On the other hand, the town of Acre had been so strongly fortified, in some degree by Edward himself, that the Moslem leaders were deterred from attacking it. The presence of the English prince, however, caused them great annoyance; and since open measures were out of the question, they determined to get rid of him by assassination. An elaborate scheme was contrived for that purpose. The Emir of Jaffa sent presents to the prince, with letters expressing his desire of becoming a Christian. Edward returned a courteous reply, and on this pretence a lengthened correspondence took place between them. The messengers of the Emir, frequently visiting the prince, were at length permitted to come and go without question or examination. One evening when Edward was lying in his tent, unarmed and alone, the servant of the Emir appeared at the door, and made his usual obeisance. Edward bade him enter, and as he did so and knelt to present a letter, he suddenly drew a dagger with the other hand, and made a blow at the prince's heart. Edward, whose personal strength was little inferior to that of Cœur-de-Lion, caught his hand and turned the dagger aside, receiving a slight wound in the arm. He then threw the murderer to the ground and slew him with his own weapon.

The appearance of the prince's wound soon showed that the dagger had been poisoned, and Edward therefore made his will, and believed that his last hour was approaching. But there was an English surgeon at Acre whose skill appears to have been greater than was usual in his day, and who cut away the envenomed parts of the wound. The order of the Templars also were noted for their knowledge of medicine, and the Grand Master of the order sent his choicest drugs to assist the cure. These means, or a natural strength of constitution, subdued the effects of the poison, and the prince recovered. His wife Eleanor, who was famed for her virtues, and who was tenderly attached to him, probably nursed him with the utmost devotion to promote his recovery; but the account of her having sucked the poison from his wound must be rejected. The story, like others which have been received as forming part of English history, is little else than a poet's fiction, and when referred to the chronicles of the time, falls to the ground for want of corroborative evidence.

VIEW IN TUNIS.

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The sultan, who had other enemies to engage his attention, now adopted more legitimate means of getting rid of the troublesome invaders. He sent messengers to Edward with offers of peace, and a truce was ultimately concluded for ten years. Edward had received from his father urgent entreaties to return, and he was probably glad of an opportunity of putting an end to an irksome period of inactivity. At the close of the year 1272, he set sail from Acre for Sicily. On his arrival at Trapani, he was met by an invitation from Gregory X., the reigning Pope, to visit him at Rome. The Pontiff, who was newly elected, had, as Archbishop of Liège, accompanied Edward to Palestine, and a firm friendship had arisen between them. The prince therefore accepted the invitation and, having crossed the straits of Messina, he proceeded by land through the south of Italy.

On passing through Calabria, he was met by messengers who informed him of the death of his father. The news affected him very deeply. Charles of Anjou, who was then with him, and who was a man of a remarkably unfeeling and ferocious character, expressed his surprise at such a demonstration of grief. Referring to an infant son of Edward and Eleanor, who had lately died, he told the prince that he appeared to mourn more for the death of his old father than for his own child. Edward replied, "The loss of my child is one that I may hope to repair, but the death of a father is an irreparable loss."

When Edward arrived at Rome (February, 1273), the Pope was absent at Civita Vecchia, and thither the prince followed him. Edward met with a warm and hospitable reception from the Pontiff, and while in his presence he demanded vengeance upon the murderers of Henry d'Almaine. But the demand came too late. Simon de Montfort was already dead, his brother Guy had disappeared, and his place of refuge was not known, while the Count Aldobrandini was too powerful a noble to be proceeded against, otherwise than by a nominal examination, which produced no result. It was clear that the count was guilty, not of the murder, but only of giving shelter to the assassins, one of whom was his son-in-law; and under these circumstances, the English king was compelled to restrain his desire for vengeance.

Quitting Civita Vecchia, Edward continued his journey through northern Italy. Everywhere the ardent children of the South received him with welcome and honour. The enthusiasm for the crusades, soon to be altogether extinguished, showed itself as strongly now as in the days of Robert or of Richard, and the people hailed the young English king with the title of Champion of the Cross. Their sympathies were excited less by his deeds of personal prowess in the East—which, limited as they were, were exaggerated by the imaginative colouring of the minstrels—than by the wound he had received in the holy cause. They remembered, too, that amidst the general apathy of Europe he was the only prince who yet remained to bear aloft the banner of the Cross.