Now in those days, when people got into disputes about things, even a bit of property, instead of settling the matter in courts of law as we do, it was quite customary to fight a “judicial duel,” as it was called; that is, the two men disputing appointed a meeting-place where they tried to wound each other, generally with swords, and the one who succeeded in disabling, or as sometimes happened, killing his adversary, was adjudged the better man and the winner of his case. This was certainly a strange and cruel way of doing, but six hundred years ago people did many strange and cruel things. Had young Count Boni merely engaged to fight an ordinary duel, that would have been bad enough, though it would not perhaps have been a matter of such concern; for the count was brave and a good swordsman,—and, ah, well! one must expect a duel now and then. But that which caused Isabeau, and Geoffrey, too, when he learned of it, such grief, was that her father was to fight the Count Hugo; for this nobleman was known to be most wicked and unscrupulous. It was his custom to pick an unjust quarrel with some noble whose lands he coveted and falsely claimed; then he would challenge his victim to a “judicial duel,” which always resulted in the noble being slain, and his estates being seized by Hugo. For no one had ever been able to stand against the wicked count, who fought not merely to wound, but to kill, and who had the reputation of being the most skilful and merciless swordsman in all France. Indeed, his cruel sword had slain so many noble lords that people declared it was bewitched; that Count Hugo, who had been a crusader, had obtained it from the heathen Saracens, who had forged it under some evil spell. They insisted the more on the unholy power of this sword, as Count Hugo himself seemed to regard it with great superstition and always preferred it to any other weapon; though, indeed, many people even went further in their talk, and asserted also that the count had got his unhallowed skill from some heathen wizard, and that any sword would, in his hands, be certain to deal a fatal thrust. And so it was that when he chose a victim for one of his duels, it was considered equal to a death warrant; though he always took care to make the nobles he challenged so angry that they would not listen to reason, and would fight him regardless of the fate of all who had crossed swords with him before. This, too, it was whispered, was a part of his sorcery—though perhaps really it was because the high-spirited Norman noblemen were no cowards, and would let no one assail their honor or seize their property if they could possibly help it.