In the beer-hall, a bench was cleared for the Geats to sit together, the stout-hearted ones proud in their strength. A thane did his duty, bearing in his hands the decorated ale-cup, pouring out the bright sweet drink. At times, a clear-voiced scop sang in Heorot, and there was joy among the heroes, a great host of Danes and Weders.

Unferth, son of Ecglaf, who sat at the feet of the Scyldings’ lord, spoke, unbinding a battle-rune. Beowulf’s journey, the brave seafarer’s quest, was a great vexation to him, for he would not allow that any other man under the heavens could achieve more glory than himself. “Are you that Beowulf,” he asked, “who strove with Breca on the open sea, competing at swimming? For pride, you two tested the waters, risking your lives in the deep for a foolish boast. No one, friend or foe, could dissuade you from that sorrowful journey when you swam out into the sea. You enfolded the ocean streams with your arms, traversed the water-tracks, tossed with your hands, gliding over the turbulent waves and surges of winter. In the water’s power, you toiled seven nights. He overcame you, having more strength. The morning sea cast him up on the land of the Heatho-Reames, from where he, beloved of his people, sought his dear homeland, the Brondings’ country, his fair stronghold, his folk, city, and treasures. Beanstan’s son truly fulfilled his boast against you. So I expect a worse result for you, even if you have prevailed in every battle-rush and grim fight, if you dare await Grendel for the space of a night.”

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “Well, my friend Unferth, drunk with beer, you have said a great deal about Breca, telling of his adventure. The truth is that I had greater sea-strength, power to withstand hardships on the waves, than any other man. He and I, still in the prime of youth, had boasted that we would risk our lives on the sea, and so we did. With naked swords hard in hand as we swam, intending to defend against whales, he could not swim away from me on the surging sea, be faster on the flood. I would not let him go. For five nights, we remained in the sea until the flood, coldest weather, darkening night, and fierce northern wind turned against us, rough were the waves. The wrath of sea-fishes was aroused. My solid-linked, hand-forged, gold-adorned mail-coat gave me help against the foes; my woven battle-garment lay on my breast. A hostile, terrible creature dragged me to the bottom, held me fast in its grim grip, yet it was granted me to reach the monster with my battle-blade; the attack brought about the mighty sea-beast’s death by my hand.

“Thus, my hated foes threatened me severely, but I served them well with my dear sword, as was right. They had no joy of the feast, the evil-doers, that they might devour me, sit around their banquet near the sea-bottom; but in the morning, wounded by blades, they lay high on the seashore, put to sleep by swords, never again to hinder seafarers on the deep sea-currents. Light came from the east, the bright beacon; the seas subsided, and I could see the wind-swept cliffs. Fate often saves an undoomed man when his courage is good! However, it was granted me to slay nine sea-monsters with my sword. I have not heard of a harder nighttime fight under heaven’s vault, nor of a more miserable man adrift on the currents. Yet, I survived the grasp of hostiles, worn out with my adventure. The surging waters bore me up onto the land of the Finns. I have not heard of such feats of arms concerning you, any such terror of swords. Neither Breca, nor you, ever performed such bold deeds in battle with bloodstained swords - I don’t boast much of that - though you were the death of your brothers, your near kin. I say to you truly, son of Ecglaf, that Grendel, the fell monster, would never have done such horrors, such grim injuries, humiliation in Heorot, to your lord, if your spirit and heart were as battle-fierce as you claim. But he has found that he need not greatly fear the feud, the terrible sword-storm of your nation, the Victory-Scyldings. He takes his toll, spares none of the Danish people, delighting in killing, putting them to sleep. But I shall quickly offer him the Geats’ strength and courage in war. Afterwards, let him who may gain fame in the hall go to the mead-drinking when morning-light, another day, shines from the south over the children of men!”

The grey-haired giver of treasure, the battle-brave chief of the Bright-Danes, trusted in rescue, in Beowulf’s help. The lord of the people had heard the firm-set purpose in the hero’s speech. There was heroes’ laughter; joyful words were spoken, and the din resounded. Wealhtheow, Hrothgar’s queen, mindful of courtesies, gold-adorned, went forth, greeting the men in the hall. The noble woman first handed the cup to the East-Danes’ homeland lord, bidding him be blithe at the beer-drinking, beloved of his people. In joy, the victorious king partook of the feast and hall-cup. The Helmings’ lady went round everywhere to elder and younger, handing the precious cup, until the moment came that she, the ring-adorned, high-spirited queen, brought the mead-cup to Beowulf. She greeted the Geats’ lord, thanking God with wise words that her will had been granted, that she might find any earl for help against such crimes. The fierce warrior received the cup from Wealhtheow and, prepared for combat, spoke in formal words. Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, said:

“I had intended, when I set out to sea with my company of men, that I would entirely fulfill your people’s wish, or else fall in slaughter, fast in the fiend’s grip. I shall perform a deed of manly courage or in this mead-hall await my end-day.”

The Geat’s boast, those words, pleased the woman well; the gold-adorned folk-queen went to sit by her lord.

Again, bold speech was spoken in the hall, the people were joyful, the noise of the victorious resounded, until Healfdene’s son wished to seek his evening rest. He knew the monster intended war upon the high hall, as soon as they could no longer see the sun’s light, and shadowy shapes came gliding forth wan beneath the clouds, night growing dark over all. The whole company arose. The grey-haired king greeted the other, Hrothgar Beowulf, and wished him success, power over the wine-hall, speaking these words: “Never, since I could lift hand and shield, have I entrusted the mighty hall of the Danes to any man, except now to you. Have now and hold this best of houses, be mindful of fame, show mighty courage, watch for foes! You shall not lack what you wish if you survive this brave deed with your life.”

Hrothgar, the Scyldings’ protector, went out of the hall with his troop of heroes; the war-chief wished to seek Wealhtheow, his queen and bedmate. The famous king had appointed a hall-guard against Grendel, as men learned, performing a special service for the Danes’ lord, keeping watch against monsters. Indeed, the Geats’ prince firmly trusted his bold strength and the Lord’s favor. Then he took off his iron corselet and helmet, gave his ornamented sword, choicest of blades, to his thane, bidding him keep the war-gear.

Then the good man spoke some words of boast: “I consider myself no lesser in war-strength, in battle-works, than Grendel does himself. Therefore, I will not kill him with a sword, deprive him of life, though I easily might. He knows no good ways of striking back at me, hewing my shield, though he may be formidable in hostile works. We two shall forgo swords in the night, if he dares seek war without weapons, and afterwards, the wise All-Father shall assign glory on whichever hand seems good to Him.”

The bold warrior lay down, the pillow receiving the earl’s face, and around him, many a keen sea-warrior lay on his hall-bed. None of them expected to reach his beloved homeland again, the people or stronghold where he was bred; they had heard that bloody death had taken all too many before, men of the Danes in that wine-hall. But the Lord gave them success in war, aid and support, so that they all overcame their enemy through one man’s craft and might alone.

In the dark night came stalking the walker in shadows. The warriors slept, those who had to guard the gabled hall - all but one. It was well-known to men that the demon could not drag them under the shadows when Beowulf watched in anger, awaiting the battle’s outcome with swelling rage.

From the moor, under the misty cliffs, came Grendel walking, wearing God’s wrath. The foul ravager intended to ensnare some man in the high hall. He went under the clouds until he could see most clearly the wine-hall, the gold-adorned building of men, shining with gold-plating. That was not the first time he had sought Hrothgar’s home, but never in his life before or since did he find worse luck with hall-thanes!

The creature deprived of joys came walking to the hall. The door, fastened with fire-forged bars, sprang open at once when he touched it with his hands. Then, swollen with rage, the ravager trod on the shining floor, moving angrily on. From his eyes, a horrible light, like flame, flared. He saw many men in the building, a band of kinsmen, a group of young warriors, lying together sleeping. Then his heart exulted; the terrible monster intended to tear the life from each one’s body before day came, for the hope of a plentiful feast had come to him. It was no longer his fate that he should devour any more of mankind after that night. The mighty kinsman of Hygelac watched how the wicked ravager would set about his sudden attacks.

The monster did not delay, but quickly seized a sleeping warrior as a first start, tore him fiercely asunder, bit into his bone-locks, drank the blood from his veins, swallowed him in large lumps; soon he had entirely devoured the man, even his feet and hands. He stepped nearer, taking with his hand the great-hearted warrior on his resting place; the fiend reached towards him with his claw. Swiftly, he seized the foe with hostile intent, grappling him on his arm. But the guardian of crimes soon realized he had not met, in all the earth, another man with a greater hand-grip. Fearful at heart, he could not escape the sooner. His intention was to run, to flee into darkness, to seek the devil-pack; his mood was unlike any he had known before.

The good kinsman of Hygelac remembered his evening speech, stood upright, and seized him fast. His fingers cracked. The giant was moving out, the earl stepping forward. The famous one intended to flee further, if he could, and get away thence to his fen-hollows. He knew the power of his fingers, the fierce grip of the furious one, was in the grasp of his enemy; that was an ill-faring journey that the destructive spirit had taken to Heorot.

The splendid hall resounded, and dread fell upon all the Danes, castle-dwellers, each of the bold ones who heard the wail from the rampart, the adversary’s terrible song, the howl of the defeated one, hell’s captive lamenting his pain. He who was the strongest of men in the days of this life held him too fast.

The protector of earls would not, for any reason, let the murderous visitor escape alive, not considering his life-days useful to any people. There, many an earl of Beowulf’s brandished his old ancestral sword, wishing to protect the life of his famous prince, in whatever way they could. They did not know, when they joined the fight, the stout-hearted battle-warriors, and intended to hack away on every side, that not any of earth’s choicest irons, no war-sword, could touch the wicked ravager, for he had enchanted victory-weapons, every sword-edge. But his parting from life was destined to be miserable on that day, the alien spirit forced to travel far into the fiends’ power.

Then he who before had perpetrated much wickedness of mind against mankind found that his body would not serve him, for the proud kinsman of Hygelac had him by the hand. Each was hateful to the other alive. The horrible monster endured a body-wound; on his shoulder, sinews sprang apart, bone-locks burst. Battle-success was given to Beowulf. Grendel had to flee thence, mortally wounded, under the fen-slopes, seeking his joyless dwelling. He knew the more surely that his life’s end was come, the number of his days. After the battle-slaughter, the wish of all the Danes had been fulfilled.

The one who had come from afar, wise and valiant, had cleansed Hrothgar’s hall, saved it from attack. He rejoiced in his night-work, his glorious deeds. The prince of the Geat people had made good his boast to the East-Danes; besides, he had entirely remedied all their sorrow, the harrowing attacks they had endured before, no small distress. Clear was the demonstration, when the battle-brave one laid down the hand, arm, and shoulder - there was Grendel’s claw altogether - under the vaulted roof.