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“With the burial over, the royal party will leave for Ongullsey any day. I must speak with Owain Gwynedd before he leaves. We will do as you say, but at sunset—whether or not I have received word from Rhiannon—I will go to the castle. At that hour, everyone will be gathered in the great hall.”

“Including the guards,” Knud said.

“I believe Owain Gwynedd will allow me to say my piece when he knows that it involves his brother.”

Knud stood and slipped his knife beneath his girdle. “It is my understanding that Owain Gwynedd does not feel kindly toward Cadwaladr. You may not get beyond mentioning his name.”

“It is a risk I am willing to take,” Leif said. “But I will not make that decision for you. Frida deserves to have you arrive home with her goblet. If I do not return from the castle, I wish you to make for the coast straightway and, from thence, to Dyflin.”

“As I told you before, I’d rather have you do your share of the rowing.” Knud crossed the room and reached for the door handle. “You accompany me to the market, and I shall accompany you to the castle.” He smirked. “Fair is fair.”

Chapter 30

As fortune would have it, the first stalls Leif and Knud came upon at the market sold foodstuffs, and Knud insisted that they eat before beginning their search for a goblet.

“You might consider leaving some rye bread and cheese curds for the next customer,” Leif said when it seemed that Knud had eaten enough for them both.

“There is still plenty to be had,” Knud mumbled, his mouth full of bread crumbs. “You see.” He pointed to the small woman at the stall who was handing a slab of dark bread to a peasant.

Leif shook his head. Truth be told, it was safer to have Knud’s mouth full of food whilst they were at the market. There was less chance of anyone overhearing them conversing in Norse.

“Come,” Leif said. “We have a goblet to find.”

They wandered the stalls. Many were run by farmers selling their produce. One merchant had a fine assortment of ducks, chickens, and larks hanging up by their feet, with a large bucket of freshwater eels on the table beneath. A young farmer’s wife was selling honey, and next to her, there was a table covered in wax candles.

“Over there,” Knud said, pointing to their left. “A woodcarver.”

Sure enough, sitting on a stool beneath an oak tree, an elderly man was whittling a piece of wood. Laid out on a blanket at his feet was an assortment of bowls, spoons, goblets, trenchers, and ladles.

“Will Frida be content with a wooden goblet?” Leif asked. It was a far cry from the gold chalices Vikings brought back with them after a successful raid.

“Ask what he wants for one,” Knud said softly. “Mayhap two wooden goblets would please her.”

Leif approached the woodcarver. “My friend is looking for gold goblets,” he said.

“You’ll not find anythin’ like that ’ere. The only merchant at the market who’s sellin’ items made of metal is the bladesmith over by the well, but ’e specializes in knives and tools.” He picked up one of the wooden goblets with a gnarled hand. “If yer lookin’ fer goblets, these ’ere are the finest you’ll find anywhere.”

Leif took the cup from him and studied the delicate design carved around the circular rim. “You do good work.”

The woodcarver’s smile was almost toothless. “So I’ve been told.”

“How much?”

The old man’s price was ridiculously high. With a laugh, Leif set the goblet back on the blanket. The woodcarver had no way of knowing that Leif had plenty of experience haggling with customers. He glanced at Knud, who was watching him expectantly. Leif grinned. This was going to take little effort at all.

Before long, Knud was the proud owner of two beautifully made wooden goblets, the woodcarver was happily tucking coins into his purse, and Leif was ready to make another purchase.

“The old man said there’s a bladesmith near the well,” he told Knud. “Shall we see what he has?”

“Lead the way,” Knud said.

It was not difficult to find the bladesmith. Two men blocked their view of the merchant, but one of them held a spade and the other, a pair of sheep shears. Leif and Knud waited their turn, and when the customers moved away, they stepped forward to examine the merchant’s wares.

“Knud! And, by all the fish in the sea, Leif, son of Jarl Ottar!”

Leif’s head shot up. Grom, the very bladesmith he had attempted to speak with before leaving Dyflin, was standing before them.

“Keep your voice low, my friend,” Knud said. “To those in this tref, we are travelers from the north.”