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Perhaps at one time this place was an eternal fire to aid ships in storms such as this. On this day it is being used to cook a kebab of skewered field mice.
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    Rain surrounds on the horizons. But here, in this encampment, there seems to be a proscenium of eerie stillness. A bubble of barometric pressure keeping the storm at bay.
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    The Scyldings’ Watch stands up, his rough leather armor, chapped and weathered, is covered by an animal skin to keep him dry. He squints his eyes to look at the horizon. There is nothing but the blackness of the storm clouding it.
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    This Dane spends his days staring at the line separating the sea from the sky. It has become his only focus. He’s sure something is there…
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    And sure enough something is there. A tiny craft with bright shields hanging from its sides.
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    His mouth drops open.
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    There is indeed a ship approaching -- a Geat ship, which might be a raider.
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    He drops his mouse kebab and hastily climbs onto his horse.
    After grabbing his greatest long spear from the makeshift rack he takes one last look at the approaching craft and rides his horse down a…
    31 STEEP TRAIL
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    of bramble thicket, still misty from the afternoon showers. Its trail to the beach below is a near vertical drop of loose foot stones and crumbly shale.
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    The Scyldings’ coastal guard descends the cliff side at a fearless speed, confident to the end of his horse’s footing.
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    Soon, he finds himself on a…
    32 RECESSED BEACH
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    Nothing more than a glassy sand bar. Once this area was a tidal plane that met the cliffs. Now it’s a field of shallow pools. A living mirage of sea birds, and the crabs they eat. It is a scape of neither ocean nor shore, a limbo of glistening earth, reflecting the gray light of the storm above.
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    The Dane’s mare, trotting sidelong in grave apprehension, spies the Geats landing their ship on the bar’s edge. It neighs an abrupt exhalation as it clenches at its bit.
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    A dwarf horse is being guided off the craft, and from this vantage point it seems to walk on water.
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    Scyldings’ watch pushes his horse toward a
    33 MOORING
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    which the foreign ship has tied on to. A number of Beowulf’s Thanes are unloading weapons from the ship.
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    Beowulf, standing on the bow of the ship, has been watching the coast guard’s approach.
    WIGLAF
    He has a horse. What kind of man is he? Should we fight?
    BEOWULF
    That’ll be the Scyldings’ coastal watch. We’ll greet him with friendly words.
    There is a stir of motion…the armed rider -- the Scyldings’ Watch -- is GALLOPING his horse toward them, over the wet sands. He has a long spear which he lowers and points before
    him, as if to impale the first man he reaches. It’s a moment of fear for Beowulf’s men…but not for Beowulf.
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    Then he reins his horse, a few feet from our ship, in a splash of water, and points his spear at Wiglaf’s neck.
    SCYLDINGS’ WATCH
    Who are you? By your dress, you are warriors.
    WIGLAF
    Yes. We
    SCYLDINGS’ WATCH
    (not yet prepared to stop talking and start listening)
    For more years than you would believe I have been on guard here. I have guarded Denmark’s shore from pirates and raiders, after our gold and our women.
    WIGLAF
    We aren’t after your--
    SCYLDINGS’ WATCH
    You have no permission from Hrothgar to land. No safe conduct. No passport. Hrothgar sent no messengers to tell me you were coming. Why should I not run you through right now? Speak . Who are you? Where are you from?
    BEOWULF
    Leave him be. We are Geats. I am Beowulf, son of Edgethow. We have come seeking your prince in friendship. We have no secrets from Hrothgar. They say you have a monster here. Some dire beast who comes in the night and has brought fear to your land.
    SCYLDINGS’ WATCH
    Is that what they say?
    WIGLAF
    Bards sing of Hrothgar’s shame from the frozen north to the