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place a butcher had set up shop, putting up a standing rack from which hung newly butchered carcasses of meat. To their left was a man selling live songbirds; his stand hung with many willow cages. Next to the birdman was a fishmonger with his baskets of newly caught fish and eels. Directly across from them was a horse merchant, which was one reason Fren had chosen this particular space. The horses were always a draw, and therefore, his slaves could not be easily overlooked by the crowds.
    Next to the horse seller a leech had set up his practice, and was quickly busy lancing boils and pulling teeth. Some with items for sale had no spaces in the market, but rather moved through it crying their wares. A ruddy farmer sold his milk in this fashion. A pieman with a tray of sweet buns balanced upon his head did a brisk business, as did the fresh-cheeked girls selling their herbs and flowers, and cups of fresh water.
    Within the hour Fren was set up and ready to do business. True to his word he had placed about Mairin’s slender little neck a heavy leather collar, fastening the lock with a click of an iron key that hung from a large ring attached to his girdle. “There!” he said with a smug and satisfied smile as he tested the strength of the collar. “You’ll not be slipping off into the crowd with my merchandise now, giant. This little wench you guard so carefully for me is prime goods. Her youth and innocence paired with her rare coloring will bring me a fortune in Constantinople! She will bring me enough gold to buy me a villa in which to spend my old age.”
    “You would sell her to some vile and depraved pervert, slaver, wouldn’t you? Do you think I am too stupid to know your evil plans? Where is your conscience?” Dagda demanded, but Fren just laughed, and Dagda felt the anger beginning to burn deep within him. It was the kind of anger that had once developed into a blood lust that had made him such a feared warrior in his youth. Fren, however, had turned away, and did not see the Irishman’s blazing eyes.
    The Saxons no longer believed in slavery, but they were still not above buying an occasional slave as cheap labor, and then allowing them to work off their price plus what it cost their buyer to feed, house, and clothe them. The buyer always profited under the arrangements, but slaves brought to England prayed for an Anglo-Saxon master. It was the best chance many of them had for regaining their freedom, as most of them had not been born slaves. It was also an inexpensive way to obtain help, for the price of slaves was set according to the law.
    Fren had not come to England to seriously sell slaves, for the market was basically poor. Rather he came to obtain fair-skinned, fair-haired, and light-eyed Saxon maidens who would bring him a goodly profit in the teeming markets of the Levant. How he obtained such merchandise was a matter better left alone, but it was safe to say he never visited England without obtaining sufficient remuneration to encourage his return.
    Dagda watched with interest, as the slaver plied his trade. Four of the men and two of the women were quickly sold off. Now Fren bargained fiercely with an innkeeper for the sale of the third woman, a young and pretty girl with thick dark brown braids.
    “The wench can cook, spin, sew, and, ” here he paused for effect, giving the innkeeper a broad wink, “she’s got a plump backside to warm yer bed on a cold, damp night.”
    “I’ve got a young wife,” said the innkeeper. “Believe me when I tell you that she keeps me busy the whole night long.”
    “Don’t tell me a fine fellow like yerself doesn’t like a little something on the side,” said Fren jovially, poking the innkeeper. “Besides, forbidden fruit is always sweetest. This girl can help in the kitchens, serve your customers, and make you a few extra coppers abovestairs, if you get my meaning. She’s not a bad looker, and believe me when I tell you that she’s a hot and juicy