Erik suddenly had an idea. He hurried back to his wagon, where he still had some trinkets left from his last journey. He was sure that Taft’s wife might like something he had to offer.
“Greetings, lady of the house,” he said cordially as he approached her booth with his box in his hand.
She looked at him suspiciously and said nothing, but she didn’t order him to go away.
“I have an offer for you to consider,” Erik continued. He opened the box to show her the fine metalwork trinkets inside. There were hair ornaments, belt buckles and brooches. He was pleased to see a look of interest cross her face.
“What do you want?” she asked ungraciously, even as she leaned closer to peer into the box.
“I am a trader,” Erik told her. “I travel around offering fine goods to my clients. I am here at the markets to source more of the finest cloth, leatherwork and metal goods to fill orders for my customers.”
“What does that have to do with me?” she asked in a surly tone.
“These fine trinkets are the last of my stock from a previous trip,” Erik told her. “I am offering them as samples to ladies such as yourself who clearly have discerning tastes in metal goods.”
“Discerning tastes?” she asked, tempted by the flattery.
Erik seized the advantage. “It is apparent that you are a woman of distinction,” he said smoothly. “You like to look your best, am I right?”
She nodded.
“And if I am not mistaken, you like fine foreign goods, is that so?”
She nodded again, eagerly this time.
Erik pointed to her tunic. “I can tell that your tunic is made from fine foreign cloth. Is it not?”
“Yes, it is. You are very observant,” she said, won over at last. “What is your offer?”
“I am offering you a choice of one of these metal goods,” he said. “Something for your hair, perhaps? Or a set of magnificent tunic brooches?”
“What will it cost me?” she asked, suspicion returning.
“All I am asking in return is your permission to call on you at your home on one of my future trading journeys. When I do, I will show you a selection of the goods that I have available.”
Gunilla thought about what the young trader said. Taft had always told her to tell no one where they lived. She didn’t know why, and right now, she didn’t care. She was so angry at him that she hoped something bad would happen to him for the way he’d treated her. Besides, she had her eye on a magnificent hair comb in the box the trader was holding.
“Very well,” she said finally. “You may call upon me at our farm. It is on the road to Aurvangr. It is the farm that has three large stones at the front. If you get to the river crossing, you have gone past it.”
“Then it pleases me to offer you a sample from my box,” Erik said. “I shall look forward to calling upon you when I next take a trading journey through your area.”
As Erik walked back to his wagon, a sense of hope crept through his heart. He might have failed to set the red-haired woman free but now he had learned where she was to live, not to mention his discovery of Taft’s whereabouts. Now that he had that information, he could plan his next move.
As he walked, a plan began to form in his mind. He would stock up with as many goods as he could fit in his wagon and then go to see his customers. Rather than turning around for the return journey at his usual location, he would continue to the markets at Más Mýrr and restock his supplies. He could probably call on some of his customers a second time and sell more goods, and then he could continue on to Jerrik’s lands with whatever was left. He was certain that this journey would give him the money he would need to buy the red-haired woman from Taft. Assuming of course, that Taft didn’t recognize him and kill him. It was a gamble in so many ways. He risked not arriving at Más Mýrr in time to restock at the markets. Taft might refuse to sell the woman. He might not make enough sales on the journey, leaving him without the funds he needed. He could only hope that all the obstacles cleared from his path.
“Get moving!” Taft barked, hitting one of the male slaves across the back with a staff.
The man grunted and shuffled forwards, his hands tied behind his back. Tara had discovered that his name was Haskell and he was a native of Norowegr. The other slave, Brendan, was from her own homeland. The finngail usually captured women as slaves, he’d explained; he was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, alone and unarmed. The finngail raiding party that found him had overpowered and captured him. He had arrived in Norowegr a few months earlier than Tara and had learned more of the language. Although both men were older, she’d already begun to form a friendship with both of them, especially Brendan. He often helped her to understand the words flowing around her when her grasp of the language failed her. He reminded her of a kindly uncle, much like her Uncle Cathal.
“Get away from me!” Gunilla spat when Tara accidentally walked close
