When the day was come that Wyglif and the girl were to be committed to the flames, his ship was drawn ashore on the banks of the river. Four corner blocks of birch and other woods had been positioned around it; also large wooden figures in the semblance of human beings.

In the meantime the people began to walk to and fro, uttering words that I did not understand. The language of the Northmen is ugly to the ear and difficult to comprehend. The dead chief, meanwhile, lay at a distance in his grave, from which they had not yet removed him. Next they brought a couch, placed it in the ship, and covered it with Greek cloth of gold, and pillows of the same material. There then came an old crone, whom they call the angel of death, and she spread the personal articles on the couch. It was she who attended to the sewing of the garments, and to all the equipment. It was she, also, who was to slay the girl. I saw the crone with my own eyes. She was dark, thickset, with a lowering countenance.

When they came to the grave, they removed the roof and drew out the dead man. Then I saw that he had turned quite black, by reason of the coldness of that country. Near him in the grave they had placed strong drink, fruits, and a lute; and these they now took out. Except for his color, the dead man Wyglif had not changed.

Now I saw Buliwyf and Thorkel standing side by side, making a great show of friendship during the burial ceremony, and yet it was apparent that there was no truth to their appearances.

The dead king Wyglif was now clothed in drawers, leggings, boots, and a caftan of gold cloth, and on his head was placed a cap made of gold cloth, trimmed in sable. Then he was carried to a tent in the ship; they seated him on a quilted couch, supported him with pillows, and brought strong drink, fruits, and basil, which they placed alongside him.