o deadly,
and he must trust to armour for protection. He commanded men to make
a shield entirely of iron, for he knew that the usual shield of
linden-wood would be instantly burnt up in the dragon's flaming
breath. He then chose with care eleven warriors, picked men of his own
bodyguard, to accompany him in this dangerous quest. They compelled
the unhappy fugitive whose theft had begun the trouble to act as their
guide, and thus they marched to the lonely spot where the dragon's
barrow stood close to the sea-shore. The guide went unwillingly, but
was forced thereto by his lord, because he alone knew the way.

Beowulf Faces Death

When the little party reached the place they halted for a time, and
Beowulf sat down meditating sadly on his past life, and on the chances
of this great conflict which he was about to begin. When he had
striven with Grendel, when he had fought against the Hetware, he had
been confident of victory and full of joyous self-reliance, but now
things were changed. Beowulf was an old man, and there hung over him a
sad foreboding that this would be his last fight, and that he would
rid the land of no more monsters. Wyrd seemed to threaten him, and a
sense of coming woe lay heavy on his heart as he spoke to his little
troop: "Many great fights I had in my youth. How well I remember them
all! I was only seven years old when King Hrethel took me to bring up,
and loved me as dearly as his own sons, Herebeald, Hathcyn, or my own
dear lord Hygelac. Great was our grief when Hathcyn, hunting in the
forest, slew all unwittingly his elder brother: greater than ordinary
sorrow, because we could not avenge him on the murderer! It would have
given no joy to Hrethel to see his second son killed disgracefully as
a murderer! So we endured the pain till King Hrethel died, borne down
by his bitter loss, and I wept for my protector, my kinsman. Then
Hathcyn died also, slain by the Swedes, and my dear lord Hygelac came
to the throne: he was gracious to me, a giver of weapons, a generous
distributor of treasure, and I repaid him as much as I could in battle
against his foes. Daghrefn, the Frankish warrior who slew my king, I
sent to his doom with my deadly hand-grip: he, at least, should not
show my lord's armour as trophy of his prowess. But this fight is
different: here I must use both point and edge, as I was not wont in
my youth: but here too will I, old though I be, work deeds of valour.
I will not give way the sp