find support for your travels. But you must know this already.” The priest’s eyes narrowed as he continued.

“If Morcant Bulc finds you here, he will destroy you. Then, he will attack this village. Fighting among humans can be worse than the demons from hell you follow.”

“This is borderland,” replied Beowulf. “Neither king controls this land.”

“You are correct that no men control this area without his spear and sword. However, that does not stop them from claiming it on their own. Your warriors will bring trouble to the people here,” the priest insisted. “I don’t want my villagers caught in the crossfire.”

“No need to worry, Malo.” Beowulf held his mug high in toast, drinking it down despite the disagreeable taste. “Although your beer might bring us back, I swear we are only after the monsters that creep across your lands at night. You have my word; we will leave this area when we finish destroying these beasts that stir trouble. Now tell me how you, a foreigner, came to lead a village.”

“I’m of noble blood. My father once drove off the Picts from Bernicia,” Malo explained. “After he had died, they sent me to the monastery, learning the correct path under Dubricius. When the Lord asked me to come to this village, naturally I could not refuse.” He looked at Beowulf, assuming the warrior understood. The young Geat nodded for him to continue, although Beowulf could not understand such thinking.

“While Morcant Bulc and his queen are pagans, they leave me to shepherd my flock, since the king sees me as no threat. In fact, I believe he leaves us here to help those people who are fleeing the land of Bernicia,” he continued. “It saves him from dealing with those who have nothing when they flee from the Angles. Those of my flock are simple farmers and herders. They only wish to be left in peace.”

“That is a Brythonian lie,” a voice in the background rang out. Appa pushed past his brother. “You send your people south to kill Angles. Morcant is a king without land, and he knows we’ll never give up Bernicia. We should burn this village and drive these peasants away.”

Malo glanced up at the man briefly, before calmly turning his attention back to Beowulf.

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