Page 5 of The Very Virile Viking

Oh… my… gods! Magnus glanced to the left… then glanced again. He could scarce believe the scene unfolding before him. A line of women—a dozen in all—were being led from a far corridor, all ages and sizes and types of attire. One thing they had in common, though: only one of them appeared to be under the age of forty.

"Where… why… what…" he sputtered out. "I mean, oh, bloody damn hell! Tell me, Harek, where have all these women come from—in this weather— and why?"

"They come from your father's estate and other neighboring jarldoms—come to be your bedmate, they have. Well, candidates for your bedmate. You get to pick," Harek explained pridefully, as if he had done Magnus a great favor. "Some of them have been here for several sennights, in secret. The more recent additions came aboard sleds."

Magnus's jaw dropped with incredulity at the bizarre "candidates" who stood before him.

"This is Bertha." Harek drew the first woman forth. "She has had five children, but she is past the breeding age now."

"I would think so," Magnus commented as Bertha smiled up at him. She was toothless and her face resembled a dried apple. "You cannot be serious," he told Harek.

Harek shrugged, as if it were of no matter. After all, he had eleven more "candidates" to offer. "How about this one? Leila comes from the Eastlands."

"East of where?" Magnus scoffed. The woman— probably a dockside harlot—a Norse dock, that is—had attempted to slant her eyes with kohl, but mostly she just looked like a sad raccoon.

"Well, surely you will like Eadgifu then. Comes from London, she does," Atli offered, shoving a woman midway down the line to the forefront. "She is the youngest of this lot, but she is barren due to a childhood illness."

Eadgifu also weighed about as much as a warhorse, and that was no exaggeration. He misdoubted a man could even find her woman's portal in all that flab. And if she flipped him over, he would be crushed in the coupling.

Magnus just scowled as one by one his comrades paraded their candidates before him.

Hervor used a cane because her one leg was swollen with some malady.

"Is she crippled?" he asked in an indignant whisper to Harek.

"Nay. 'Tis just the gout. Comes and goes," Harek replied, waving a hand dismissively.

"Her ankle is the size of a ham."

"Do you not think you are being a bit picky?"

Magnus frowned his disapproval, but Harek just ignored him and motioned for more candidates. There was Olga, whose eyes were crossed. And Sybil, who stuttered so badly that spittle ran down her quivering chin.

"Blanca has a special talent she employs with her tongue," Atli told him with a wink and a chuckle.

"That would be fine if one could overlook her mustache."

He thought he heard several of the men mutter, "Picky, picky" under their breath.

Next was Gunnhilde, who looked more like a man than a woman, and not just because of her height; there was a bulge in front of her gown at an inappropriate spot.

Valda was a comely lass, but clearly pregnant, though 'twas true she would not be growing his seed, leastways not for the next few months.

Thea's raven-black hair was so thin her white scalp showed through.

"Do my eyes play me false, or is that woman nigh bald?" Magnus's eyes bulged with incredulity.

Kugge, who had led that woman forward, made a tsking sound at his words. "Thea merely has some head sores which caused her hair to fall out. It will soon come back," he said. After a moment, he added, "I think."

The last straw, so to speak, was Dagmar, a dairymaid from the Danish lands. Even as she stood before him, she could not stop scratching herself—her head, her underarms, even her groin. The woman was clearly infested with lice.

"Enough!" Magnus roared, rising to his full height and pointing a forefinger at Harek with the silent message that he should remove the candidates from his presence at once.

"We were just trying to please you," Harek said defensively. But Magnus saw the grin twitching his lips.

In fact, looking about his hall, he saw that some of his men were laughing so hard they were bent over at the waist. He wouldn't be surprised if a few of them wet their braies , so overcome with mirth were they.

Magnus could not be angry at his friends… leastways, not for long. They were only teasing. The fact that it was a sore and serious subject for him was beside the point. Magnus and his misdeeds would no doubt be the subject of a skaldic saga at the next Althing. It would be titled something ridiculous, like "Magnus the Virile and His Wild Seed."