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 above all，to his faithful wife，ELEANOR，who devotedly nursed him，and is said by some to have sucked the poison from the wound with her own red lips (which I am very willing to believe)，Edward soon recovered and was sound again.
As the King his father had sent entreaties to him to return home，he now began the journey.He had got as far as Italy，when he met messengers who brought him intelligence of the King's death.
Hearing that all was quiet at home，he made no haste to return to his own dominions，but paid a visit to the Pope，and went in state through various Italian Towns，where he was welcomed with acclamations as a mighty champion of the Cross from the Holy Land，and where he received presents of purple mantles and prancing horses，and went along in great triumph.The shouting people little knew that he was the last English monarch who would ever embark in a crusade，or that within twenty years every conquest which the Christians had made in the Holy Land at the cost of so much blood，would be won back by the Turks.But all this came to pass.
There was，and there is，an old town standing in a plain in France，called Ch僱ons.When the King was coming towards this place on his way to England，a wily French Lord，called the Count of Ch僱ons，sent him a polite challenge to come with his knights and hold a fair tournament with the Count and HIS knights，and make a day of it with sword and lance.It was represented to the King that the Count of Ch僱ons was not to be trusted，and that，instead of a holiday fight for mere show and in good humour，he secretly meant a real battle，in which the English should be defeated by superior force.
The King，however，nothing afraid，went to the appointed place on the appointed day with a thousand followers.When the Count came with two thousand and attacked the English in earnest，the English rushed at them with such valour that the Count's men and the Count's horses soon began to be tumbled down all over the field.
The Count himself seized the King round the neck，but the King tumbled HIM out of his saddle in return for the compliment，and，jumping from his own horse，and standing over him，beat away at his iron armour like a blacksmith hammering on his anvil.Even when the Count owned himself defeated and offered his sword，the King would not do him the honour to take it，but made him yield it up to a common soldier.There had been such fury shown in this fight，that it was afterwards called the little Battle of Ch僱ons.
The English were very well disposed to be proud of their King after these adventures；so，when he landed at Dover in the year one thousand two hundred and seventy-four (being then thirty-six years old)，and went on to Westminster where he and his good Queen were crowned with great magnificence，splendid rejoicings took place.