One thing I neglected to tell you about, when I reported yesterday on my Viking weekend, was the singular honor paid to me during the Great Feast held on Saturday night. I was given a seat at the table of honor, which is pretty cool if you’re a Viking buff.

The feast was impressive. I over-ate. Almost all the food was certified “available” to the Vikings, but I suspect few real Vikings ever enjoyed a meal that tasty.

Part of the programme called for “the passing of the horn,” a tradition in which a horn of mead is passed around the hall, and each participant, when the horn comes to him, gives a greeting, tells a story, sings a song (nobody did that), or proposes a toast. I told one of my favorite true Viking stories, “The Tale of Thorarin Nefjolfsson’s Foot,” as recorded in the Saga of Saint Olaf. I give it below, more or less as I related it Saturday night.

The king and his men were in Tunsberg [a market town near present-day Oslo] one summer night. Among his retinue was Thorarin Nefjolfsson, an Icelandic merchant. Thorarin was a tall, thin man with a long nose and large hands and feet. He was not famed for his physical beauty.

The nights are short in Norway that time of year, and King Olaf woke before the rest of his men and looked around him in the morning light. He noticed that one of Thorarin’s feet had stuck out from under his blanket. He contemplated that foot for some time.

When his men woke up, King Olaf said to them, “Men, I have been awake a while now, and I’ve seen a sight worth seeing. A man’s foot so ugly that I’d be willing to bet there isn’t an uglier foot in the whole town.”

All the men looked at Thorarin’s foot, and agreed that it was indeed the ugliest they’d ever seen.

But Thorarin himself said, “I’ll take that bet, my king. There are few things in the world so strange that you can’t find a match for them. I happen to know where I can find an uglier foot right here in town.”

“It’s a bet,” said the king. “Whoever loses will have to perform a service for the winner.”

Then Thorarin pushed his other foot out from under the blanket. It was no prettier than the first, and on top of that the big toe was missing.

“I win the bet!” he said.

But King Olaf said, “Oh no. The first foot had five hideous toes, while this one has only four. Therefore I win the bet.”

The moral is: Never gamble with a politician.