Grendel by John Gardner Page B

over them in herds. Before dawn, men rose to exercise the horses, polish weapons, or move out with bows in search of deer.
    Then one night when I went down to spy, they were gone, vanished like starlings from a tree. I followed their trail—footprints, hoofprints, and wagon ruts cutting a wide dirty swath toward the east. When I came in sight of them, I slowed down, laughing and hugging myself; it was going to be a massacre. They marched all night, then scattered into the forest like wolves and slept all day without fires. I snatched an ox and devoured it, leaving no trace. At dusk, they formed again. At midnight the armies arrived at the antlered hall.
    Hrothgar called out to him, glorious protector of the Scyldings, hoarfrost bearded: “Hygmod, lord of the Helmings, greet your guests!” Unferth stood beside him, hishuge arms folded on his byrnie. He stood with his head bowed, eyes mere slits, clamped mouth hidden where his mustache overlapped his beard. Bitterness went out from him like darkness made visible: Unferth the hero (known far and wide in these Scanian lands), isolated in that huge crowd like a poisonous snake aware of what it was. King Hrothgar called again.
    The young king came out, well armed, leading a bear and six retainers. He looked around him, blond and pale, arms ringed with gold, a vague smile hiding his shock. The army of the Scyldings and all their allies stretched off in the darkness as far as the eye could see—down the slopes of the hill, down the stone-paved roadways, away into the trees.
    Hrothgar made a speech, lifting his ashspear and shaking it. The young man waited like stone, his gloved right hand grasping the chain that led the bear. He had no chance, and he knew it. Everyone knew it but the bear beside him, standing upright, considering the crowd. I smiled. I could smell the blood that would drench the ground before morning came. There was a light breeze, a scent of winter in it. It stirred the fur on the men’s clothes and rattled the leaves around me. The bear dropped down on all fours and grunted. The king jerked the chain. Then an old man came out of the meadhall, went to the young king, just clear of the bear, and spoke to him.Hrothgar and all his allies were silent, waiting. The young king and the old man talked. The retainers at the meadhall door joined in, their voices low. I waited. Hrothgar’s whole army was silent. Then the young king moved toward Hrothgar. A rumble went through the crowd, then fell away like a wave retreating, drawing pebbles out from shore. At last, very slowly, the young king drew out his sword, with his left hand—a sign of truce—and dropped it, as if casually, in front of Hrothgar’s horse.
    “We will give you gifts,” the young king said, “splendid tribute in sign of our great respect for the honorable Scyldings.” His voice and smile were gracious. His eyes, slanting downward like the eyes of a fish, were expressionless as dried-up wells.
    Unferth laughed, all alone in the silence. The sound rolled away to the darkness to die among trees.
    Hrothgar, white-haired, white-bearded as the ice-god, shook his head. “There is no gift your people can give the Scyldings,” he said. “You think you can buy a little time with gold, and then some night when we’re sitting at our mead, you and all your brave allies will come down on us—crash!—as we tonight have come down on you, and no gift we can offer then will turn away your fury.” The old man smiled, his eyes wicked. “Do you take us for children that play in the yards with pets? What could we give youthat you couldn’t take by force, and at that time take from us tenfold?”
    Unferth smiled, looking at the bear. The young king showed nothing, accepting the joke and the argument as if he’d been expecting them. He gave the chain another jerk and the bear moved closer to him. When he’d waited long enough, he looked back up at Hrothgar.
    “We can give you such piles of treasure,” he