The Path of the King | Page 3

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This Etext prepared by Mary Starr [Her
notes on spelling, etc., are appended following the text]

THE PATH OF THE KING
by John Buchan

TO MY WIFE I DEDICATE THESE

CHAPTERS
FIRST READ BY A COTSWOLD FIRE

CONTENTS
PROLOGUE 1. HIGHTOWN UNDER SUNFELL 2. THE
ENGLISHMAN 3. THE WIFE OF FLANDERS 4. EYES OF YOUTH
5. THE MAID 6. THE WOOD OF LIFE 7. EAUCOURT BY THE
WATERS 8. THE HIDDEN CITY 9. THE REGICIDE 10. THE
MARPLOT 11. THE LIT CHAMBER 12. IN THE DARK LAND 13.
THE LAST STAGE 14. THE END OF THE ROAD EPILOGUE

Linum fumigans non exstinguet; in veritate educet judicium. ISA.
XLII.3.

THE PATH OF THE KING
by John Buchan

PROLOGUE
The three of us in that winter camp in the Selkirks were talking the
slow aimless talk of wearied men.
The Soldier, who had seen many campaigns, was riding his hobby of
the Civil War and descanting on Lee's tactics in the last Wilderness
struggle. I said something about the stark romance of it--of Jeb Stuart
flitting like a wraith through the forests; of Sheridan's attack at
Chattanooga, when the charging troops on the ridge were silhouetted
against a harvest moon; of Leonidas Polk, last of the warrior Bishops,
baptizing his fellow generals by the light of a mess candle. "Romance,"

I said, "attended the sombre grey and blue levies as faithfully as she
ever rode with knight-errant or crusader."
The Scholar, who was cutting a raw-hide thong, raised his wise eyes.
"Does it never occur to you fellows that we are all pretty mixed in our
notions? We look for romance in the well-cultivated garden-plots, and
when it springs out of virgin soil we are surprised, though any fool
might know it was the natural place for it."
He picked up a burning stick to relight his pipe.
"The things we call aristocracies and reigning houses are the last places
to look for masterful men. They began strongly, but they have been too
long in possession. They have been cosseted and comforted and the
devil has gone out of their blood. Don't imagine that I undervalue
descent. It is not for nothing that a great man leaves posterity. But who
is more likely to inherit the fire--the elder son with his flesh-pots or the
younger son with his fortune to find? Just think of it! All the younger
sons of younger sons back through the generations! We none of us
know our ancestors beyond a little way. We all of us may have kings'
blood in our veins. The dago who blacked my boots at Vancouver may
be descended by curious byways from Julius Caesar.
"Think of it!" he cried. "The