MANY ages ago Scyld, the great King of the Danes, died. His body was committed to the sea in a great funeral ship, and the Danes did not expect to see his like again.

Among his descendants, however, was Hrothgar, a beloved leader who gathered noble men about him in his great mead-hall.

Brave warriors though they were, one enemy had the measure of them, and that was Grendel, a wretched descendant of Cain, who for twelve years had raided their hall, a place of courtesy and music, and brutally slain Hrothgar’s men one-by-one.

When Beowulf of the Geats heard it, his heart was stirred (for Hrothgar had once aided his father). He set sail at once, and pledged his assistance to Hrothgar.

One night, Grendel crept in from the sodden marshes where he had his home, and began his customary attack. But this time Beowulf leapt up, and so fierce was his grip that the creature’s shoulder was wrenched from its place.