le arm out of its socket, and, for
once, the trail of blood across the moors was that of the monster and
not of its victims.

Great indeed was the rejoicing of Hrothgar and of his people when, in
the morning, instead of crimson-stained rushes and the track of vermin
claws imbrued in human blood, they found all but one of the men from
Gothland alive, and looked upon the hideous trophy that told them
that their enemy could only have gone to find a shameful death in the
marshes. They cleansed out the great hall, hung it with lordly
trappings, and made it once more fit habitation for the lordliest in
the land. That night a feast was held in it, such as had never before
been held all through the magnificent reign of Hrothgar. The best of
the scalds sung songs in honour of the triumph of Beowulf, and the
queen herself pledged the hero in a cup of mead and gave to him the
beautiful most richly jewelled collar Brisingamen, of exquisite
ancient workmanship, that once was owned by Freya, queen of the gods,
and a great ring of the purest red gold. To Beowulf, too, the king
gave a banner, all broidered in gold, a sword of the finest, with
helmet and corselet, and eight fleet steeds, and on the back of the
one that he deemed the best Hrothgar had placed his own saddle,
cunningly wrought, and decked with golden ornaments. To each of the
warriors of Beowulf there were also given rich gifts. And ere the
queen, with her maidens, left the hall that night she said to Beowulf:

"Enjoy thy reward, O dear Beowulf, while enjoy it thou canst. Live
noble and blessed! Keep well thy great fame, and to my dear sons, in
time to come, should ever they be in need, be a kind protector!"

With happy hearts in very weary bodies, Beowulf and his men left the
hall when the feast was ended, and they slept through the night in
another lodging as those sleep who have faced death through a very
long night, and to whom joy has come in the morning.

But the Danish knights, careless in the knowledge that the Grendel
must even now be in his dying agonies, and that once more Hereot was
for them a safe and noble sleeping-place, lay themselves down to sleep
in the hall, their shields at their heads, and, fastened high up on
the roof above them, the hideous trophy of Beowulf.

Next morning as the grey dawn broke over the northern sea, it saw a
sight that made it more chill than death. Across the moorland went a
thing--half wolf, half woman--the mother of Grendel