Page 71 of The Blue Viking

Several of the younger maids puts palms to their lips to stifle giggles. Several of the men who’d just come up, including Bolthor and Stigand, snorted with disbelief.

“I favor simplicity,” Vagn stated with a wide grin. “I just call mine Big.”

“You are such a liar,” Rurik declared.

“I call mine Big, too,” Stigand declared.

No one snorted at him… or called him a liar. And Nessa, bless her heart, was nodding her concurrence.

For the love of Mary! These Vikings certainly are earthy people … to speak of such matters so openly.

“Mjollnir,” Bolthor announced of a sudden. Everyone turned to him. He raised his chin and explained, as if daring anyone to laugh, “I named mine after Thor’s hammer. Betimes, I refer to it as Hammer.”

No one laughed.

“This is the saga of Rurik the Greater,” Bolthor began, “And the Great Norse Practice of Cock-Naming.”

“Hey,” Rurik protested, amidst the barely suppressed snickers around him. “I’m not the one who brought up this subject. So, don’t be associating me with that.”

“What’s this about a Norse practice?” Old John asked. Maire hadn’t even noticed that he’d approached with some of her clansmen. “Scotsmen name their parts, too.”

All the women gaped at Old John, then exclaimed as one, “They do?”

Old John nodded vigorously. “In my day, I called mine the Tickler.” Every female jaw dropped even lower. “And I knew a man from Glenmoor, Angus the Bull, who named his The One-Eyed Dragon. Well, he did.” The last was added on seeing the looks of incredulity around him.

Bolthor launched into his skaldic verse then:

Man is a peculiar lot,

Believe me, like it or not,

When it comes to his manpart,

He cannot be brain-smart,

Instead he gains fame

By giving it a name,

Be it Sword or Lance,

Even Last-Chance,

Or Pleasure-giver,

Not to mention Sex-Burr.

How about Log-of-Life,

or Gift-to-Wife,

Dancing Hog, Prancing Dog,

Third Leg, Make-Her-Beg,

Big John, Small Tom,

Bad Bart, Good George,