By the Gods!
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Beowulf Vs. the Dragon
Beowulf’s next big fight takes place fifty years after he’s uprooted the Grendel family tree, and our favourite Anglo-Saxon-Written-Swede has returned home and become king of the Geats in his own land. Everything is going great for him until a slave steals a shiny goblet from the lair of a local unnamed dragon. For those of you who don’t have much experience with dragons, here’s a general tip to avoid incurring their fiery wrath: Don’t steal their sh*t.
The dragon (predictably) flips out after finding his treasure hoard invaded, and sets fire to the countryside. A significantly older Beowulf gathers his men to once more slay a monster for the good of his people, and as usual he asks his soldiers to stay back so that he might further increase his fame and renown (a lifetime of slaying “un-killable” monsters does that to one’s ego).
This time, however, Beowulf finds himself outmatched by the dragon and desperately defends himself with a rapidly-melting shield, thanks to the dragon’s fire. Seeing their lord in dire need, most of his soldiers heroically retreat to the woods, but one man, Wiglaf, remembers his oaths and rushes to his king’s aid.
Beowulf has recurring trouble with swords; he is described as simply too strong to use them properly, and his super manly grip breaks the blade uselessly on the dragon’s scaly hide. Luckily, Wiglaf doesn’t have this problem and is able to stab into the beast’s belly, thus bleeding out the fire that had been roasting his lord. This allowed Beowulf get good and close to the dread lizard and stab it in the face (for some reason, his dagger isn’t susceptible to his sword-breaking problem).
The two are victorious, but not without cost: Beowulf’s armour could not withstand the power of the dragon and he lay mortally wounded in Wiglaf’s arms. Beowulf reassures his distressed thane, tells him to have courage in the coming days, and then dies like a champ. He is buried with all the treasures of the dragon’s hoard, and is laid to rest at what scholars suspect is now the barrow of Skalunda. Beowulf is remembered as “most gracious and fair-minded, kindest to his people and keenest to win fame.” Rest in Peace, you magnificent bastard.
Beowulf vs. Grendel’s Mother
The celebration of Beowulf’s victory against Grendel was like an Anglo-Saxon rock star: it partied incredibly hard and died young.
The very next night, after Hrothgar’s people and Beowulf’s thanes went to sleep in Herot, Grendel’s mother crept in and slaughtered a good portion of the partygoers. After all the rewards that had been heaped on Beowulf for slaying Grendel, he felt obligated to help Hrothgar again, and in the morning everyone who could hold a sword set out to track Grendel’s mother to her lair.
Beowulf and the Geats and Hrothgar and his Danes followed her tracks to the water, frothing red with blood, and filled to the brim with monsters. Hrothgar himself shot and killed one aquatic-beast with an arrow, but no one was especially eager to follow Grendel’s mother into her wet home. Luckily, “bloody and full of monsters” is exactly how Beowulf gets his bath-time on. In he jumped, thrashing about with an ancestral sword lent him by one of Hrothgar’s men. His armour protected him from the claws and tusks of the sea-beasts, but once Grendel’s mother grappled him and dragged him into her own monstrous hall the game changed entirely; the gifted sword broke against her magic hide, and she hit him hard enough to send the hero sprawling.
From his new vantage point on the ground, Beowulf spotted a magic sword among the hoarded treasure splayed around the hall. Lose one enchanted blade, find another; the universe never closes a door without opening a window, I guess. It was an ancient sword of the Eotens (giants) that Beowulf managed to lift with his vast strength, and in one mighty swing he finished the fight by decapitating his foe. His blade melted like ice under her corrupted blood, so Beowulf returned victorious with her head as his only trophy. In fact, it was a two-for-one head sale that day: the corpse of Grendel had been displayed by the late Grendel’s Mom in her cavernous abode as an attempt to brighten up the place, and it was just begging to have its head removed.
So finally, up comes Beowulf after nine hours to at last celebrate his victory and the safety of the Danes. There aren’t words in the English language to accurately describe how much mead was consumed that night, but most scholars estimate is was close to “a buttload.”
Caligula
We recently talked about Augustus, the first Emperor of Rome, and how he had been placed in the Roman Pantheon of Gods posthumously. He was a fairly amazing gent, after all—what harm could there be in worshipping him as a transcendant spirit akin to those who wrought the world from Chaos? A few emperors down the line, though, came Caligula. This guy took deification to a new, literal (probably quite embarrassing for Romans at the time) level.
When Caligula (whose real name was Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, with “Caligula” being a nickname meaning “little soldier’s boot”) ascended to the role of Emperor, things went well at first, and we was beloved among the people throughout the vast empire. As you might imagine, however, all of that love, all those sacrifices in your name, all the knee-bending and praise might eventually go to one’s head. And it did. Oh, did it ever.
Eventually, Caligula’s political payments for support, luxury and extravagance exhausted the Roman treasuries, and there was a wee bit ‘o famine. Despite the proverbial and literal belt-tightening occurring throughout the empire, Caligula went on a construction spree, and didn’t do much to disprove the accusations of his fiscal inadequacy. About this time, he got wound up in a few sex scandals, too, and was said to be extra-perverted, even among the hedonistic Roman upper-class. Now that’s an accomplishment.
Caligula clearly believed that he was the bees knees, and then began making it a state requirement that everyone else think the same. He declared himself a living god. The story goes that, when several kings came to Rome and each argued about the nobility of his own descent, Caligula burst out “Let there be one Lord, one King!” and I have a sneaking suspicion that he was referring to himself. He began to appear in public dressed as Hercules, Mercury, Venus, and Apollo to name a few of his costumes du jour, and began referring to himself in documents and in person as Jupiter. After a few years of this, he told his court that he wished to be worshipped as Neos Helios, meaning “New Sun,” and was represented as the Sun God on Egyptian coins.
Eventually Caligula was assassinated through a plot devised and carried out by his own Praetorian Guard, the elite men trusted with guarding the Emperor at all costs. You know you must’ve screwed something up when the guys blood-sworn to protect you bring the hurtin’.
It’s not like Caligula was the first guy to claim divinity, but he sure went about it in a big way. Dressing up like Venus, the goddess of love, takes cohones no matter when you’re from.
Queen Medb
Also known as Maeve, Medb was the mighty warrior-queen of Connacht (the north-west of Ireland). Magnificent but malevolent, it was said she fought as fiercely as the Morrigan, the goddess of death on the battlefield. According to Irish mythology, no king could reign in Connacht unless he was married to Medb, who was believed to hold the kingdom’s sovereignty in her person. You hear that? She was the kingdom! Medb was the real deal.
Medb’s most famous action was the invasion of Ulster (the north of Ireland), when her forces captured the great brown bull of Cuailgne and killed the hero of Ulster, the super-powered Cuchulainn. Medb herself was slain by Forbai, the son of King Conchobhar Mac Nessa, while she was bathing in a pool. It’s always a pity when the truly great ones go out Elvis-style.
Forbai had learned that Medb always bathed in the same pool. He carefully measured the exact distance between the spot she bathed and the shore, and returned to Ulster to practise shooting a slingshot the same distance until he was satisfied with his accuracy. Back goes Forbai to the pool, and KOs Medb from a staggering distance with his slingshot, right between the eyes. Thus, Ulster was revenged. Those guys really loved Cuchulainn.
Thetis and Peleus
Thetis was a water nymph and one of the Nereids, those nifty shape-shifting sea thingies. Thetis, like everything else with a vagina, was sought after by ol’ lustful Zeus, but Poseidon also wanted to get in on the action! However, like all Greek women, seemingly, there was a prophecy about her kid being stronger than its father. To avoid a possible usurping, Zeus and Poseidon decided to marry her off to a mortal, Peleus. Peleus was all “cha-ching!”, but Thetis was all “dammit,” though she eventually consented to the wedding.
All the gods were invited to the wedding except Eris. “But why?!” you ask? “What’d she do!?” Calm down and I’ll tell you. She’s the goddess of discord, you see, so to avoid trouble on the big day, the planners thought it best to shun the embodiment of trouble, disunion, and stuff-not-going-to-plan. Did it work? In a word, no. She came anyway (Oh, snap) and as you might’ve guessed, brought discord with her. When she arrived she brought with her a golden apple which said “for the fairest” on it. Athena, Hera and Aphrodite all clamed ownership of the Apple. I think the fairest thing to have done would have been to give it to the bride, but that’s just me. This isn’t about me. Anyway, Zeus, being wise, decided not to choose which goddess got the apple, knowing he’d be hosed no matter what he did, so once again he picked a puny mortal to do the dirty work. Who’d Zeus give the decision-making powers to? Paris!
The goddesses all tried to win Paris’ favour to grease the wheels of decision-making: Hera offered him rule of all Europe and Asia, Athena offered him skill in battle unsurpassed by any on Earth and eternal wisdom, but Aphrodite offered him the most beautiful woman on Earth, Helen of Sparta (soon to be Helen of Troy). Paris skipped over to Sparta to pick up/sort-of-kidnap Helen and bring her back to Troy, infuriating Menelaus, Helen’s husband, and kicking off the Trojan War.
Sigurd
The Norse ultra-hero, often equated with Arthur of Celtic renown, was more familiarly known as Siegfried in German. The Völsunga Saga tells Sigurd’s tragic story, and is one of the key pieces of Germanic pagan literature surviving today. His foster-father, Regin, a renowned smith, sent Sigurd on an errand to recover a fabulous hoard of gold that was now in the keeping of Regin’s brother, Fafnir, who had turned himself into a dragon to protect it. The gold itself had been cursed in the affairs of the gods and dwarves years before, and whoever held the hoard was doomed to a tragic end.
Sigurd’s biological father, Sigmund, was an incredible badass. He died in battle when he attacked a disguised Odin (it’s Odin, after all) and his sword was shattered. Regin eventually took the shards of Sigmund’s sword and forged the sword Gram, so sharp it could cut straight through an anvil. Sigurd took this sword, and used it to pierce the armour of Fafnir the dragon. Sigurd then roasted the creature’s heart, and by licking the blood he learned the language of birds. What would you have done with a dragon’s heart?
The rest of Sigurd’s saga is a tragic affair of misunderstandings and romantic treachery involving his love, Brynhild the shieldmaiden, and Gudrun, daughter of a Burgundian King. It’s a messy affair, with an ending a lá Romeo & Juliet. For those of you who’ve noticed some stark comparisons to Tolkien’s work––what with the dragon-guarded treasure, the shattered sword restored to the son, and the lustful, corrupting power that dwells within said treasure, just to name a few similarities––you are right on the mark, as Tolkien had great love for Norse mythology, and all things Anglo-Saxon.
Helen
Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. Heard of her? Of course you have. Like most Greek characters with defining attributes, Helen was the daughter of a god and a mortal: Zeus and Leda. Leda had the pleasure of fornication with a Zeus in swan-form. She then produced an egg, and Helen was hatched. Don’t you just love the Greeks?!
Like all good damsels, Helen was susceptible to abduction at a young age. Theseus and Pirithous had the brilliant idea that, because they were semi-divin,e their wives should be, too. Pirithous set his sights on Persephone, but a goddess wasn’t about to mar condescend quite that far down. Theseus, who set his sights on a slightly more attainable prize, managed to grab Helen and left her with his mother Aethra. While Theseus and Pirithous were in the underworld trying to capture the Hades’ Queen, Helen’s brothers Castor and Pollux rescued her and captured Aethra in vengeance. Some say at this time Helen was 7-10 years old, however with Theseus, Helen gave birth to Iphigeneia. So maybe she was a touch older, like 13-15. If not, gross, Theseus.
After that, it was time for merry men from all over to come and seek the hand of beautiful Helen. Menelaus sent Agamemnon to represent him, and Odysseus put his name in the ring, but brought no gift as he did not believe he could win her hand (that, and he was jonesin’ for Icarius’s daughter Penelope). Helen’s daddy was afraid to pick anyone ‘cause he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings (is anyone else noticing a theme of wussiness when it comes to the stories surrounding the Trojan War?); I suppose it’s also possible that he feared the repercussions of denying powerful men. Odysseus came up with the idea that all suitors pledge allegiance to the winner. Menelaus was chosen, and now you know why everyone went to war with Troy over the kidnapping of Helen: They were bound by the boner-pact of Menelaus.
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