Hrothgar

By Christopher Webster

Hrothgar is best known from the Anglo-Saxon epic poem, Beowulf, where he appears in a background role as the king whose hall is attacked by the troll, Grendel. This book aims to put Hrothgar in the foreground. His story is fleshed out with information from other sources, particularly the Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus. Other famous figures from Nordic legend appear in Hrothgar s story, some of them briefly alluded to in Beowulf, making this book something like a Who s Who of Nordic legend. These include the greatest warrior of the Northlands, Starkath, Halga Hundings bane, the berserker, Bjarki Bear-Sark, Frodo the dragonslayer (whose name inspired the Frodo of The Lord of the Rings), Ingeld (the singing of whose lay by monks was criticized by Alcuin in 797), Hrolf Kraki, the half-elven Skuld, and the dragon of doom, Nithoggr.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EKP
• Release date: May 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223156147

Christopher Webster

Christopher Webster was brought up in Conisbrough, Yorkshire, which is well-known for its magnificent castle. The castle and its link with Hengest provided the inspiration for English Dawn and this sequel. Another inspiration was studying English at university, particularly the study of Anglo-Saxon. His first publication was Poetry Through Humour and Horror. This was followed by many more educational texts as well as a wide range of fiction, drama and poetry. He is married to a Filipina, has four children, and is currently retired and living his dream as a full time writer.

Book preview

Widsith

Widsith spoke, unlocked his wordhoard,

he among men who most had wandered

over all the earth. Often he received

many treasures in the mead-hall.

He left King Eadgils, with Ealhhilde,

to visit King Eormanric in the east

as his bard. He began then to speak:

—WIDSITH

I HAVE HEARD OF MANY men who were mighty rulers; every lord must rule rightly while he lives if he desires his domains to prosper. Of these, Hrothgar was the best I ever served – and I have served many. I have trav-elled far and wide through the kingdoms of the earth, suffering good and evil, and have seen much.

I am a Myrging, and learned to be a skald in the court of King Eadgils, as the pupil of Heor, the king’s skald. He was a hard master, I can tell you, but it is thanks to him that I know my metres and measures so well. Eadgils had a daughter called Ealhhild and I was fortunate that she took a fancy to my half-formed art and took me on as her skald. She was young and beautiful, and I was young and foolish, so you will not be surprised to hear that I fell in love with her. Of course, I could never speak my love. She was a princess, and I was a poet, not even a nobleman-poet, but one who had been washed ashore from a far land like a piece of driftwood. I served her for several years until one day the king came to me with a special mission. He began by telling me that his daughter had been offered as a peaceweaver to the great king of the Goths, Eormenric. How my heart hammered when I heard that news! I was to lose my beloved, and worse, another man was to have her! But the king continued with better news which consoled me somewhat. He wanted me to go with her and act as her counsellor as well as her skald. Along with Elfwine, her handmaid, a woman of noble birth, I would be the closest to her of the retinue from her father’s court. Of course, I agreed gladly, and would have gone with her for nothing, but the king rewarded me with a gift of land that would set me up for the rest of my life and give me a living when my fingers were too old to strike the harp strings.

I stayed in the Gothic court for many years, and though that land is the home of some of the finest skalds of the Northlands, for some reason Eormenric liked me the best and often called for me to sing to him. One day, much to my surprise, he rewarded me with a magnificent arm-ring of twisted gold which was reckoned to be worth six-hundred shillings – a fabulous sum, the price of many hides of land. I was overjoyed, and not only because of its monetary value. Every singer likes to know that his songs are appreciated, for the best songs, like the bravest deeds, bring lasting fame. Little did I know the trouble that that ring would cause me!

When I returned to the land of the Myrgyngs on a visit with Ealhhild, I gave that ring to my lord, Eadgils, as was fitting, in return for the land he had given me. Ealhhild thanked me for the gift with another ring. It was of less monetary value, it is true, but it had far more value in my heart than the other ring, not least because Eormenric’s ring was so valuable that I was frightened to wear it or even carry it in a concealed place. This ring had been given to me by the woman I loved, and it was mine to keep and to wear without fear. I still wear that ring today. Look! Here it is!

When we returned to the Gothic court Eormenric asked me about the ring and I told him I had given it to King Eadgils. He was furious. I don’t know why, because what I had done was in keeping with the Code of Honour. Perhaps he didn’t like the thought of something of such value being given to his old enemy. Or perhaps he thought I didn’t value his gift and meant to insult him in some way. Whatever the reason, he cast me out, and I became what I have been until I came here, a wrecca – a wanderer, and that gave me the name I am known by now, Widsith.

I wandered from court to court for many years seeking another position, another ring-giver. I had many adventures along the way, and greatly increased my store of songs. That is perhaps my greatest asset as a skald. I know so many songs and sagas that I can find something to suit every occasion. I know all the great sagas of the Northlands, and many from the Southlands too. I know the genealogies of most royal houses, the legends of all the gods, and have a vast store of wisdom sayings. Just between you and me, I also have a store of runes and spells which I use in times of need, though never lightly.

One day my travels brought me to this island of Zealand and I made my way to Hleithargard where I was welcomed by King Heorogar, and allowed to practice my profession in the halls of his thegns. Not long after, Heorogar was killed in battle, and his son Hrothgar became king. Hrothgar liked my songs, and it was not long before he did me the honour of making me his court poet.

He was one of the best kings I have known. Brave in battle and wise in counsel. He knew better than any king when to fight and when to settle a feud with money or marriage. He was generous to his people, and unusually for those violent times, sought peace and happiness for them rather than war. He is model for anyone who finds himself in the position of a leader, whether it is the leader of a country, or of a small band of men. In all my wanderings I learned more from him than from any other man I met.

I will tell you his story – and I will also tell you his secret, something that I have told to no man before now. Sometimes I will chant it in the old metre, accompanied by the harp, the melodious joywood, but more often I will tell it you in plain words like one friend speaking to another in the privacy of his own hall.

Hrothgar

Good fortune in war was granted to Hrothgar.

—BEOWULF II

I ARRIVED IN HLEITHARGARD in the last years of Heorogar’s reign, just before Hrothgar succeeded to the throne. Deor was the king’s skald then, but I found work in the lesser halls of his thegns, and sometimes in the homely huts of the carls. I was not often in the High Hall at that time, but I had seen Hrothgar, and formed a favourable opinion of him. He was a big man, above average height, broad-shouldered and muscular. There was a sense of tremendous force about him; a force that was held under control by an iron will. Both his brothers, Heorogar and Halga were big men, and even his sister, Sigeneow was a tall for a woman, but Hrothgar towered above them all. Some say that was why he tried so hard to make peace – because he feared his own strength; feared that the tremendous force that he held in control with his iron will might get the better of him – he was certainly no man to be trifled with! He had the heart of a warrior, and the skill too, but he was wise enough to know that in battle the best place for him was behind the lines marshalling his forces. That was why, in later years, he had Bjarki Bear-Sark as his champion. But more of Bjarki later. Hrothgar knew, as many physically strong men do not, that it takes more than brawn to be a great warrior. At the level of single combat, you need cunning too, and skill – especially skill, but at the level of commander or king you need more brain than brawn. You need to know when and where to strike, and when to stay your hand. In other words, you need to be a strategist. Hrothgar had those qualities in abundance, but in those days he was happiest when he was following other projects.

His pet project at that time was building a new seaport to improve trade between Dene and the North Sea tribes. Hleithargard, the royal seat of the Kings of Dene, was about three miles inland from a fjord which gave easy access to the North Sea. It was there that Hrothgar began his port, which he named Hrothkilde after himself.

I never thought then that Hrothgar would be king one day, much less that I would be his skald, as he was only the second son of King Healfdene. Healfdene died a few years before I arrived and he was remembered as one of the greatest kings of the great Scylding dynasty. By the time of his death he was so famed throughout the Northlands that the Scyldings were sometimes known as Danes in honour of his name. He lived into old age but died in battle with his sword in his hand as he would have wanted to. It was another episode in the long-running Wulfing feud which he had tried so hard to settle on the battlefield, but never could, because the Scyldings and the Wulfings were so closely matched. When Healfdene died he was succeeded by Heorogar, the eldest of the three brothers. He was a born warrior; brave, strong, and always leading from the front. Under him the Scyldings won many battles, but they also made many enemies, and still could not settle that interminable feud with the Wulfings. So it should have been no surprise when the fated day came and Heorogar was carried home on his shield after the battle with the Wulfings at Wismar.

Heorogar’s funeral was befitting the warrior king that he was. I have never seen a funeral pyre so richly laden with treasure and weapons of war. The smoke coiled up to the welkin as the womenfolk keened in grief. A funeral pyre after a battle is a terrible thing to behold! There lie the dead warriors, horribly disfigured by the wounds that killed them. The fire makes those wounds burst open again, and the air is thick with the reek of their burning flesh. I have seen drengs, young warriors, white-faced, and sobbing like girls, as they watched their comrades shrivel up in the flames. It is one thing to practice with blunt swords in the courtyard and boast of brave deeds in the mead-hall, but some of them had just found out what fighting is really about; no matter how brave or skilled you are, if the Weird Sisters, the Norns, do not favour you, you are dead meat! The drengs could see better warriors than themselves lying on the pyre, and they knew that next time it might be their turn, no matter how hard they trained. They were learning the lesson that is easy to hear, but hard to accept, that a real warrior cannot fear death. The only way to achieve that state of mind is to know that you are dead already, and that is difficult for the young, because they naturally think just the opposite – that they will live forever! When Heorogar’s barrow had been raised, the funeral feast finished, and Deor had sung a valedictory saga, it was time to choose a new king. This was the task of the Althing, the assembly of all the free men of Dene. It was held in a large natural amphitheatre not far from the High Hall. In the centre of the amphitheatre, seats had been placed for thegns and jarls, and the carls sat on the grass on the gentle sloping hillside. A bitter north wind set cloaks a-fluttering as men huddled inside them trying to keep warm, frowning at the cold, and frowning at the gravity of the decision that faced them. But they soon forgot about the cold as they warmed themselves up with heated argument. Many were in favour of electing Heorogar’s son, Heoroweard, with Hrothgar as his steward until he came of age. But others argued that at a time when the Danes were fighting for survival a strong king was needed, and that it would be better to elect Hrothgar directly to the kingship. This was the last thing that Hrothgar wanted. He was a man of peace rather than of war, and would have preferred to spend his time supervising the building of his port at Hrothkilde. In the end, the Althing decided that a king of only eight years old, even with a strong regent, would not be strong enough to lead the Danes at that difficult time. So Hrothgar was elected. He was not pleased about it and brooded for days afterwards. He paced up and down his hall, and sent away any messengers with harsh words. After five days Aschere, one of the most powerful thegns in Dene, and a good friend, pushed past his doorwardens and insisted on speaking to him. Hrothgar, old friend, he began. Tell me what troubles you.

As Hrothgar turned towards him, Aschere saw straight away what a change his new responsibilities had brought on his old friend. His brow seemed more lined than before, and his once clear blue eyes seemed clouded with trouble. His mouth – what could be seen of it through his bushy beard – drooped in a fixed frown.

The kingdom is what troubles me, he said sadly.

I don’t understand, said Aschere.

I am no war-leader, like my brother was. He was better than me.

But you have warriors enough.

It’s more than that...

What do you mean?

Hrothgar took another turn about the hall, frowning and shaking his head as he walked, as though he was arguing inside himself.

I am not sure that war is always the best way. We have had generations of feuding and it has taken away the finest of our people; my father, King Healfdene, Heorogar, and countless others, leaving widows and orphans. Homes are burned, crops are spoiled, and all our riches are spent on battle-gear. There must be a better way!

Then come to the Thing and argue it, said Aschere.

Hrothgar looked at him intently, a new hope shining in his eyes. Perhaps, after all, there was a way.

Will they listen?

It’s worth a try.

The Thing was a smaller council than the Althing, consisting of carefully chosen men of the rank of thegn and above. The carls were represented by their leader whose name was Trud. It was held in the High Hall and the doors were barred and guarded, so that the proceedings could be kept secret.

The thegns argued amongst themselves as they waited, discussing the best tactics to defeat the Wulfings. Then, as Hrothgar emerged from his private quarters, an expectant silence fell. All eyes followed Hrothgar as he made his way to his high seat in the centre of the high table. He then began to speak. His thegns fully expected to hear him outline his plan for attacking the Wulfings to avenge his brother’s death, but instead he began with one word – and an unexpected one at that:

Frithur, he said. Peace.

There was a stunned silence. Then he clarified his meaning, Peace is my policy...

Cries of astonishment and even of disgust interrupted him before he could explain. Hrothgar raised his hand for silence, and continued. The Wulfings are too strong for us. They have the biggest fleet in the Northlands, and their hirth, their army, is twice the size of ours. Therefore we must make peace with them. We will buy it, if necessary, with tribute money.

Wulfgar jumped to his feet. He was a wealthy thegn and an old spear-warrior who had weathered many battles. Swords and spears is all I will pay them!

Another seasoned old jarl named Sighard supported him: You should avenge your brother, not make peace with his killers!

This was the response that Hrothgar had expected. The old, unthinking response based on a blind sense of honour; fight, fight, fight, no matter if you win or lose. Perhaps he had been wrong to listen to Aschere. He would never be able to persuade them to try another way. However, here he was, so he decided to keep trying.

If we attack them, we will bring down another raid on Dene, and this time they might finish us off – we are not strong enough!

His words were realistic, but some among them thought they were dishonourable and were not slow to say so.

This is woman’s talk, said Wulfgar. They will say our new king is a coward.

All eyes looked at Hrothgar to see how he would respond. This was a pivotal moment, and they all knew it. Hrothgar knew it too. His eyes flashed with a steely glare and it seemed that his huge muscles rippled and swelled under his tunic.

Coward I am not! he said through gritted teeth as he tried to control that unseen force within him. His body shook, and his hand grasped his sword-hilt so firmly that his knuckles went white with the pressure. And I will prove it with cold steel to any man who is foolhardy enough to call me a coward to my face!

There was a moment of tension, then Wulfgar backed down, and not just because loyalty to one’s lord is the most important virtue in the Code of Honour. He also knew that Hrothgar, though usually a man of peace, was a man to be taken seriously when it came to sword-play. It was rumoured that as a youth he had killed a man over a similarly insignificant insult, and that he had striven hard to control the violent side of his nature ever since.

I meant that that is what the Wulfings will call you. I did not mean to call you that myself, said Wulfgar apologetically.

A murmur of assent rippled around the meeting. Hrothgar pressed his advantage. My policy is this: we must buy time to build up our strength – then we can fight!

Sighard nodded in agreement, but Wulfgar was still unhappy. Those responses indicated the split in opinion around the table. There was an outburst of discussion as the matter hung in the balance. Then Aschere spoke, throwing his weight on Hrothgar’s side.

You all know me. I am a seasoned warrior, and I know from experience that Hrothgar is right. War is just as often won with wisdom as with weapons. All the Scyldings and the Wulfings have done for generations is wear themselves out against each other.

After more discussion, when it seemed that the mood of the Thing was swinging towards Hrothgar, a little-known thegn called Unferth showed a sudden enthusiasm for the policy, though some remembered that only a few minutes ago that he had spoken in support of Wulfgar.

Unferth was a tall, wiry man, with lank black hair, and hard grey eyes, which blinked and shifted, and never looked you straight in the face. No one liked him because his character was a combination of two of the most despised qualities in a warrior culture – he was a bully and a coward. Stories were told about how he had murdered his own brother over a dispute about a piece of land. He never admitted it, of course, and told another story about the dispute that made it all seem like his brother’s fault. Whatever the truth behind the dispute, it was plain enough that Unferth had used violence, yet the warriors knew only too well that, when it came to warfare, Unferth was nowhere to be seen. He always had some excuse.

On this occasion, few people took any notice of him, because they guessed that he was just manoeuvring for personal advantage, but the politically astute amongst them noticed the look of approval in Hrothgar’s eyes, and hurried to position themselves on his side.

After further discussion, Hrothgar’s policy was put to the vote and accepted by acclamation of the majority. Another meeting was called soon after to thrash out the details. At this meeting it was noticed that Unferth was now seated at the left hand of Hrothgar, and it soon became clear that Hrothgar had made him his thyle. A thyle, or loremaster, is a counsellor who is a master of ancient lore, and can use his knowledge of that lore to give advice. But it was not so much lore that Unferth was a master of, but everybody else’s secrets. He loved to pry and spy, and could often be caught lingering behind a settle, or in a dark corner, listening to private conversations.

The discussions soon fell into a pattern. Hrothgar made a proposal, the old guard, championed by Wulfgar, argued against it, then Aschere and Unferth talked them round. They listened to Aschere because he had their respect as a veteran of many battles; and they felt compelled to take notice of Unferth because he seemed to know all their embarrassing little secrets. That was Unferth’s value to Hrothgar. He knew who was in whose power, by debt, family obligation, or unpaid wergild. He knew who was sleeping with another thegn’s wife or daughter, and he knew every man’s price, be it wine, women or war-gear.

When the Wulfing question was settled in Hrothgar’s favour, the Thing moved on to discuss the feud with the Scylfings. The Scylfings were the ruling dynasty of the Swedes and under their warlike king, Ongentheow, had ambitions to dominate the whole of the Northlands. They were already at war with the Geats, who occupied land to the south of their domains beyond the great lakes, and had their eyes on Skane, the land which lay beyond Vaster Gotland. After Skane came Dene, and of course there was an even quicker route to Dene by sea. Hrothgar urged that they should therefore make an alliance with the Swedes in the hope of keeping their hostile eyes away from Dene, for the time being, at any rate.

Trud nodded sagely. Trud, often called Trud the Far-Travelled, was the representative of the carls. He was a merchant who had made his fortune by trading rather than raiding. He had a far-look in his eyes, and was said to look just as deeply into himself as into the details of a bargain. He had seen many places, people and things as far north as Northway, and as far south as Rome, and he spent his long voyages home thinking about them. He had gained the reputation of a sage. He spoke little, but when he did speak his words were carefully considered.

Hrothgar is right, he said. The Scylfings have other ambitions in mind – we can perhaps divert their attention from our beloved kingdom of Dene by, if I may suggest it my lord, a marriage settlement.

That was what I had in mind myself, said Hrothgar. I have been considering sending my sister, Sigeneow, with an appropriate dowry, to Onela as a peaceweaver, and I want to know what you all think.

Onela was the second son of Ongentheow. Hrothgar would have preferred a marriage with Ohthere, who would one day inherit the throne, but it was too late for that. So he hoped that an alliance with Ongentheow’s