ER EDWARD THE FIRST, CALLED LONGSHANKS

It was now the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred and seventy-two;
and Prince Edward, the heir to the throne, being away in the Holy Land,
knew nothing of his father's death. The Barons, however, proclaimed him
King, immediately after the Royal funeral; and the people very willingly
consented, since most men knew too well by this time what the horrors of
a contest for the crown were. So King Edward the First, called, in a not
very complimentary manner, LONGSHANKS, because of the slenderness of his
legs, was peacefully accepted by the English Nation.

His legs had need to be strong, however long and thin they were; for they
had to support him through many difficulties on the fiery sands of Asia,
where his small force of soldiers fainted, died, deserted, and seemed to
melt away. But his prowess made light of it, and he said, 'I will go on,
if I go on with no other follower than my groom!'

A Prince of this spirit gave the Turks a deal of trouble. He stormed
Nazareth, at which place, of all places on earth, I am sorry to relate,
he made a frightful slaughter of innocent people; and then he went to
Acre, where he got a truce of ten years from the Sultan. He had very
nearly lost his life in Acre, through the treachery of a Saracen Noble,
called the Emir of Jaffa, who, making the pretence that he had some idea
of turning Christian and wanted to know all about that religion, sent a
trusty messenger to Edward very often--with a dagger in his sleeve. At
last, one Friday in Whitsun week, when it was very hot, and all the sandy
prospect lay beneath the blazing sun, burnt up like a great overdone
biscuit, and Edward was lying on a couch, dressed for coolness in only a
loose robe, the messenger, with his chocolate-coloured face and his
bright dark eyes and white teeth, came creeping in with a letter, and
kneeled down like a tame tiger. But, the moment Edward stretched out his
hand to take the letter, the tiger made a spring at his heart. He was
quick, but Edward was quick too. He seized the traitor by his chocolate
throat, threw him to the ground, and slew him with the very dagger he had
drawn. The weapon had struck Edward in the arm, and although the wound
itself was slight, it threatened to be mortal, for the blade of the
dagger had been smeared with poison. Thanks, however, to a better
surgeon than was often to be found in those times, and to some wholesome
herbs, and a