Fitt XIII — Grendel is Vanquished

Beowulf will not release Grendel while he lives — he judges the monster's existence utterly useless to men under heaven. His noble companions rush in with their ancient battle-swords, eager to protect their lord if only they could. They slash at Grendel from all sides, meaning to carve him into slivers — and the blades do nothing. The relentless enemy cannot be harmed by the finest edge anywhere on earth: he has sworn himself safe from victory-swords and all such weapons. His death must come another way. The enchantment is the poem's explanation for why twelve years of armed warriors could not touch him; Beowulf's choice to fight barehanded was not ignorance but superior tactical intelligence.

The fight becomes a contest of grip. Grendel's exiled spirit will travel far into the enemy's power — he sees plainly now that his body is giving way. Hygelac's hardy thane holds him by the hand. Each one is hateful to the other while he lives. Then the fearful demon suffers a body-wound: damage past healing shows on his shoulder. His sinews split apart. His body bursts open. To Beowulf is given glory in battle. Grendel now has to flee — sick to death, seeking his dwelling place, joyless and woeful. He knows more clearly than ever that the end of his earthly life is near.

For the Danes, their wish is at last fulfilled. The stranger from afar has cleansed the war-hall of Hrothgar from its evil — wise and valiant, saved it from violence. Beowulf takes joy in the night's work and in his reputation: the prince of the Geats has made good his boast to the East-Danish people and cured them fully of the heavy sorrows they had suffered. The trophy is mounted in the morning: the battle-hero hangs beneath the great hall-roof the hand, the arm and shoulder — all of Grendel's claw together — as the visible, daylit proof that the night's work was real.