“Beowulf?” said Jack. The fire had died down. The flaring coals cast weird shadows. As often happened when the light was dim, the painted birds on the walls seemed to open their wings. Their feathers stirred in a breeze that was nothing like the fierce storm outside. Jack hastily got up and put more driftwood on the fire.

“Beowulf. Ah, there was a warrior!” said the Bard, his eyes gleaming. “No hiding under the stairs for him.Hrothgar embraced him. The queen offered him a cup of foaming mead. When midnight came, all had fallen into a weary sleep brought on by fear. All but Beowulf… and me.

“Beowulf sat by the door. When Grendel arrived, the warrior grasped him by the arm. No weapon wrought of steel could harm the monster, but honest human hands could destroy him. Grendel took fright and ran. Beowulf held on so tightly, he tore Grendel’s arm right off.”

This time Jack managed to keep from wincing.

“Shrieking, the monster staggered back to the swamp and plunged into its depths. But before he reached the bottom, he was dead.”

“Hurrah!” cried Jack.

“Wait. There’s more.”

“More?” said Jack. “You mean, where everyone celebrated the victory?”

“Of course they celebrated,” the Bard said. “What they didn’t know, however, was that Grendel had a mother.This is where it gets interesting.”

How can it possibly get more interesting?Jack thought. The earlier story had been so thrilling, Jack’s heart was still pounding.

“Grendel’s mother clawed her way out of the swamp, howling for revenge. She broke down the door, bursting the bars asunder. The warriors felt for their spears, but in a trice she was across the hall. She tore Grendel’s arm off the wall. Hrothgar had nailed it there as a kind of trophy. I didwarn him it was a bad idea.”

“Please go on, sir,” said Jack, wriggling in his seat.

“Then the she-monster killed the king’s best friend and went back to the swamp. Beowulf had been sleeping in a back room and had heard nothing.

“In the morning the warriors rode to the lonely mountains where the creatures of the night lived. Toads bleated melancholy cries from slime pits. Trees trailed twisted roots into swamp. Frozen water hung like fallen daggers over the gloomy cliffs. Beowulf blew his battle horn, and all manner of snakes and scaly beings came hissing out. Hrothgar and his warriors fought them with axe and arrow until they were all dead. But one creature remained.”

“Grendel’s mother,” whispered Jack.

“Did I tell you her name was Frothi? Or that she was a half-troll?”

Jack crept closer to the fire. The driftwood burned green and blue, as driftwood did when it had been at sea a long time. The Bard pulled a goatskin bag from a peg. He took a hearty drink and offered it to Jack. The apple cider was warm from being close to the fire. It reminded Jack of the sunlight that had ripened the apples.

“I didn’t know who Frothi was until later,” the Bard said. “I only knew that a foul monster lived at the bottom of the swamp. Beowulf blew his horn to call her forth to battle. ‘Coward!’ he shouted. But the water only quivered. Nothing stirred, not in the swamp, the trees, or the mountains. ‘If she will not come to me, I shall go to her,’ he announced.

“Beowulf was a fine man,” said the Bard, “but he wasn’t overly furnished with brains. That’s the way it is with great warriors. They’ll rush out to fight a dragon ten times their size. Sometimes they’ll even win, but most of the time the dragon winds up picking its teeth with the sword.

“‘Beowulf,’ I said, ‘you’re going to sink like a stone with all that armor. And what are you planning to use for air down there?’

“‘I care not! This battle will win me fame or death,’ he bellowed.

“‘Old friend,’ I said, ‘let’s not start thinking about death. I think I can help you.’ I sang him a charm for the swiftness of a trout, the suppleness of an eel. I made his sword shine, to light his way in the dark swamp. I gave him the ability to breathe under water.”

“You can do all that?” Jack cried.

“For a short while. I can only bend the laws of the world, not change them.”

Jack was wildly excited. Up till now the Bard had only hinted at the magic he could accomplish. If the old man could do such wonderful things, couldn’t he— wouldn’the—teach his apprentice how?

“Beowulf plunged into the swamp. The darkness swallowed him, and with it came silence. The toads stopped croaking. The wind died. All seemed to be watching and waiting. ‘Hurry,’ I thought. Beowulf had only a short time to carry out his mission. If he took too long, the charm would wear off and he would drown.

“But the silence went on and on, broken only by small wavelets breaking on the shore of the swamp. Hrothgar and his men began to lament. ‘Poor Beowulf! He was like a son to me,’ wailed the king. ‘We shall honor his memory and sing his praises around the fire.’ Then they gathered their weapons, climbed onto their horses, and rode home.

“I couldn’t believe it. They were slinking off like hounds with their tails between their legs. I’d never seen such a pack of quitters. I vowed I would sing no more praise-songs about Hrothgar.”

“What happened to Beowulf, sir?” Jack said.

“Ah! I was forgetting. ‘What to do, what to do?’ I thought. I had no sword. I had nothing but my brain—no small weapon, I might add. I had to get down to the bottom of the swamp and find out what was keeping our hero. So I cast my spirit into the body of a pike.”

“You turned into a fish?” Jack said.

“No, no. I merely borrowed one. My spirit found a bad-tempered old pike and traded places with him. That’s a dangerous trick, lad. The longer you’re in an animal’s body, the more you forget about being human. Some apprentice bards never made it out of their animals during exam week.”

“What about Beowulf?” Jack asked patiently.

“I dived to the bottom of the swamp, and there I found a lofty hall with pillars and a roof so strong that it held up the water. Some magic kept the air inside. By then Beowulf’s charm had worn off, but he no longer needed to breathe under water. I, however, was stuck in the body of a fish.

“A fire blazed in a hearth. By its light I could see Beowulf standing as though he’d been turned to stone. His sword had fallen out of his hand. His mouth gaped open. Before him was the most beautiful woman I had even seen.”

“Frothi,” whispered Jack.

“She was watching him like a cat watching a tasty pigeon. Beowulf was enchanted by her beauty. It never occurred to him that finding a lady at the bottom of a swamp was, well, somewhat odd.”

“Couldn’t you warn him?” cried Jack.

“I was a pike, remember? I was in the water. Frothi stroked Beowulf’s face, as a cat might play with a helpless mouse. And then I knew what I was seeing. This was no woman. No human could have torn down Hrothgar’s door and burst the iron bars asunder. I was looking at a half-troll.

“Such creatures have a foot in each world. They can shift from one form to the other. At the moment Frothi was human. Soon she would change to her troll form and crush the life out of Beowulf.

“She reached toward him, and I knew what I had to do. I threw myself into the hall, wriggled across the floor to Frothi’s feet, and sank my teeth into her ankle.

“She screamed. Her concentration was broken. She turned into a giant troll with arms and legs like tree trunks. Beowulf sprang back with a shout. He grabbed his sword, and the battle began. I won’t bore you with the details. It went on as such battles do, with slashes and curses and bones crunching and blood everywhere. Beowulf eventually landed the fatal blow, but I was too busy wriggling back to the water before my host died.

“Up to the surface I sped and regained my body. Not long after, Beowulf climbed out, pleased as punch. I, of course, told him about my clever trick, and he, of course, thanked me. He had excellent manners. But I should have kept my mouth shut.” The Bard sighed.