angry muttering of the crowd turned to guilty silence at the reminder.
Hrothgar admitted this, and accorded him some leeway for gathering possessions.
My husband’s brother interjected himself into the discussion, and attempted to demand that all of my possessions be rendered to him for the breaking of his nose previously. Hrothgar merely snorted, as the man’s crass behavior was well known, but acceded he could lay claim to the land we lived on.
We were given just a few days’ time to depart. I quietly thanked the gods that I had seen fit to be prepared, and there remained little left in our home to remove. I had even moved the small herd of sheep some weeks previous, to a formerly abandoned hut by the swamp, and built them a workable fence, with Grendel’s sturdy help. We would not be completely bereft, and I would be able to keep us clothed.
My husband’s brother insisted on escorting us to ensure I did not take “too many valuables” he “deserved,” and I requested other witnesses. The look he gave me made it clear he resented I had forestalled his true intent.
Grendel, dear Grendel, remained confused and bewildered at what was happening. But he followed me quietly and did as I bid.
The bastard raged when he took in the mostly emptied homestead. The witnesses merely snickered. Edda gave me a measuring look. She had known I was worried about Grendel, and had advised I prepare for such a situation. I gave her a bitter smile.
The last of our personal belongings were easily removed from the premises. While the bastard snarled at us, one of the other witnesses stood between him and me. “Do not give me a reason to fight on her behalf,” he cautioned. “Your actions disgust me as it is.”
I was grateful for the meager defense, although I would have appreciated it more had the man ever stood up for Grendel or me these past years.
Grendel carried what I directed, in a bundle that awed the spectators. I carried the remainder, including my bow. We left. I ensured we were not followed.
The salt marsh reeked with fetid decay, but it held life enough. Only the old wisewoman Edda came here voluntarily, for the herbs that could be gathered nowhere else and were necessary to ply her trade. She would pay me for gathering those in her stead, in goods I could not make or find on my own.
The sheep fared well enough, learning to find the drier areas with edible grass. The wool kept us in clothing, and the lambs provided some food, and milk for cheese. Other foods, Grendel and I found in the swamp. He learned which plants were safe readily enough, and he hunted large game with his club. Faster game, I snared, or hunted with bow.
It was not an easy life, but it was fairly peaceful. The hearth kept us warm, and I had a pot and a griddle. The hut was made comfortable with furs and hides. And above all, I had my son.
We used the nearby cave for a shelter for the sheep, and to store some goods. Grendel liked to be there, because it was so quiet.
He still had to be bound when the worst storms hit, but he seemed just a bit better here. The fits were fewer, and I hoped for the day they ceased. Alas, that was not to be.
Edda brought word that Hrothgar intended to build a new great hall at last, to replace the one that had burned down. At first, this did not concern me at all. It shortly became apparent that the placement and construction of the building were to bring torment to my Grendel.
The first revelry, filled with song and instruments, and the deep thud of mugs being beat against tables, rolled like a dull thunder at our distant hut. It was too much for Grendel, and I had to wrestle him into submission, binding him to keep him from causing himself injury.
I was not successful in subduing him the next time, and he ran deeper into the swamp. I feared him lost, but he returned a day and a half later, worse for the wear. He