Page 3 of The Very Virile Viking

Helga? Unfortunately that name sounded familiar to Magnus. He seemed to recall a comely maid in a red gunna serving mead in a Hedeby alehouse. Her face had been sprinkled with freckles.

"The captain of the knorr says the fjords are already freezing over. And besides, he is not taking a smelly-arsed, squalling babe back with him. Those were his exact words." Ragnor smirked again.

With a sigh of resignation, Magnus opened his arms and welcomed the newest addition to his family. He could not swear that Lida was his. But that could be said of half his brood.

"Goo," Lida cooed, tugging at the war braids on either side of his face.

"Goo to you, too, little one," Magnus replied.

Still wintertime, the Norselands, A.D 1000

"It is disgraceful, Fadir . Really, it is. All these children, and no one to care for them. Tsk-tsk! Mayhap you could hire another nursemaid or two. Or better yet, a whip master for the older ones."

It was Magnus's eldest child, seventeen-year-old Madrene, who had started berating him from the moment he entered his keep. He was frozen to the bone after making his way, along with a half dozen workers, through chest-high snow from the stables. He had spent the past eight hours delivering one foal, two calves, and a litter of piglets. He and his helpers had pulled in enough feed to get the animals through

tonight's upcoming blizzard; then they'd mucked out the stalls… who knew when they'd be able to do it again! And who knew horses and cows could produce so much smelly waste! Ah, well, 'twas part of a farmer's life and he did not mind all that much. Industrious little six-year-old Jogeir had come along with them. Even dragging his lame foot along, he was able to accomplish as much as many a laggard man he'd met in his time. Finally they'd made the trek home on the slippery ice path, carrying baskets of hen and duck eggs for Gunnhora, his head cook, who was preparing for Madrene's wedding feast next week. It was ridiculous, really, having a wedding feast in the middle of winter, but once Madrene got an idea in her head, she was like a dog with a bone; she would not give it up for anything.

"And furthermore…"

Bloody hell! His daughter was still wagging her tongue. What he did not need was more complaints, especially from one of his own children.

He decided to ignore Madrene, who was too full of herself by half now that she was to become a wife.

Instead he walked up to one of the three blazing hearths in his hall and proceeded to remove his ice-crusted furs and undercloak. Madrene followed him, the pestsome wench. 'Twas a wonder she did not start on him about the puddle he was making in the rushes. He shook his body like a shaggy dog, creating a shower of droplets, just to annoy her more, but all she did was make more of those clucking noises women fancied so much.

Blah, blah, blah! Does her tongue ever get tired? "What is the problem now?" he asked, knowing full well she would not leave till she'd spouted everything on her mind.

"Lida has soiled another nappy, and Kirsten and Dagny refuse to change her again." Kirsten and Dagny were his fourteen-and twelve-year-old daughters, and, to tell the truth, he did not blame them at all. The girls did more than their fair share of household chores, especially since another nursemaid had quit on him last sennight, claiming to be overburdened by his wild and numerous progeny. And Lida did seem to have bowels that worked all too well. "Ask one of the kitchen thralls to help," he advised. "Or how about the new chambermaid? What is her name? Arnora… that is it… Arnora. Came to us on that last trading ship, searching for work."

Actually he knew her name precisely. The voluptuous young woman had been swishing her hips afore him in invitation every time she passed by. And he was tempted—sorely tempted, considering how long it had been since he'd last lain between a woman's thighs. Six months! Ever since Inga had divorced him. It was not yet spring, but his sap was running high. So far he had resisted temptation, but he was not sure how much longer he could remain chaste. If nothing else, he was going to be drooling sap before long.

Weren't there any attractive women beyond child-bearing age? Mayhap he should look for one next time he went to Birka. He would have to mention it to Toki the Trader, who was wintering here in Vestfold till the fjords thawed. Toki knew everyone in the market towns.

"Arnora! Hmpfh! That is another thing," Madrene said, frowning with consternation.

Gods! The girl is still chattering away, even when I am not listening.

"Ragnor and Torolf were seen entering her sleeping chamber this morn, and they have not come out since."

Any temptation he had felt for the maid flew up to the rafters. His rising sap lowered like a lake before an unplugged dam. "Together?"

She nodded.

Magnus's eyes widened at that news. And his first thought was, Double the chance of impregnating the lass . That was all he needed. More babes being bred in his family. From sixteen-year-old boys, yet!

He had known they were no longer untried youthlings. In truth, they tried too hard. But this was a situation he would have to stop. Two to one? What could they be thinking? Well, actually, what they were doing did not involve thinking at all.

Just then he noticed yet another son, Storvald, sitting by the hearth, whittling away at one of his fine woodcarvings—a rendition of a longship in intricate detail. He squinted in the firelight to make up for his poor vision. It was not a real handicap for the boy; he had trouble seeing only tiny details close up. But now Storvald, at thirteen years, was listening with great interest to their conversation. No doubt he thought it would be great fun to join Arnora in the bed furs, too… even at his young age— especially at his young age.

"Do you want me to go get them?" Storvald asked, blinking his eyes with exaggerated innocence.

"Nay, I do not want you to go get them," Magnus said. "I will handle it myself." And I am looking forward to it about as much as if I were about to pull the hairs out of my nose .

And off he stormed, even as Madrene continued to call out her list of grievances. "And Kolbein ate three bowls of custard that Cook had put aside in the scullery, and now he is suffering belly cramps. Dagny got her first monthly flux and will not stop weeping. Kolbein saw the bloody rag and thinks she is dying.

Hamr broke Asa's broom, pretending it was a sword."

"Is that all?"