1089. December 30. I have heard a tale, and such a tale it was! I will write a poor song from it but I must finish it later for I have neglected my duties long enough. Here is its beginning but not its end.

Wealthy was Thorhall    when winter struck
fast the fruitful glades    of fertile Shady-vale.
Thane feared not though    thick twined the mists
through rock and rill.    Rich was Thorhall,
sky-wailed shrieks    shattered not his lands.
Cattle and kine    clustered in herds
forest-thick. Fearless    his fief against all harm.

Happened one hour     that a Hell-pit
groaned and disgorged    a ghost most foul.
Death-walked the wight    in wretched Shady-vale
lashed at the living     with lonely death,
gore-soaked gullies    grim in the glooming.
Shepherdless the sheep    for no shepherd dared
to wander the wild    wraith-rode ruin…*

* I wrote this poem in the Norse style from a period prose piece “The Gretis Saga.” Caitlin lives just north of what was the Danelaw, and her deceased husband was Anglo-Dane. And since the Beowulf poem also came from England, I felt confident that she would have been familiar with this style of writing. You can read the complete poem here.