he Danes, now
secure and careless, to prepare their beds, place each warrior's
shield at the head, and go to sleep in their armour ready for an
alarm. Meanwhile Beowulf and the Geats were joyfully escorted to
another lodging, where they slept soundly without disturbance.

Grendel's Mother

In the darkness of the night an avenger came to Heorot, came in
silence and mystery as Grendel had done, with thoughts of murder and
hatred raging in her heart. Grendel had gone home to die, but his
mother, a fiend scarcely less terrible than her son, yet lived to
avenge his death. She arose from her dwelling in the gloomy lake,
followed the fen paths and moorland ways to Heorot, and opened the
door. There was a horrible panic when her presence became known, and
men ran hither and thither vainly seeking to attack her; yet there was
less terror among them than before when they saw the figure of a
horrible woman. In spite of all, the monster seized Aschere, one of
King Hrothgar's thanes, and bore him away to the fens, leaving a house
of lamentation where men had feasted so joyously a few hours before.
The news was brought to King Hrothgar, who bitterly lamented the loss
of his wisest and dearest counsellor, and bade them call Beowulf to
him, since he alone could help in this extremity. When Beowulf stood
before the king he courteously inquired if his rest had been peaceful.
Hrothgar answered mournfully: "Ask me not of peace, for care is
renewed in Heorot. Dead is Aschere, my best counsellor and friend, the
truest of comrades in fight and in council. Such as Aschere was should
a true vassal be! A deadly fiend has slain him in Heorot, and I know
not whither she has carried his lifeless body. This is doubtless her
vengeance for thy slaying of Grendel; he is dead, and his kinswoman
has come to avenge him."

"I have heard it reported by some of my people
That they have looked on two such unearthly ones,
Huge-bodied march-striders holding the moor wastes;
One of them seemed to be shaped like a woman,
Her fellow in exile bore semblance of manhood,
Though huger his stature than man ever grew to:
In years that are long gone by Grendel they named him,
But know not his father nor aught of his kindred.
Thus these dire monsters dwell in the secret lands,
Haunt the hills loved by wolves, the windy nesses,
Dangerous marshy paths, where the dark moorland stream
'Ne