"Why, then, lady wife," he answered, "if that be so, the end must come when God wills. Surely you would not have me act a nithing part, and leave the son of Alfred in his hour of need?" "Thou knowest better, husband," she made answer. "I would have you go to duty, as you have ever gone. Now kiss me once more, for my heart is heavy and my spirit dark." So Wulnoth kissed Edgiva and bade her farewell, and charged her that if it should be as she feared, then she should give his last greetings to his two sons who were away in Mercia at the time and seek to counsel them ever to serve Edward faithfully. Then towards East Anglia did Wulnoth march with the King--towards that very land where first he had met with Alfred, and where he had seen Edmund the Martyr lay down his life for the Lord's glory. And there stretched the army of Ethelwald, like a host spread over the face of the land. "Now," said Wulnoth as he gazed upon the foe, "here we are like to have a battle indeed. And here must every man prove himself a hero, for there is no choice but victory or death for us." And then did the war-horns sound, and the armies rushed to the fray, and the forces of Ethelwald were so numerous that they quite surrounded the army of Edward, as the tide running in surrounds the sentinel rocks that line the shore. But Wulnoth and his friends, and all who were true to Edward, they met the foe undaunted, and the war-cries rang out and the sword-song was heard, and, mighty as the host of the foe was, they could not overwhelm the Saxons. All day did the battle rage, until the water in the dykes ran crimson, horrible to see, and the dead lay thick on the earth, and yet neither side could claim the victory. But when the day drew in, and even the champions were weary and the numbers were thinned, the Danes made a desperate charge and broke the Saxon ranks; and in that charge Wulnoth, sore and wounded, smote Ethelwald the son of Ethelbald from his saddle, and laid him dead upon the earth. And then did he cry to Edward the King and say-- "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--