the path of the king-第1节

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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




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　itof　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　firethe　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　spark　once　transmitted　may　smoulder　for　generations　under　ashes；　but　the　appointed　time　will　come；　and　it　will　flare　up　to　warm　the　world。　God　never　allows　waste。　And　we　fools　rub　our　eyes　and　wonder；　when　we　see　genius　come　out　of　the　gutter。　It　didn't　begin　there。　We　tell　ourselves　that　Shakespeare　was　the　son　of　a　woolpedlar；　and　Napoleon　of　a　farmer；　and　Luther　of　a　peasant；　and　we　hold　up　our　hands　at　the　marvel。　But　who　knows　what　kings　and　prophets　they　had　in　their　ancestry！〃

After　that　we　turned　in；　and　as　I　lay　looking　at　the　frosty　stars　a　fancy　wove　itself　in　my　brain。　I　saw　the　younger　sons　carry　the　royal　blood　far　down　among　the　people；　down　even　into　the　kennels　of　the　outcast。　Generations　follow；　oblivious　of　the　high　beginnings；　but　there　is　that　in　the　stock　which　is　fated　to　endure。　The　sons　and　daughters　blunder　and　sin　and　perish；　but　the　race　goes　on；　for　there　is　a　fierce　stuff　of　life　in　it。　It　sinks　and　rises　again　and　blossoms　at　haphazard　into　virtue　or　vice；　since　the　ordinary　moral　laws　do　not　concern　its　mission。　Some　rags　of　greatness　always　cling　to　it；　the　dumb　faith　that　sometime　and　somehow　that　blood　drawn　from　kings　it　never　knew　will　be　royal　again。　Though　nature　is　wasteful　of　material　things；　there　is　no　waste　of　spirit　And　then　after　long　years　there　comes；　unheralded　and　unlooked…for；　the　day　of　the　Appointed　Time。。。。

This　is　the　story　which　grew　out　of　that　talk　by　the　winter　fire。



CHAPTER　I。　HIGHTOWN　UNDER　SUNFELL

When　Biorn　was　a　very　little　boy　in　his　father's　stead　at　Hightown　he　had　a　play　of　his　own　making　for　the　long　winter　nights。　At　the　back　end　of　the　hall；　where　the　men　sat　at　ale；　was　a　chamber　which　the　thralls　used　of　a　morninga　place　which　smelt　of　hams　and　meal　and　good　provender。　There　a　bed　had　been　made　for　him　when　he　forsook　his　cot　in　the　women's　quarters。　When　the　door　was　shut　it　was　black　dark；　save　for　a　thin　crack　of　light　from　the　wood　fire　and　torches　of　the　hall。　The　crack　made　on　the　earthen　floor　a　line　like　a　golden　river。　Biorn；　cuddled　up　on　a　bench　in　his　little　bear…skin；　was　drawn　like　a　moth　to　that　stream　of　light。　With　his　heart　beating　fast　he　would　creep　to　it　and　stand　for　a　moment　with　his　small　body　bathed　in　the　radiance。　The　game　was　not　to　come　back　at　once；　but　to　foray　into　the　farther　darkness　before　returning　to　the　sanctuary　of　bed。　That　took　all　the　fortitude　in　Biorn's　heart；　and　not　till　the　thing　was　dared　and　done　could　he　go　happily　to　sleep。

One　night　Leif　the　Outborn　watched　him　at　his　game。　Sometimes　the　man　was　permitted　to　sleep　there　when　he　had　been　making　sport　for　the　housecarles。

〃Behold　an　image　of　life！〃　he　had　said　in　his　queer　outland　speech。　〃We　pass　from　darkness　to　darkness　with　but　an　instant　of　light　between。　You　are　born　for　high　deeds；　princeling。　Many　would　venture　from　the　dark　to　the　light；　but　it　takes　a　stout　breast　to　voyage　into　the　farther　dark。〃

And　Biorn's　small　heart　swelled；　for　he　detected　praise；　though　he　did　not　know　what　Leif　meant。

In　the　long　winter　the　sun　never　topped　Sunfell；　and　when　the　gales　blew　and　the　snow　drifted　there　were　lights　in　the　hall　the　day　long。　In　Biorn's　first　recollection　the　winters　were　spent　by　his　mother's　side；　while　she　and　her　maids　spun　the　wool　of　the　last　clipping。　She　was　a　fair　woman　out　of　the　Western　Isles；　all　brown　and　golden　as　it　seemed　to　him；　and　her　voice　was　softer　than　the　hard　ringing　speech　of　the　Wick　folk。　She　told　him　island　stories　about　gentle　fairies　and　good…humoured　elves　who　lived　in　a　green　windy　country　by　summer　seas；　and　her　air　would　be　wistful　as　if　she　thought　of　her　lost　home。　And　she　sang　him　to　sleep　with　crooning　songs　which　had　the　sweetness　of　the　west　wind　in　them。　But　her　maids　were　a　rougher　stock；　and　they　stuck　to　the　Wicking　lullaby　which　ran　something　like　this：

Hush　thee；　my　bold　one；　a　boat　will　I　buy　thee；　　A　boat　and　stout　oars　and　a　bright　sword　beside；　A　helm　of　red　gold　and　a　thrall　to　be　nigh　thee；　　When　fair　blows　the　wind　at　the　next　wicking…tide。

There　was　a　second　verse；　but　it　was　rude　stuff；　and　the　Queen　had　forbidden　the　maids　to　sing　it。

As　he　grew　older　he　was　allowed　to　sit　with　the　men　in　the　hall；　when　bows　were　being　stretched　and　bowstrings　knotted　and　spear…hafts　fitted。　He　would　sit　mum　in　a　corner；　listening　with　both　ears　to　the　talk　of　the　old　franklins；　with　their　endless　grumbles　about　lost　cattle　and　ill　neighbours。　Better　he　liked　the　bragging　of　the　young　warriors；　the　Bearsarks；　who　were　the　spear…head　in　all　the　forays。　At　the　great　feasts　of　Yule…tide　he　was　soon　sent　packing；　for　there　were　wild　scenes　when　the　ale　flowed　freely；　though　his　father；　King　Ironbeard；　ruled　his　hall　with　a　strong　hand。　From　the　speech　of　his　elders　Biorn　made　his　picture　of　the　world　beyond　the　firths。　It　was　a　world　of　gloom　and　terror；　yet　shot　with　a　strange　brightness。　The　High　Gods　might　be　met　with　in　beggar's　guise　at　any　ferry；　jovial　fellows　and　good　friends　to　brave　men；　for　they　themselves　had　to　fight　for　their　lives；　and　the　End　of　All　Things　hung　over　them　like　a　cloud。　Yet　till　the　day　of　Ragnarok　there　would　be　feasting　and　fine　fighting　and　goodly　fellowship；　and　a　stout　heart　must　live　for　the　hour。

Leif　the　Outborn　was　his　chief　friend。　The　man　was　no　warrior；　being　lame　of　a　leg　and　lean　and　sharp　as　a　heron。　No　one　knew　his　begetting；　for　he　had　been　found　as　a　child　on　the　high　fells。　Some　said　he　was　come　of　the　Finns；　and　his　ill…wishers　would　have　it　that　his　birthplace　had　been　behind　a　foss；　and　that　he　had　the　blood　of　dwarves　in　him。　Yet　though　he　made　sport　for　the　company；　he　had　respect　from　them；　for　he　was　wise　in　many　things；　a　skilled　leech；　a　maker　of　runes；　and　a　crafty　builder　of　ships。　He　was　a　master　hand　at　riddles；　and　for　hours　the　housecarles　would　puzzle　their　wits　over　his　efforts。　This　was　the　manner　of　them。　〃Who；〃　Leif　would　ask；　〃are　the　merry　maids　that　glide　above　the　land　to　the　joy　of　their　father；　in　winter　they　bear　a　white　shield；　but　black　in　summer？〃　The　answer　was　〃Snowflakes　and　rain。〃　Or　〃I　saw　a　corpse　sitting　on　a　corpse；　a　blind　one　riding　on　a　lifeless　steed？〃　to　which　the　reply　was　〃A　dead　horse　on　an　ice…floe。〃　Biorn　never　guessed　any　of　the　riddles；　but　the　cleverness　of　them　he　thought　miraculous；　and　the　others　roared　with　glee　at　their　own　obtuseness。

But　Leif　had　different　moods；　for　sometimes　he　would　tell　tales；　and　all　were　hushed　in　a　pleasant　awe。　The　fire　on　the　hearth　was　suffered　to　die　down；　and　men　drew　closer　to　each　other；　as　Leif　told　of　the　tragic　love　of　Helgi　and　Sigrun；　or　how　Weyland　outwitted　King　Nidad；　or　how　Thor　went　as　bride　to　Thrym　in　Giantland；　and　the　old　sad　tale　of　how　Sigurd　Fafnirsbane；　noblest　of　men；　went　down　to　death　for　the　love　of　a　queen　not　less　noble。　Leif　told　them　well；　so　that　his　hearers　were　held　fast　with