Off they went, the elderly officers, and the young men behind them, all mounted, white men on white horses, praising their Heaven-sent hero, Beowulf, with every word they spoke. Not north, nor south, nor anywhere, they said, was there a man more qualified to be king. There was a lot of country 860 between the coasts, a lot of open air beneath the sky, and even there, nope, no one better to rule. Of course, this unfettered praise wasn’t meant to blame Hrothgar for anything—no, no, that was a good king.
