Page 6 of The Very Virile Viking

Magnus could not go on this way much longer.

Something would have to be done.

At last… springtime, the Norselands, A.D. 1000

Magnus had made a decision, and it was a momentous one.

"Hear me, one and all," he shouted out to those in attendance at the springtime feast taking place outdoors on his farmstead, where large trestle tables had been set up and canvas tents erected. The fields had been plowed and planted. All the chores left over from winter were completed. Fallen timbers were cleared from streams. New baby animals were being born. It was a time of celebration after weeks of grueling hard work. Many of his men would go off a-viking now, or lend their sword arms to King Olaf in his never ending battles to hold the all-kingship of the Norselands. They would return at harvesttime, though.

But not Magnus.

It was a season of new beginnings for the farm.

It would be a season of new beginnings for Magnus, too.

"I, Magnus Ericsson, have decided to take a vow of celibacy," he announced over the din of celebration.

Slowly silence fell over the crowd, and he could hear murmurs as his words were repeated from group to group. Once his meaning sank in, laughter began to burst forth in waves. They thought he was jesting.

He held up a hand for quiet. In his other hand he raised high his drinking horn. "Wish me well, my friends, for I am serious. And that is not all."

"Now, now, Magnus, are you still chafing under our little joke last winter?" Harek had come up to stand beside him.

He shook his head and smiled at his good friend.

"And that is not all," he repeated. "I will be leaving the Norselands for a good long time. I am off to that new land beyond Iceland which was discovered a dozen or so years ago by my father's cousin, Erik the Red. 'Tis Greenland I refer to, of course. Or mayhap I will venture even farther to that place which his son Leif is exploring. Vinland is supposed to be warmer, if naught else."

The laughter of the crowd had become shocked silence.

"But why?" Harek was gazing at him with a frown of puzzlement on his forehead.

Magnus wished he could explain the missive he'd received a sennight before. It had arrived on a trading ship that had come in contact with some sailors from that new land of Leif's. In a linen-wrapped parcel was his brother Jorund's sword. Tied to the sword were two small portraits—one of Jorund with some strange woman and two twin girls, and the other of Jorund and Geirolf with arms looped over each other's shoulders, standing before a huge archway sign that read, Rosestead .

The portraits, if they could be called that, were done on peculiar parchment paper unlike any he had

ever seen before. And the attire worn by all of them was strange. But most important, Jorund and Geirolf looked happy. After much pondering, Magnus had decided that it was a message from the gods… or from his brothers.

Geirolf's dragonship had been lost in the oceans beyond Iceland almost three years past; he was presumed to have drowned in a shipwreck. Then Jorund's dragonship had done the same two years ago when he'd gone to search for Geirolf.

But were they really dead? Or were they alive in some new land? Magnus had to find out for himself. It was a mystery he must at least investigate.

"It is something I must do," was the only explanation he could give Harek. He put on a mirthful face then and added, "Besides, there is not enough good land in Norway for all my children. Ha, ha, ha!"

People nodded and laughed, tentatively, at his half jest, half truth. Arable land had always been scarce in the Norselands. Thousands of Vikings were settling in other countries for that very reason.

"Who will rule here… in your absence?" Atli called out to him.

"Madrene and her husband, Karl, will rule in my place here at the farmstead. Ragnor will represent me at my father's estate. The rest of my children—all nine of them—will come with me." May the gods help me , he added to himself.

He could see the disappointment in Jogeir's face. The boy was a farmer at heart, like him, and he loved this land. But there would be new farms for Jogeir, of that he was convinced, or he would not go.

Besides, they would come back someday.

As his people began to assimilate his news and accept it—all Vikings loved a good adventure—Magnus sat down with a sigh and took a long draft from his horn of ale. He felt good about his decision. If nothing else, it was a time for new beginnings.

Besides, it would be a lot easier to honor his vow of celibacy in the new land, where there were surely not very many women. And those who were there must be dog-ugly—Why else would they settle in the back of beyond?—though the one in Jorund's portrait had been more than passable.

For the first time in a year or more, Magnus was excited, and it had naught to do with the throb betwixt his legs.