"Greeting, O King! Now did the Lady Edgiva prophesy that this would be my last fight, and lo! I am wounded and nigh to the end. This is my rede, O King, that ye draw off, for though the Danes are smitten through and through, by very numbers they will conquer if ye tarry. Draw off—the man who sought thy crown is dead, and the evil will die of itself. But as for me, I will fight one last fight and then, good-night!"
And with that Wulnoth pushed forward, and he came nigh the Danish king Eric, even Eric the Mighty, and he cried greeting to him—
"Hail, King Eric!" he said. "I have fought in many a field of slaughter, but never in such a one as this. I have slain many of thy holdas in my time, and now the end draws near. How sayest thou, Eric? I am a thane of name; I like not to die by common spear. Come now, and let us twain speak a word, and if I die I die by a champion's hand, and if I smite thee down surely I shall follow thee quickly. Skoal, Skoal!—the old Northland cry, Eric! Wilt thou go holmgang with me?"
"Ay, for thou hast slain Ethelwald, and I will slay thee right gladly," answered the Dane, "and if I die by thy hand, then honorable is the death."
So these twain met, and they fought, and all around stood still that the champions of pride might play the man's game unhindered. And it was a mighty fight, and a good fight, and of it the scalds and the gleeman sang for many a day.
For Wulnoth smote a blow that cleaved its way through Eric's left wrist, and Eric struck back with all his force, and the blow fell on the shoulder of Wulnoth and nigh severed it; and these two champions reeled back and looked at each other, and Wulnoth cried again—
"Skoal to thee, smiter of blows! Skoal! Methinks that we shall journey together," and then he changed his axe into the other hand and again they fought. And Eric smote Wulnoth sore and deep in the side, and Wulnoth raised his axe high in his left hand and smote with all his might, and helm and head were split together, and King Eric fell side by side with his foe.
Then did Wulnoth raise himself and cry again—
"Skoal! Skoal to thee, Eric, brave champion! Skoal to thee, Edward, for both thy foes are slain and thou shalt reign in peace. Skoal! I — I —" and then his voice failed and he gasped, "Edgiva! Edgiva beloved! I die," and with that he fell dead across the body of King Eric.
And the battle stayed, for indeed none could fight longer. And the Danes buried King Eric on the field, but the Saxons bore the body of Wulnoth with sorrow and brought it safely to Edgiva. And the field of that fight was called amongst men the Field of the Great Slaughter—so vast was the number who lay there dead.