Atalanta

Strength, wisdom, charisma and valour - all virtues of a heroic persona. But contrary to popular belief, heroism was not a male monopoly in the ancient world, even in Greece. Sometimes a heroine could beat a hero at his own game. No finer an example of this was there than Atalanta.

Orchomenos of fair Arcadia
Photograph taken by Heinz Schmitz

In the idyllic pastures of Arcadia, there was once born a princess to King Iasus. But the King, who desired above all other things a son to continue his Royal House, was greatly dismayed. So the King ordered the baby to be left to die in the mountains, as was custom in Greece at the time for the unwanted (a practice frequently used by the Spartans to deal with deformed children who were believed to be incapable of growing into active citizens - for more on this, read here). But, like the shepherd who was ordered to do the same with young Oedipus, the man tasked with the grisly labour found himself, at the last moment, unable to condemn a child to such a fate. Taking pity on the wailing child, he carried her deep into the Arcadian mountains. Upon the slopes of Mount Partheneon, he struggled up the escarpment, coming to rest near a mountain spring. Reasoning here a better place than many others, the man lay the baby down in the grass, and took his leave. But what the herder had failed to spot was the mouth of the cave beyond the clearing, in the dense scrub.  From deep within the darkness, a furry muzzle emerged. Swift behind it the form of a great bear, a mother who had recently lost her cubs to hunters. Staying her savage instinct, the bear took pity on the feeble child before her, and suckled the child. Taking the child as her own, bear and girl lived together in the mountains.


Over time, Atalanta grew, and learned to hunt and fight as the bear, and became hardened to the world. Slowly, she began to grow into a woman, and a striking one at that. The match of any Arcadian girl in beauty, and surpassing them all in strength, endurance and sheer will. Years of exposure to the Sun had reddened her cheeks, so that she seemed to be perpetually blushing. This was one of her most formidable qualities - the other, was that any man who looked upon her would be at once charmed and stricken with fear, for a reason they would never know. She grew into a truly exceptional hunter, such that the goddess of the hunt herself, Artemis, favoured her greatly. Atalanta valued her solitude in the mountains, and committed herself, like her great patron, to a lifetime of chastity.

Meleager presents the head of 
the Calydonian Boar to Atalanta
Painting by Peter Paul Rubens

There came a time, however, in the kingdom of Calydonia, when a great blasphemy was committed. King Oineus one day gave thanks to the Olympian gods, but became distracted, and forgot to honour the lady Artemis. The fierce huntress was consumed with rage, and to the Calydonian lands she sent a monstrous boar, berserk fury in its mind, to curse the realm of men. Livestock was devastated, crops were destroyed and men sent to slay the beast were gored to death. Soon the whole kingdom was thrown into disarray. King Oineus grieved, and the king's son, Prince Meleager, issued a summons across the Greek world, for the greatest hunter of each kingdom to join him in the hunt. Meleager did not fear the creature, for he had heard a prophecy that his end would only come when a brand that burned in the family hearth would be consumed by fire. What risk lay there in the hunt? Legends had spread to Calydonia of the fierce maiden of the peaks, raised by beasts, and Meleager sent heralds to Atalanta to aid them. Her bear indued hunter's instinct fired, Atalanta agreed to help, and for the first time she descended from the mountains. Meleager, from the moment he saw her, was smitten, and invited her to his hunting party.


With a blast of Meleager's horn, the hunt began. The Calydonian Boar was outlandishly fast, however, and the hunters from far and wide tried in vain to gain on the creature. With all the world's great hunters left in the dust, it was young Atalanta who bore down upon the forbidden quarry now. On the sprint, she wrenched back her bowstring, and loosed a lethal barb ahead. The dart struck the boar and drew blood, the first time any weapon had pierced its hide. Slowed by its wounds, the boar stumbled, and Meleager pounced, slaying it with his spear. Awed by Atalanta, Meleager skinned the beast and offered its hide to the huntress, for it had been she who had first drawn blood. Plexippus and Toxeus, the uncles of Meleager, infuriated that the prize had been granted to a woman, tried to seize it from her. Blinded by passion and shame for the conduct of his family, Meleager struck them down where they stood. It was then that Althaea, Meleager's mother, distraught with grief and anger for her son's deeds, cast a log upon the fire. The ancient prophecy fulfilled, the brand was wreathed in flames, and when the wood burned out, the lifeforce of Meleager waned...


It was then that the legend of Atalanta spread across the land, admiration of her prowess that had shamed the greatest men of Greece. King Iasus heard the tale, and came to her. At once, he saw in her his own line, and rejoiced to see her, grateful now of the daughter he had in place of a son. Yet hopes of continuing his line had not died, and he asked Atalanta to be wed. Atalanta, oblivious to her father's former sentence of certain death against her, and feeling little loyalty to the man, having known only a bear as a parent, said bluntly "I will not be won, till I am conquered first in speed". Having bested the might of Greece in the hunt, Atalanta saw little in the men of the world now. The king proposed a contest among the bachelors of Greece, that they might come from far and wide and win the hand of the greatest huntress of them all. Atalanta half heartedly agreed, but only under lethal terms. The bear's wrath and a hunter's endurance waxed strong that day, for she decreed that any would be suitor would be subject to a grueling ordeal. The course was laid, and the suitor would begin the foot race, unarmed. After a set time, Atalanta would enter the field, and if she caught the suitor before the course bound was met, he would be immediately slain. Should she fail to catch him, that man would be her groom.

Hippomenes casts the Golden Apples
Painting by Nicolas Colombel

Suitors came from kingdoms far and kingdoms wide, drawn by the grisly allure of the prize. From the furthest reaches of the known world, they came in droves, all eager for the huntress' hand, the favoured of forest. Many set forth from the starting line, none ever passed the finish. Many a hope was dashed on the point of Atalanta's spear, as her frustration grew at the lack of true competition. Then one day came the charming and wise Hippomenes, a humble fellow Arcadian. Hippomenes, seeing the dead litter the path to the glade, and pure of heart, prayed to on high for guidance. The goddess Aphrodite, lady of passion, took pity on him, and could not bear to see a pure soul transfixed like so many before him on Atalanta's spear. Just before the race, the goddess gave to Hippomenes three apples of the brightest gold, as alluring to the female eye as the face of Atalanta was to the male. Atalanta saw her new challenger approaching, and fought the instinct within when she looked fondly upon him. Her wild nature took flight once more, and the red descended over her eyes. So the lines were drawn, and the race was begun, and quite literally did bold Hippomenes run for his life. A good start it was, as under the watchful eyes of Aphrodite did the eager boy compete. Then, the blast of the horn, and Hippomenes heard the sound of death begin her march. The heart rending sound of approaching, running, footfalls would have struck cold the hearts of any other man, but not Hippomenes. Fighting fear, and keeping his head clear, he took the first of the blessed apples, and cast it upon the ground behind him.

Atalanta, death in her eyes, caught sight of a glint of gold on the earth ahead, and was intrigued. She came to the source of the light, and bent down to pick it up. She saw that it was an apple, but the most luxurious she had ever seen, and was consumed with desire. Shaking her head, she recalled her task. Stowing the blessed fruit in her tunic, she set off at a sprint once more. But precious time had the huntress squandered in her distraction, for now bold Hippomenes had taken the lead.

Soon, the huntress was hot on the Arcadian's heels once more. Trusting in Aphrodite, with a prayer, he cast the second apple. For a second time, Infatuation conquered Atalanta, and for a second time, Hippomenes widened the lead. Then, the end of the course in sight, Hippomenes rejoiced. His euphoria nearly deafening him, Atalanta was now barely a spear thrust behind him. Trusting the gift for a third time, he released the last of his gilded fruit. Aphrodite blessed the last with the most potent incantation of all, and in the moment of her victory, Atalanta was irresistably drawn to the flash of gold. The split second cost her the last thrill of the hunt, and the foot of Hippomenes fell upon the finishing line. A shout went up from the crowd. A bewilderment came over Atalanta, joy over Hippomenes and admiration over the king. Impressed by the boy's ingenuity, he declared the Arcadian the winner. At last, a king, a huntress, and a farm boy had found peace...

United Kingdom

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

Aelianus:
Historical Miscellany (Loeb Classical Library)
(A 3rd century AD collection of all manner of weird and wonderful stories, including the most detailed account of Atalanta that survives from Antiquity)

United States

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

Aelianus:
Aelian: Historical Miscellany (Loeb Classical Library No. 486)
(A 3rd century AD collection of all manner of weird and wonderful stories, including the most detailed account of Atalanta that survives from Antiquity)

This Troublesome Priest

The young boy from Cheapside who grew up to be the nemesis of the King of England, and later, a Saint. The life and achievements of St. Thomas Becket are impressive no matter the times. Just as famous as his deeds however, was his infamous end...

The Angevin Empire at its height
Map created by the author

The twelfth century was a tumultuous time for the young Kingdom of England. Fifty two years before 1118, the year of Thomas' birth, the Saxon dynasty had been overthrown forever, replaced with the iron rule of the Normans. The lives of many, on both sides of the Channel, were changed forever. Around this time, Gilbert Becket decided to move his family from the village of Thierville in Normandy to London, there to seek a new life in the new Norman domain. By the time his son Thomas was born, he was a wealthy and respected London merchant and landowner. Young Thomas spent many a summer on the Sussex estates of the family friend Richer de L'Aigle, whiling away the sunny days hunting and hawking, fine pursuits of a young man. Schooled at Merton Priory and later Grammar School in London, young Thomas received a fine education for the day, thanks to his father's success in business. But dark times were coming. The peaceful days of King Henry I were soon overthrown in a ruinous civil war. After the tragic shipwreck which claimed the life of Prince William Adelin, the broken hearted Henry was left with only his daughter, Matilda, as his hope for an heir. Long did the King try to persuade the English barons to accept her, the first woman to reign in her own right in the history of England. Matilda, whose husband the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V had died not long before, was soon wed to Geoffrey of Anjou, so that Henry I might gain an alliance with the mighty County of Anjou in France. To the relief of the King, the couple produced a male heir, Henry. But when the King died in 1135, the ever suspicious Norman lords refused to acknowledge Matilda, throwing in their lot for Stephen, the Count of Blois, triggering a near twenty year devastating civil war in England between the forces loyal to Matilda, and those loyal to Stephen, in a period infamously known to history as The Anarchy. The war laid waste to vast swathes of Albion, and it was in this destruction that Gilbert Becket once prosperous trade crumbled. Young Thomas took up a job as a clerk to help the family, and soon ended up in the employ of Theobald of Bec, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the most powerful avatar of Christendom in the realm.

King Henry II of England
Image taken from the Manuscipt of the
Historia Anglorum of Matthew Parris

Escaping the turmoil that England had been hurled into, young Thomas marched forth as an emissary of Canterbury to Rome, spending many years in Europe learning the intricacies of many laws of the Church. After what seemed an age without end, there seemed to be hope at last for the dystopic British Isles. In December 1154, after a generation of endless war, the Norman dynasty lay in flames, when Henry the son of Empress Matilda landed on the southern coast of England. On the 19th of December, he was crowned King Henry II of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou, Duke of Aquitaine and Lord of Ireland, alongside his new Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine. The House of Normandy was over. The House of Plantagenet, a dynasty that would rule England longer than any other, even to this day, had begun. By conquest and by marriage, King Henry now ruled one of the mightiest realms in Europe, a vast state known as the Angevin Empire. In those bygone days, the kings of England ruled more of France than the King of France did. The lawlessness of the Anarchy was over, and once again the people of England enjoyed peace. With order restored, young Thomas returned triumphantly to the British Isles, and was granted the honour of Archdeacon of Canterbury, and offices in Lincoln Cathedral and St. Paul's Cathedral. The merchant's son was rising rapidly within the ranks of Feudal England...

Thomas Becket Enthroned
Nottingham Alabaster

With all the tenacity and determination that so characterised him, Becket hurled himself into his mission, impressing Archbishop Theobald with his whirlwind efficiency. Such was his drive, within a year the Archbishop recommended Becket directly to the King himself. Further up the rungs of the ladder of state did young Thomas go, when the King appointed him Lord Chancellor, arguably the most powerful minister of the kingdom, and custodian of the Great Seal of the Realm, a spectacular honour for one of such relatively humble birth. Fro seven years Thomas shone once more as comptroller of the King's finances, gaining the King's trust to such a degree that the heir to the throne the young Prince Henry was even sent to live in Becket's household. It was once remarked that the Prince once said that Becket became more a father to him than the King himself. When Theobald died in 1162, the mightiest Bishopric in England fell vacant, and to many there was no doubt as to whom should succeed. A deeply pious man at heart, Becket cast aside the Chancellorship and took the cloth on the 3rd of June, taking vows of asceticism, and pledging to champion the cause of Christendom in England. Storm clouds began to gather between the King and his new Archbishop, dismayed as Henry was that Becket had put the Church before State. It began with the rejection of the authority of secular courts over the clergy by Becket, which challenged the power of the state. Alarmed at this sudden thinking, King Henry conspired to turn the other Bishops against him. Yet rumours of treachery ran common, and in 1164, the King decreed, near four hundred years before Henry VIII, that England would not automatically bow to the wishes of the Pope of Rome (due to his fame, one often considers Henry VIII as the man who grappled with the Pope - the truth is that the Kings of England had wrestled with Rome for centuries by the time the Reformation took place). It took all of Henry's charisma and majesty with words to sway the gathered courts at Clarendon, but carry the day he did. Archbishop Becket however, refused to sign the heretical treaty. The board was set. Thomas Becket was ordered to present himself before the royal council on charges of contempt of royal authority. The Council, jealous of Becket's upstart power, convicted him, and the Archbishop was banished from the realm.


Evading the King's men, Becket fled to France where he was given sanctuary by King Louis VII in the monastery of Pontigny. For near two years he resisted in exile, excommunicating his foes in the English Church, for no precedent existed for removing the Archbishop of Canterbury from power. Meanwhile, King Henry seethed. The looming eyes of Pope Alexander III were ever watchful, but when Becket threatened the King of England himself with excommunication (a fate worse than death in the medieval world), the King's frustration turned to anger. When the Pope agreed a truce, Becket returned to England, immune to earthly shackles, and continued to excommunicate all in his path. When he heard that Prince Henry had been crowned in his absence, an act only the Archbishop of Canterbury could perform, he excommunicated the Archbishop of York.


King Henry was in Normandy when the news reached him. As news of rifts in his vast empire fell upon his ears, a cry of rage shook the hall, with words that to this day have been in dispute:


                 " What miserable fools and traitors hath I nourished and
                    raised in my household, who grant their Lord be so trifled
                   by so low born a cleric! "
                           - KING HENRY II ON BECKET


Some say his fury was stronger still, and that the King roared in frustration:

                 " Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?! "
                          - KING HENRY II's LETHAL WISH

The Murder of Thomas Becket
English Psalter of 1250,
currently in the Walters Art Gallery,
Baltimore

Legendary was the wrath of the Plantagenet Kings, and all who looked on feared what irrational deeds anger would inspire in the King. Standing there that day were four knights, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy, Richard le Breton and Reginald FitzUrse, all eager to serve and please their King. Mistaking the King's fiery words for royal command, the four rode forth from court to carry out their terrible deed. On sunset of the fifth day of Christmas 1170, the four knights arrived in Canterbury town, their eyes set on the towering cathedral. As evening fell on Canterbury, the clergy and the Archbishop were celebrating the Vespers service. A certain Subdeacon of the cathedral beckoned the knights in, a name since blackened in history. The monks loyal to the Archbishop moved to bar the doors, but their hand was stayed by Becket. "'Tis not proper", spake he, "that a house of prayer,a church of Christ, be made a fortress". Seizing their chance, the knights burst in in full armour, sharpened swords gleaming in the failing light. "Where is Thomas Becket, traitor of the King and Kingdom", one demanded to the congregation. Silence reigned. "Where is the Archbishop!" they cried aloud. At this Becket rose to his feet and faced his foe. "The righteous will be like a bold lion and free from fear", said he. Into the evenlight he moved, "Here I am, not a traitor of the King but a priest; why do you seek me?". At the altar Archbishop Becket stopped, and turned to face the image of the holy confessor St. Benedict. The four men of steel bore down upon him, "Absolve and restore to communion those thou hast excommunicated, and reconcile those who hath been banished", the knights commanded. "No penance hath been made, so I shall not absolve them", the Archbishop coolly replied. "Then you", spake they, "will now die and will suffer what thou hast earned". "And I", said he, "am prepared to die for my Lord, so that in my blood the Church will attain liberty and peace; but in the name of Almighty God I forbid that thou striketh my men, cleric or layman should he be".


"With rapid motion they laid sacrilegious hands on him", and moved to drag him from the sanctum, for to strike down a man of the cloth was sin enough, but to do so on hallowed ground was the devil's work indeed. But Archbishop Becket was loath to release his grip upon the stone pillar. Seeing Reginald coming near, Archbishop Becket spoke his last command. "Touch me not, Reginald, you who oweth me faith and obedience, you who foolishly follow these men". A burning rage did this spark in the knight, who rounded on Becket, "I owe thee neither faith nor obedience when faced with fealty I owe my King". Seeing Doom coming now, Thomas Becket lowered in prayer when Reginald's blade sang through the air. With one mighty blow, as the heavenly crown was laid on the Archbishop's head, his earthly one was hewn by steel. A second blow met its mark, but not yet over was it. On the third strike he sank to his knees, "for the name of Jesus I am ready to embrace death", said he. So forceful was the knight's blow, the blade of the sword was shattered upon the cold stone below. An accomplice in the Church, loyal to the King, spoke the last. "We can leave this place, knights, he will rise no more".

The Becket Casket
Reliquary made c. 1180-1190,
Currently in the Victoria & Albert Museum, London

Soon after news of the impious deed spread like wildfire through Europe, and with it admiration for the pious Becket. Crowds across the continent chanted his name and called him martyr. two years later, Pope Alexander III declared him a saint. The four assassins fled north to Knaresborough Castle, and holed up for a year. All four were excommunicated by the Pope, yet journeyed to Rome, braving threats of lynching, to plead before the Vicar of Christ. Pope Alexander was merciful, and decreed that each man serve penance for fourteen years in the Holy Lands. To Outremer were they henceforth banished. But it was King Henry who was racked with grief and guilt at the horrible deed. Never truly meaning his death, after all, they had once been friends, the King fell into a desperate sorrow, and a fear for his immortal soul. On the 12th July, 1174, the King performed an unprecedented humility. By the Church of St. Dunstans, the King of England set out barefoot and clad in sackcloth, and undertook his pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral, whipped along the road to redemption. The monks, afraid of relic thieves, buried Becket beneath the floor in the East of the Cathedral. Fifty years later, King Henry III, grandson of Henry II, gave them a lavish new setting in pride of place within the Cathedral. There they regally sat until they were destroyed by order of King Henry VIII in 1538. The most intact relic survives today in the so called Becket Casket. Canterbury has ever since been a great pilgrimage site in Christendom, with images of the Saint all over the Christian World. Quite a legacy for the boy from Cheapside...



United Kingdom

The Biography
Thomas Becket: Warrior, Priest, Rebel, Victim: A 900-Year-Old Story Retold
(A grand tale of Becket's life, easy to read and with links to the original accounts)

United States

The Biography

Thomas Becket: Warrior, Priest, Rebel
(A grand tale of Becket's life, easy to read and with links to the original accounts)

The Judgement of Paris

It is a curious thing how great the influence of one person can be on the course of history. Though they may not know it at the time, one person truly can make all the difference. The Trojan War, the most iconic of its kind in history, which forever bound the great civilisations of the West, and whose heroes are spoken of in awe even today, began because of one such person. But the War (whose story begins here) found its origins in the most unlikely of places...

The Marriage of Thetis and Peleus
Painting by Hendrick de Clerck

One day, far distant in the mists of time, high on the peaks of Mount Ida, there was great jubilation. It was a joyful day, for it saw the wedding of the nymph Thetis to Peleus, a marriage which held the blessings of the gods of Olympus. Great would be their progeny indeed, for one day their union would give birth to the mightiest of champions - Achilles, whose name the world would ever after speak of in reverence. Men, nymphs, gods, goddesses and all manner of magical creatures came from far and wide to celebrate, bearing a dazzling array of gifts to honour the happy day. Even Ares, lord of war, and Artemis, chaste maiden of the hunt, were to be seen in the great ensemble. All were euphoric, the skies rang to the sound of music, and not a sad face was to be seen amid the revelry. All, that was, except for one. For, skulking in the shadows, was the only being who had not received an invitation. Looking on in cold fury at her rejection, Eris, the goddess of discord, whose evil ways had ever left her shunned amid the spirits of the world, conspired to take her revenge, and bring cruel chaos down upon the scene before her now. As she circled in the shade of the trees, she cast her thoughts to how she could bring her malevolent influence to bear. Perhaps she could spread foul rumours amongst the guests? Poison the minds of the many against their gracious hosts? Openly denounce the bridal pair? There was a dark moment, when her rage waxed grave indeed, when she considered, for one brief moment, going to the very depths of the world, to the deepest part of the Underworld, and breaking asunder the Gates of Tartarus, and so releasing the Titans from their infernal bonds, to be unleashed once more upon the world. It was a fortunate thing indeed, that her fear was too great to carry out this dark deed. Instead, her thoughts turned to discord, that thing at which she was adept at spreading above all others.

Taking a Golden Apple from the Garden of the Hesperides (of the very same tree which Heracles had once ventured to, for the story, please click here), the vengeful goddess inscribed upon it "For the fairest". Never before or again would one sentence bring such ruinous calamity upon the world. Eris, proud of her stratagem, took careful aim, hurling the fruit into the midst of the dancing goddesses. All were amazed at the shining seed now before them, but none more so than three of the greatest goddesses - Hera, Queen of the gods, Athena, goddess of wisdom and war and Aphrodite, goddess of lust. From the moment they set eyes upon it, each goddess claimed the Apple for their own. As discord and argument soon spread as to who should rightfully bear the fruit, the three goddesses turned to Zeus, King of all the gods, to judge himself. Knowing well the undying wrath he would earn from the two he did not choose, the Thunderer wisely refused. To a mortal man should fall this mighty burden, the god ruled, as he thought to himself who this soul could be.

There was, not far away on the slopes of Mount Ida, a young man tending his flocks as a faithful shepherd. But this man was no ordinary shepherd. Named Paris, he was an exile of royal blood, cast out of his homeland whilst still a baby. For long ago, the boy's mother, Queen Hecuba of the royal house of Troy, had experienced a terrible nightmare. Just before her son's birth, she saw a vision that she would give birth to a flaming torch. When she awoke with a start, she confided in her husband, King Priam. Priam decided to consult an Oracle as to what this strange portent could mean. The seer Aesacus, when the royal couple retold their worries to him, was gripped with anguish. The child that the Queen would soon bear, the prophet declared, would be the ruin of Troy. The seer urged them to kill the child as soon as it was born, and save Troy from her doom. The day came, however, when Paris entered the world, and from the moment Hecuba and Priam looked upon him, they could bring no harm upon their own flesh and blood. Despairing, Priam handed the child over to Agelaus, his chief herdsmen, to take him away. The shepherd took the young Paris far from Troy's towering heights, but as a he too looked upon the baby, he found that he could not bring himself to slay a child. Vowing to raise the child as his own, he took Paris into his care, where the two lived happily, with a simple life upon the slopes of Mount Ida. It was to Paris that the goddesses of Olympus came now, forever to change his destiny, and that of the world.

The Judgement of Paris
Painting by Rubens

It was with great fear that Paris beheld the sight of Hermes, messenger of the gods, bearing down upon him on that fateful day. " Fling away thy milking-pail and leave thy fair flocks and come hither and give decision as judge of the goddesses of heaven. Come hither and decide which is the more excellent beauty of face, and to the fairer give this apple’s lovely fruit ", the swift footed god declared. Paris stood, transfixed, hardly daring to question, even less refuse the command of Olympus. In a flash of blazing glory, the three goddesses appeared suddenly before him, in all their divine majesty. One by one, the goddesses approached, Athena, lady of war and wisdom first:

          " Come hither, son of Priam! leave the spouse of Zeus and heed not Aphrodite,
            queen of the bridal bower, but praise thou Athena who aids the prowess of men.
            They say that thou art a king and keepest the city of Troy. Come hither,
            and I will make thee the saviour of their city to men hard pressed:
            lest ever Enyo of grievous wrath weigh heavily upon thee.
            Hearken to me and I will teach thee war and prowess! "

Then came Hera, regal mistress of Olympus:

         " If thou wilt elect me and bestow on me the fruit of the fairer,
           I will make thee lord of all mine Asia. Scorn thou the works of battle.
           What has a king to do with war? A prince gives command both to the valiant
           and to the unwarlike. Not always are the squires of Athena foremost.
           Swift is the doom and death of the servants of Enyo! "

Finally, there stood Aphrodite, folly of all men, who simply looked Paris in the eyes, smiling, as she began to speak:

      " Accept me and forget wars: take my beauty and leave the sceptre
         and the land of Asia. I know not the works of battle.
         What has Aphrodite to do with shields? By beauty much more do women excel.
         In place of manly prowess I will give thee a lovely bride, and, instead of kingship,
         enter thou the bed of Helen. Lacedaemon, after Troy, shall see thee a bridegroom! "

Helen
Painting by Evelyn de Morgan

Little did Paris, or the other deities assembled know, that Aphrodite wore a girdle infused with a powerful enchantment. No man which looked upon its wearer could resist base temptation. Still did the words flow from Aphrodite as the son of Priam already offered the Apple to her. Triumphant, Aphrodite raised her glittering prize, mocking her competitors mercilessly. Athena was angered, but it was nothing compared with the fury of Hera. For from this moment the House of Troy and all her descendants had made an eternal enemy of the goddess, and her curse would plague the destiny of the Trojan race. Aphrodite turned to Paris, placing her blessing upon him, declaring that he had the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world. Her name was Helen. With this promise, the goddesses departed, leaving Paris severely shaken. All he could think of now was Helen, far away in the distant lands of Greece. Unable to turn his thoughts anywhere but to her, he resolved to seek her out. Little could he know now the whole world of pain that this decision would unleash...




United Kingdom

Colluthus:
Oppian. Colluthus. Tryphiodorus (Loeb Classical Library)
(The most poetic, and best preserved form of the story)

Colluthus:
http://www.theoi.com/Text/Colluthus.html
(A sample available to read online)

United States

Colluthus:
Oppian, Colluthus, Tryphiodorus (Loeb Classical Library No. 219)
(The most poetic, and best preserved form of the story)

Colluthus:
http://www.theoi.com/Text/Colluthus.html
(A sample available to read online)

The Monkey Who Would Be King

When we in the West think of the Medieval era, often what comes to mind are armoured knights, courtly ladies, corrupt clergy, devastating plagues and the Crusades. All too easily one can forget that there was a vibrant world beyond Europe. Yet whilst King Henry VIII of England and the Pope were tearing themselves and Christianity apart, an ancient civilisation flourished in the East. For the Ming Dynasty of Imperial China was a force to be reckoned with, riding the wave of an illustrious culture which today is at least three thousand years old. Global trade boomed, religious wars were an alien concept and the arts underwent a Renaissance. Here is one of the many stories hailing from those times, the tale of the Monkey who desired the Heavens.

The Monkey jumps the Waterfall
Woodblock print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi

Legend tells of an ancient mountain, rising from the distant Eastern Oceans. Living beings, both mortal and divine, knew it as the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits, for its towering heights were bountiful, lush and green. The denizens of the Mountain, however, were not quite so idyllic. For everywhere one looked, demons ran amok, and order was always far away. Only one cavern in the cliffs was free of them, the Water Curtain Cave, so named for the the roaring waterfall which plunged over its entrance, and no being dared cross it. One day, from the shifting powers of chaos and order in the cosmos, a strange egg of stone was formed at the very summit of the Mountain. The fauna of the land were puzzled by this strange object, and more so when it hatched. For one day, with a deafening crack, the two halves of the shell blasted apart, and from the midst emerged a monkey. An inquisitive creature, the monkey soon found a tribe of others like him on the slopes of the Mountain. The other monkeys were welcoming, and proudly showed their tranquil domain, but were careful to explain to the newcomer that the cavern beyond the thundering waters was where no monkey trod. The newcomer, however, a stranger to the superstitions of the world, merely laughed, and with a spectacular jump, soared through the falls, landing gracefully upon the bare rock within. The other monkeys looked on, shocked, but in awe. Revering the newcomer, the tribe named him as the Monkey King.

Sun Wukong - the Monkey King
Woodblock print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi

The Monkey King relished his new station, and soon all the monkey tribes of the Mountain were united under his rule. But after a time, he grew haughty. Calling himself the 'Handsome Monkey King', he soon began to tire of the limits that mortality brings. So, one day, he bundled several sticks together and built a raft, setting off over the horizon of the Great Ocean. Coming at last to the civilised spheres of the world, the Monkey King travelled far and wide, on a quest for knowledge and power. Now there were only a few beings on Earth who wielded the arcane power that linked Heaven and Earth, and these were the Xian (in Taoism, the Xian are a race of immortals). After an age, the Monkey King tracked down one of the Xian, determined to become his disciple and rise above his lowly station as a monkey. At first, the Xian turned the monkey away, again and again, mistrusting the creature and suspecting deceit. But when the monkey implored the Xian for knowledge, that he had travelled across Ocean and land to find him, the great spirit began to listen. Intrigued, the Xian asked him where he had come from, expecting the animal to reply 'the trees'. "All I remember is that there was a magic stone on the top of the Flower and Fruit Mountain, and that one year the stone split open and I was born", the monkey replied. The Xian was amazed at this, declaring "you were born of Heaven and Earth". The Xian took the monkey on as his apprentice, granting him a new name - Sun Wukong - a name which means Monkey Awakened to Emptiness. Soon, Sun began to gain mastery over human speech, and as the Xian grew impressed at his eagerness to learn, began to learn the ways of magic. Sun learned the secret of shapeshifting, and could soon morph his lowly form into seventy two different creatures. He learned, too, how to soar thirty four thousand miles in a single leap. Each of the hairs on his simian body he could bend to his will, transforming each to whatever he desired, even a clone of himself.

Sun Wukong before the Jade Emperor
Woodblock print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi

Before long, Sun began succumb to pride once again. Boasting of his sheer power to the Xian's other disciples, Sun soon earned the scorn of his master. When the monkey's arrogance went too far, the Xian turned him away from his realm, commanding Sun never to reveal to another soul where he had learned his sorcery. Believing himself greater than the Xian, Sun returned to the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits, and enthroned himself once again, this time to be worshipped as a demigod by the creatures of the world. Ravenous for power, Sun could no longer be sated by the Earth itself. Diving to the depths of the Ocean, the monkey turned his hand to thievery, breaking into the watery domain of Ao Guang, the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea. For he sought Ruyi Jingu Bang, a magical staff, a weapon of immense power and the very tool by which the gods had pushed the Ocean floor to the depths. The Staff glowed bright when Sun approached, acknowledging its new master. Hungrily, Sun stole it, and made his escape, conquering the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas with the boundless power over the oceans which the Staff brought him. The forces of Heaven, however, began to grow angry with Sun, and after an immense struggle, overpowered the monkey and bound him in Hell. It was then that Sun realised with a jolt that, as a mortal, he could still die. So the monkey broke free of his bonds, slew his guards and tore his name from the pages of the Book of Life and Death. In this tome was recorded the fates of every creature on the earth, and its word was law. Now that Sun's name was absent, the monkey was immortal, and the gods, outraged at his blasphemy, conspired against him.

The Jade Emperor
Image taken from a Chinese painted silk,
Ming Dynasty, 16th century

The Heavenly Spirits appealed to the Jade Emperor, the god who ruled Heaven and the mortal worlds, for help. A peaceful being, the Jade Emperor sought a peaceful solution to the crisis. Summoning Sun to him, he offered the monkey the position of Keeper of Heaven's Horses, believing that a station in Heaven would satiate the creature's ambition. Happily, Sun accepted. It was not long after, however, that Sun discovered that this was the lowliest position in Heaven. Enraged, the monkey threw open the gates to the Stables, and the Horses of Heaven bolted, causing havoc. Fawning and apologetic, the gods made Sun the Keeper of the Heavenly Garden. Satisfied, yet mistrustful, Sun accepted. However, when a vast banquet was held in the Garden, and all the gods and goddesses were invited, and Sun was not, the monkey once again went on the rampage. Turning once again to thievery, the monkey stole the peaches of immortality, the property of the mother goddess Xi Wangmu, and the pills of longevity that were the property of Lao Tzu (the founder of Taoism), and the royal wine that was the property of the Jade Emperor himself, before sprinting back to his island home. The gods, furious, sent the armies of Heaven to arrest Sun. Though a hundred thousand strong, the hosts of Heaven were no match for the arcane might of the Xian that Sun had learned, as the Monkey King conquered them all. Drunk with an unbridled thirst for power, Sun let his guard down, just enough so that the combined power of all the gods could restrain him at last. Angry this time, the Jade Emperor commanded Lao Tzu to seal the monkey into a cauldron and set a fire beneath it, to eradicate Sun once and for all. Lao Tzu, still seething at the thievery he had suffered, obeyed without hesitation. Celebrating, the gods departed, and for a while, peace was at hand in the cosmos.

Forty nine days later, when many of the gods had even forgotten about Sun, they broke the seal on the cauldron. Spitting with deranged fury, out jumped the monkey with not so much as a singed hair. For the gods had forgotten that, since the monkey had torn his name from the Book of Life and Death, he could not be killed. Howling with frustration, the gods despaired. Desperate, and no longer able to contain Sun, the weary Jade Emperor turned to the very power behind the cosmos - the Buddha himself.

The Buddha
13th century Bronze statue in Kamakura, Japan

Meanwhile, such was the boundless reach of his ambition, Sun had fashioned yet another name for himself - the Great Sage, and now sought to be sole ruler of Heaven. Then, the voice of power sounded in the Great Sage's mind, the voice of the Buddha. The Buddha chastised the monkey for desiring to seize the Heavenly Palace. The Great Sage retorted with boasts of his prowess, how he could transform into seventy two shapes, and travel thirty four thousand miles in a single jump, doubting even that the Buddha could match him. Calmly, the Buddha responded with a wager. If Sun could, with a single jump, outleap the Buddha himself, the Jade Emperor would abdicate and the throne of Heaven would be his. If, however, he did not, he would be cast below the Earth, to meditate on his loss for eons. The proud monkey accepted at once. Bracing, Sun breathed in deeply, crouched down, and eyed the horizon, poised for the jump of his life. With a shout he was off, and what a leap it was! The monkey was but a blur, soaring through the sky. It was with such power that he kicked off, he even left the atmosphere, hurtling through the cosmos. Soon, the monkey saw the five great pillars which marked the boundaries of the Universe, as he began to lose speed and came back down again, landing atop the central pillar. The pillar was curiously round, and the drop terrifying, but all the same, Sun marked his name where he landed, howling with triumph.

Turning back, he jumped back to where he started from, and found the Buddha awaiting him there. "Tell the Jade Emperor to hand the Heavenly Palace over to me", Sun declared. "You wretch!" the Buddha angrily retorted "You never left the palm of my hand". Bemused, Sun described that he had reached the very pillars of the Universe - "do you dare come and see it with me?" There was no need, the Buddha replied, all he had to do was look down. When the monkey looked down, he felt a pang of horror. For the Buddha had held out his hand, and there on the top of his middle finger, were the words Sun had written. The pillars he had seen were the Buddha's own fingers! So the monkey saw the full extent of his vanity at last, and could not believe it. Turning to run, he saw those great pillars closing in on him until he was in their grip. In a flash, they became mountains, and the monkey was now buried beneath them, left to ponder the price of his arrogance...

United Kingdom

Journey to the West:
Monkey (Penguin Classics)
(One of the four great Classical novels of China, the story is surprisingly easy to read)

United States

The Journey to the West:
Monkey (Penguin Classics)
(One of the four great Classical novels of China, the story is surprisingly easy to read)

The Blacksmith's Revenge

Legend tells of a King who once lived in the far northern wastes of Sweden, a King infamous for his cruelty his greed and his savage megalomania - King Nidud. His subjects, and his servants, lived in constant fear of the King's wrath, which could be sparked by the most trivial of things, or even by his boredom. The feared King, however, would learn to rue the day he turned his ferocity toward the blacksmith Völundr.

Völundr
Image in the public domain

One day, long ago, the three sons of the King of the Finns went hunting in the high mountains. Their names were Eginn, Slagfinn, and the youngest was called Völundr. Blissfully lost in the woods, the brothers came to a clearing by the side of a great lake, a place so beautiful they decided to build a house there. Their tiring work done, the brothers admired their handiwork, and slept soundly in their new abode. When the brothers awoke the next morning, they were transfixed by the sight before them. Three young women, laughing and spinning flax, were relaxing by the calm waters. Stricken by their beauty, the stunned brothers realised who they were - Valkyries (for more about them, please click here). Overjoyed at their fortune, the brothers invited the maidens to their new dwelling, and were gracious hosts to their glamorous guests. Time passed, and soon each brother had fallen for a Valkyrie. Völundr was captivated by the Valkyrie Alvit, and soon the two were bound in matrimony. For seven years they lived in joyful serenity, having a son, until one day, Völundr awoke to find her missing. Searching far and wide, he could find no trace of her, and soon discovered that the same had happened to his two brothers. The Valkyries had departed the land, for as the servants of Odin, they were bound to his will and obeyed his summons. Alvit had left her beloved Völundr with just a golden ring to remember her by. Racked with grief, Eginn and Slagfinn set off in vain search of their Valkyries, whilst Völundr remained behind, sad, yet hopeful that he may one day see Alvit again. He lived a life of quiet grace, focusing his mind on his ability to work metal in place of his sorrow. Soon, his skill was such that he became famous throughout the lands of the North for the fabulously ornate objects that emerged from his forge.

Völundr at the Forge
Image taken from the 'Franks Casket' (British Museum)

Far away, word reached the ear of King Nidud of Völundr's talent. A greedy and heartless man, Nidud resolved to make a slave of this blacksmith, so that no other might boast of riches greater than his own. Like many wicked men, he sought such riches not to admire their beauty, but simply to possess them.  The cruel King sent forth his soldiers to seize the smith and his treasures, and to bring Völundr before him. The soldiers found Völundr asleep, dreaming of the return of Alvit, when they seized his possessions, and hurled the blacksmith himself into a sack. When Völundr opened his eyes again, he found himself, hands bound, staring into the harsh face of King Nidud himself. The King eyed the smith, running his fingers over a golden ring. Völundr saw, to his anger, that it was the ring which his beloved Alvit had left him. Nidud declared that Völundr would henceforth make riches only for him, until the day he died. His anger building, Völundr cried "Never!" The King, secretly a coward, was unnerved that someone would not be afraid of him. His fear soon turning to fury, Nidud ordered his guards to take Völundr to the tiny island of Saevarstad, where the blacksmith would either comply, or die. Just then, the King's wife, who was no better a person than her husband, suggested that the sinews in the blacksmith's legs be severed, so that he may never run, or swim, and escape. Nidud's two sons howled with laughter as Völundr's screams of pain pierced the night.


When Völundr regained consciousness, he found himself on the smallest, most miserable and lonely island one can imagine. So small he could easily see the whole coast, and the raging torrents crashing upon them, he was given a squalid hut in which to work, and if the previous day's work was satisfactory to the King,  a messenger would bring food. There would be no comforts here. Tears of rage flowed down Völundr's fair cheek, with Alvit as distant as ever, whilst Nidud besmirched the glory of his works with his cruel hand:


                                           " Shines Nidud's
                                             sword in his belt,
                                             which I whetted
                                             as I could best,
                                             and tempered,
                                             as seemed to me most cunningly;
                                             that bright blade forever
                                             is taken away from me:
                                             never shall I see it borne
                                             into Völundr's smithy... "
                                                    - THE MELANCHOLY OF VÖLUNDR


Descended from the Elves, Völundr possessed some of the cunning of that race, and thought desperately of how to escape his sorry plight. Time passed, and soon the treasuries of King Nidud overflowed with the most exquisite works of gold and silver imaginable, and the King was pleased, for he was the envy of the land. Every night, after his backbreaking work for the King's lust for riches was done, Völundr set to work, crafting for himself a set of wings, with struts of silver, and feathers of the most finely beaten brass. Slowly, over time, the wings began to take shape.

Bodvild and Völundr
Relief by Johannes Gehrts

One day, when the wings were nearing completion, a visitor came to Völundr's island - the King's daughter, Bodvild. Now Bodvild was something of a black sheep in her family. Spared the cruel nature of her father, mother and brothers, Bodvild had a warmer, gentler nature. Indeed, from the moment she saw Völundr in her father's hall and pitied him, had fallen for him. Now she came before him, and tentatively asked the lame smith if he might adjust a ring for her, too big for her own finger as it was. Turning to face her, Völundr saw that she was running her finger over a golden ring - Alvit's ring. Burning with fury, Völundr took back the ring and seized his hammer, determined to slay her then. If he could not reach the King, then she would have to do. Neither Völundr nor Boldvid could have imagined what was going through the other's mind. But then, just as Völundr advanced upon her, she declared her anger with her father for his cruelty, and confessed her feelings.  Blinded with silent rage, Völundr would not be swayed from his vengeance, yet saw now a new way to retaliate. The morning after, Völundr spurned her advance, commanding her to leave him and never seek him out again, knowing that he would condemn her to a lifetime of mournful melancholy. The princess fled in tears, distraught, and truly alone. Völundr, who had suffered such torments, now rapidly descended into the very thing he hated so much.


Back in the palace, selfish though he was, Nidud could not help noticing that Bodvild was a shadow of her former self, wandering the corridors as though a shade. But fresh disturbances began to plague him. His sons, his heirs to his kingdom, had not been seen since the day before. As the royal family sat down to their banquet that evening, messengers brought fresh gifts from Völundr to the High Table. King Nidud marvelled at his latest treasure - two goblets. The cups were rather grander in size than any normal chalice, rather similar in size, in fact, to a human skull. Gazing hungrily at the silver gilt cups, the greedy King drank deeply from them, as the heartless Queen placed her gift around her neck - a magnificent necklace, of four precious stones. Each stone was unlike any seen before, circular, and rather like the shape of a human eyeball. The Queen rather thought it reminded her of her two boys, but she could not place her finger upon exactly why. Bodvild, dejected, barely noticed her own gift, of a golden brooch, inlaid with many rows of nuggets, each rather like a human tooth in size.

Völundr's forge
Image taken from Ardre Image Stone VIII

Far away, on the lonely isle, the vengeful blacksmith had at last finished work on his shiny new wings. As a storm raged outside, Völundr took flight, heading toward Nidud's castle. As the night closed in, a flash of thunder suddenly roused the King from his slumber, and he was afraid. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his boys had visited Völundr, and maybe the blacksmith might know of their fate? He did not have to wait long to see him. For there, framed in his window, stood Völundr himself, dripping with rainwater, his face contorted with savage pleasure. "Where are my brave boys?" demanded King Nidud. Völundr laughed. They had both come to his smithy, demanding him to craft for them swords of gold. He had slain them both, gilt their skulls in silver and cast their bodies beside his forge. He further had wrenched their eyes from their sockets and set them too, in metal, and wove them into a necklace, which the boys' own mother now wore. He had broken their teeth and set them in a brooch of gold, which the boys' own sister now wore pinned to her chest. Völundr mocked Nidud, as now he had slain both his sons, and broken the heart of his daughter. The King wailed, as to his horror, he realised that he had drunk wine from the skulls of his own sons. The Queen, her sanity broken forever, simply laughed maniacally at the night, whilst the King, for the first time in his life, wept. Völundr, who now had truly forgotten his old self, leapt from the window, and took flight...

The saga of Völundr is at once a tragedy, a moral tale and a warning. It is common for heroes to grow in virtue as their quest develops, but Völundr is completely the opposite. As a result of his arduous life, each test served only to shake the foundations of his humanity, and is a stark reminder that cruelty so often breeds more cruelty, and that life does not always have a happy ending...

United Kingdom

The Poetic Edda:
The Poetic Edda (Oxford World's Classics)
(A grand collection of tales, mythology and fable from across the Norselands)

United States

The Poetic Edda:
The Poetic Edda (Oxford World's Classics)
(A grand collection of tales, mythology and fable from across the Norselands)

Grendel and Beowulf

Sometimes the most enduring heroes are immortalised not through great wit or cunning, but by that most ancient masculine virtue - sheer strength. There is not a civilisation of mankind that has not idolised the strong and worshipped the mighty, from great Heracles of the ancient world to the thunder god Thor of the Norse lands (for the story of Heracles, click here, and for Thor, here). So, many long centuries after the fall of the ancient powers, when the bards of England sang of the deeds of a new hero, Beowulf, a fresh legend was born.

King Hrothgar and Queen Wealtheow
Illustration by J R Skelton

Many years ago, when the Dark Ages held their bleak grip over the Northern Lands, their sat a wise and courageous man on the throne of Denmark. Hrothgar was his name, and Danes far and wide spoke of his valour and glory in the many wars of his reign, and of the beauty of his Queen Wealtheow. The times were good, and Hrothgar celebrated this new golden age with a magnificent banqueting hall, where he could make merry with the boldest thanes in the kingdom. A splendid and awesome sight it was too, towering high, "foremost of all halls under Heaven" and shining with gold. The name of this most glorious hall was Heorot, a name which soon was as revered as its ruler. When Heorot was at last complete and stood proud and tall, many a night of joy and feasting transpired within. As the cold, dark nights drew in beyond its walls, the servants scurried busily through the hall, bearing the most marvellous roasted boars to the many tables in Heorot. The air was rent with the cries of revelry, and the notes struck by the bards of the court, as harp and song could be heard for miles around. This was a place where evil dwelled not, and no blood or wicked ways had yet stained its shining floors. Greatness, however, is always transitory.

Grendel
Illustration by J R Skelton

Far were the sounds of festivity carried from Heorot's lofty heights, to a distant and stormy lake. One night, within the tormented depths of the dark waters, something stirred. Within the blackened waves, an ageless evil made its grim abode. The monstrous daemon within raised a vast eyelid, awoken by the distant song. The sound of jubilation roused a long dormant hatred in the malevolent beast, who was roused to a towering rage by the thought of it. This was a creature of a damned line. A descendant of Cain, the son of Adam who slew his own brother Abel in the Garden of Eden, and was the first to stain the name of man with murder, the monster cursed God, and was cursed by God. The name of this foul hellion was Grendel, he who held man responsible for his own wicked plight, and was the sworn enemy of man. Rising from the churning waters, Grendel made his way through the freezing night, as the blackness closed in. Though gigantic in stature, the daemon made not a sound as he closed in on Heorot, vengeance burning in his fell mind. In the hall, meanwhile, intoxicated by drink and weary with food, Hrothgar and his valiant band lay in a deep sleep, oblivious to the approaching shadow. In deathly silence, Grendel did steal into Heorot, waking not a soul from its stupor. Furious, and hungry, the monster seized thirty of the mighty thanes, savagely devouring each, before striding back into the winter night to his evil lair.


                                 " Then at dawn, as day first broke,
                                    Grendel's power was at once revealed;
                                    a great lament was lifted, after the feast
                                    an anguished cry at that daylight discovery "
                                                - DAWN AFTER GRENDEL'S FIRST ATTACK        


Hrothgar and his loyal subjects awoke to a ghastly sight. The hall, and the men, were spattered with the gore from their own friends. Shattered bones and armour twisted as though of paper lay strewn across Heorot's once spotless floor. Terror and shock descended over the Danes, as not a man had been woken in the night. Helplessness too, infected each man, for none knew what abominable being could have perpetrated such base crimes. What defence was there against a silent, creeping death? The shadow of the night, however, felt no such horror, or mercy. Twice more did Grendel go about his grisly work at Heorot, and soon ninety of Denmark's finest warriors had now known gruesome deaths. After the third night of the horror, Heorot fell silent. That great hall, which so short a time ago had been witness to such joy, was now barren and devoid of life, abandoned in terror of the murderous shadow of the night.

The original manuscript of Beowulf
The 'Nowell Codex'

Twelve long years passed, and the hairs grew grey in Hrothgar's beard, for the once majestic King of the Danes was now weakened with age, and sick with melancholy. The once mighty Danes fell into dark times, crushed under a fear of the night. Then one day a stranger appeared on the Danish coast. A great warrior from Sweden, a hero of the Geats, had heard of the terror which gripped the Danes, and had made leave of his father, Ecgtheow, for Heorot. Renowned in Sweden for his colossal strength, and for slaying many great creatures which plagued the Northern Men, Beowulf rode again, compelled onward by the hand of God. Arriving at the court of King Hrothgar, the great hero bowed, and offered to conquer the beast of the fens, to honour a pact once made between the King and Ecgtheow. It was with great joy that the aged King accepted Beowulf, for word had indeed reached his ear of Beowulf's heroic exploits. That night, Heorot looked something of its old self again, as Beowulf and the Geats made merry in Hrothgar's Hall. A proud yet honorable man, Beowulf declared that since Grendel carried no weapons, so too would he fight with bare muscle, casting aside his mighty sword, a blade that had felled many a giant.


Night fell once again over Heorot, and the sounds of men reached the darkened lake. As though not a year had passed in twelve, Grendel awakened. The Geats in the hall fell slowly asleep, and soon only the great warrior himself was still awake, listening intently for any sound that pierced the night outside. The great wooden door of Heorot crumpled as though paper before the towering daemon, and in an instant, as Beowulf looked on, stunned with shock, the monster seized a poor soul who had lain nearest the gate, and tore his mortal form asunder. Shaken from his trance, Beowulf hurled himself forward, as Grendel's arm, broader than the greatest oak, darted toward another man. With all his might, Beowulf seized the creature's arm in his iron grip. In that moment, a revelation dawned upon Grendel. Never before had he encountered a man with so strong an embrace. Grendel, a fiend that had never known fear, now knew terror. With a roar, Grendel tried to break free, as the warriors in the hall were roused from their sleep. Seizing their weapons, they rushed to the aid of their hero. But no! Some cruel magic reflected each blade from Grendel's flesh:


                                 " Dread numbed the North-Danes, seized all
                                    who heard the shrieking from the wall,
                                    the enemy of God's grisly lay of terror,
                                    his song of defeat, heard hell's captive... "
                                                 - GRENDEL TRIES TO BREAK FREE


Frantic, Grendel tried to break free, in fear of the strength which he had believed impossible in a human, but Beowulf hung on. The bones in Grendel's arm began to crack, and with one almighty wrench, Grendel escaped, but at a terrible price. With a shout of pain, the muscles burst open and the sinews flew apart, as Grendel's arm was torn from its socket, still grasped in the hero's hands. The Geats cheered, as Beowulf stood still clutching his morbid trophy. Broken and weeping, Grendel staggered back to his lair, blood pouring from his mortal wound. Desperate to staunch the blood which fell in torrents, he buried his shoulder in the mud, but to no avail. Grendel, the seed of Cain, died miserably in the lake, and his soul was received in Hell. As dawn arrived, Beowulf was hailed as a hero by the Danes, and Hrothgar showered glittering gifts upon the mighty man, and joy returned once again to Heorot, and the future seemed bright.

Grendel's Mother and Beowulf
Illustration by J R Skelton

But far away, in the blackened depths, a mother clutched her dead son. The mother of Grendel, an even mightier monster than he, looked on her mutilated progeny and shouted vengeance to the coming night. Blackness fell on Heorot once again, as Grendel's Mother smashed her way into Hrothgar's Hall, seizing his most favoured retainer, Æschere, and marching off into the night. Coming to the banks of her lair, she tore the great warrior's head clean from his body, burning with rage at her lost son. Dawn arose once again over Heorot, and not for the first time to the cries of fear."Will our anguish never end?" King Hrothgar despaired to Beowulf. The Danes begged Beowulf to save them once again, gifting him a sword, Hrunting, a blade that had conquered many a foe. Worried that this time he may meet a foe beyond his means, Beowulf set forth from court, determined to vanquish the shadow over the land once and for all. Coming to the edge of the rippling lake, Beowulf and his Geats found the severed head of Æschere, and their spirits were hardened by anger. Bidding his valiant warriors to stay at the surface and watch for him, Beowulf plunged into the stormy lake, resplendent in a shining breastplate and helm, Hrunting at his side. Nigh on a whole day passed before the great hero spied the bottom of the dark lake, when suddenly a grotesque hand seized him, and pulled him to the depths. Though her grip would powder the bones of a normal man, Beowulf's cuirass deflected her crushing strength this time. Dragged into a mighty, vaulted cavern, Beowulf saw her, the monstrous mother of Grendel. As she darted towards him, her hideous face contorted with rage, Beowulf swung desperately with Hrunting, but no! The great blade clanged harmlessly from her neck, failing him in his hour of need. Furious, Beowulf hurled the sword away, as it went spinning into the darkness. Diving, he seized hold of the demonic lady, but not this time would muscle prevail. Effortlessly, she cast him away, as he stumbled and fell to the dank floor. In that moment Beowulf would have met his end, had God not deflected her lethal dagger. Fear surging through him, Beowulf lunged at the cavern wall, where stood arrayed the creature's own weapons:


                                 " Then Beowulf saw among weapons an invincible sword,
                                    wrought by the giants, massive and double-edged,
                                    the joy of many warriors; that sword was matchless,
                                    well-tempered and adorned, forged in a finer age,
                                    only it was so huge that no man but Beowulf
                                    could hope to handle it in the quick of combat..."
                                                     - BEOWULF'S LAST GAMBLE


Taking up the gargantuan blade, Beowulf swung for his life, and with a terrible crack, the monster's head soared clean from her shoulders, and her broken body fell at his feet. With a shout of triumph, Beowulf rejoiced in his victory, as the storm that churned the lake at last subsided, the shadow retreated, and the sun beat down upon the land of the Danes. At long last, after twelve long years, the evil had been cleansed, and Beowulf's name was now legend...

The poem of Beowulf is arguably the cornerstone of English literature, the first great epic poem to be written in English, over one thousand years ago. Short enough to be read in a couple of nights, yet packed with the wisdom of England's oldest poets, and as cheap as a cinema ticket, Beowulf is well worth giving a go!

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
Beowulf: Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which is close to the original, yet may be a bit archaic for some)

Oxford World's Classics:
Beowulf: The Fight at Finnsburh (Oxford World's Classics)
(A poetic and easy to read version)

United States

Penguin Classics:
Beowulf: A Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which is close to the original, yet may be a bit archaic for some)

Oxford World's Classics:
Beowulf (Oxford World's Classics)
(A poetic and easy to read version)