The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  "You have been thinking about this for some time, then, if you went to the trouble of planting a spy in Keltia."

  "Two years or three... but surely it was inevitable that we move against the Kelts?"

  Surely it was... Only a matter of time, mused Strephon, before the state of polite hatred that existed between Keltia and the Imperium would have flamed anew into outright conflict, as it had done so many times before. And Keltia's relations with Fomor, the ruling kingdom of the Phalanx worlds, were even less cordial than that; there had already been acts of war between those two powers. It was only surprising that it had taken so long to come to this, especially with that new queen the Kelts now had; they had been strangely quiet since the upheaval that had attended her accession to the throne; what was her name again...

  "Aeron Aoibhell," he said. "What do you hear of her, then, since she will be your chiefest enemy?"

  Jaun Akhera had been anticipating this question, and now he went to a sliding ornamental panel set in the wall, and opened it to reveal a computer screen.

  "A great deal," he said. "And all of it bad. At least from our point of view; no doubt she makes the Kelts an excellent monarch."

  He punched out a sequence on the computer, and the data he had prepared for this moment began to flow onto the screen as they watched. First a hologram portrait appeared, a young woman's portrait; judging by the smoothness of the pale complexion and the vibrancy of the flaming hair, she seemed far too young for the crushing burden of interstellar sovereignty. But the green eyes that looked out at them so disconcertingly gave that the lie: Those eyes would miss little and had seen much, and they looked as hard and as piercing as an emerald laser.

  "She has been High Queen of Keltia for not quite three years," said Jaun Akhera, though his grandfather could read the information on the screen for himself. "And she is a very young monarch, as her people reckon such things."

  Strephon appeared fascinated by the portrait. "Has she heirs? Or a consort?"

  "Her heir is her brother Prince Rohan. Her consort perished in that, ah, regrettable Fomori raid, the one that killed her parents--you will doubtless recall it."

  Strephon remembered it only too well. What a misbegotten idea that ambush had been, though no idea of his. In fact, the Imperium had had no inkling of it until it had happened--that unbelievably stupid Bres of Fomor, it had been his doing from the start--

  "And you will also recall," added Jaun Akhera, "the aftermath of Bres's ambush."

  That too he remembered. Most of the civilized galaxy remembered it. Aeron Aoibhell's first act as Queen--or her last as a private citizen, depending on how one chose to perceive it--had been to avenge the slaughter of her parents and her lord and their party. And how fearsomely she had done that...

  "She seems to be a chancy person to risk running afoul of," observed Strephon.

  "I agree. And that is why treachery must be the initial weapon to use against her; and why the instrument of that treachery shall be one of her own people." Jaun Akhera had been saving that surprise, and his grandfather's reaction was all that could have been hoped for.

  "A Kelt? That's not possible! They do not betray their own!"

  "I promise you, grandsir, this Kelt is distinctly possible." Again Jaun Akhera seemed secretly amused. "Trust me, lord." He glanced once more at the hologram. "Still," he said, his voice oddly tinged with regret, "it seems a great waste of beauty and power."

  Strephon hid a smile. "Perhaps she need not be destroyed," he said. "My heir will one day need an empress to sit beside him on the Throne of the Cabiri, a woman well fitted to be his consort. Who better prepared to be an empress than a queen, and what queen better than this one? She is intelligent, is she not; why should she choose to waste herself and her people in war, when she could rule our realm with you in peace?"

  Jaun Akhera laughed. "A tempting idea," he admitted, still smiling. "But I doubt Aeron Aoibhell would see it quite as you do. Do you know what they call her on the Fomori worlds? The She-wolf of Keltia. Until three years ago, all thought that merely empty compliment based on travellers' tales. Since then, she has earned that name many times over. And a she-wolf upon the throne--your throne--could be dangerous. Who knows where those fangs might snap next? I would fear them at my own throat before an hour had passed since the wedding...No, with your leave, grandsir. I think I shall seek elsewhere for my Empress."

  "A pity." Strephon touched a stud, and the screen darkened and slid behind its ornamental panel. He reclined once more upon his longchair, studying the big opal on his forefinger. "A great pity," he repeated. Then, in a brisker tone, "Go then, and work your plan.--No, do not thank me. If you succeed, it will be for me to thank you."

  Jaun Akhera bowed deeply. "Can you doubt it?"

  The Emperor gave his grandson a twisted smile, and his old pale eyes grew suddenly piercing.

  "I can doubt anything, son of my daughter," he said softly. "And I do doubt everything, until it has come to pass. Go, and do as you will. I shall give orders that you have anything you need."

  Again Jaun Akhera bowed, and then he left. Alone in the slanting afternoon light, Strephon contemplated the senet board again, but his thoughts were on the scene just past. After a time, an old philosophical problem came to his mind, and he smiled to himself at the idea: the Irresistible Force and the Immovable Object. Perhaps he was about to receive an effective demonstration of a solution. Only, he wondered suddenly, which element would be Jaun Akhera, and which Aeron Aoibhell?

  *

  Even before the airlock of the Sword had fully opened, Haruko was surrounded by his crew. Their faces shone with excitement, and they all spoke at once.

  "What was it like? Did you meet their Queen? Are we going there? What did they say?"

  "Back off," warned Haruko sincerely, still flustered from the events of the past few hours. He went into the lounge, fell into a contour couch, and took without even looking at it the drink Mikhailova thrust into his hands.

  "Well," he said, after emptying his glass in one long swallow, "we have been invited to Keltia. We'll be starting up in a little while, and then we'll be getting instructions on following the destroyer down."

  Tindal laughed. "Why don't they just stuff us into a hangar bay aboard the flagship? That baby could swallow us about a thousand times over."

  Haruko glared at him. "Hardly good diplomatic procedure. These people seem to think a lot of good manners, and by God we're going to show them some. All of you," he emphasized, looking at each of them in turn, but his glance lingering longest on Tindal. "At any rate, we'll be following them to a quarantine planetoid not too far away. We'll leave the Sword in orbit and go down to the surface in the shuttle."

  "And what happens after the quarantine?" asked Hathaway.

  "Good question. I'm tired, and we'll discuss it later, it's rather complicated. But we will be arriving--ultimately--at their capital." Suddenly he remembered, and startled them all as he shot upright, his fatigue forgotten. "But what about the one who was here, the captain of that ship--"

  "Mistress and Captain Gwennan Chynoweth," said O'Reilly primly.

  "She was very friendly, very courteous, very impressive, and gave away absolutely nothing," remarked Mikhailova. "We tried our best, too."

  "Yes, yes, but did you record it?" Haruko tried, unsuccessfully, to control his impatience.

  "Certainly we recorded it." Hathaway punched up the monitor, and they watched in silence as the tape unspooled.

  When it ended, Haruko sighed. "Well, that's about how it was with me. They were charming, but not exactly overinformative."

  "So?" O'Reilly was leaning forward, trying to see as much of the Keltic flagship as she could, through the small port of the lounge.

  "So... we accept with pleasure their kind invitation. What else? Oh, and extend our compliments to their Queen. You do it, O'Reilly; you know how to say all that formal stuff." Haruko paused in the hatchway leading to the crew's quarters. "I'm going to take a nap. Don'
t wake me until we're ready to move."

  *

  She who had been so lately characterized in an Imperial sitting-room as the She-wolf of Keltia jumped down from the door of the aircar onto the stone pavement of the landing-yard. Several people who had been sheltering in the door of a nearby tower now came forward, their heads hooded against the weather.

  It had turned sharply colder in the hours Aeron had been gone from Caerdroia, and a freak early snowfall had dusted the entire length of the Great Glen. Ribbons of dry snow snaked along the ground, and the trees, still full-leaved in their autumn splendor, raised blazing heads through the thin sprinkling of white.

  Aeron glanced guiltily at those who drew near, but when she saw it was only Morwen, Rohan and Gwydion, her apprehension turned at once to cheerful greeting.

  They returned her salute with somewhat subdued civility, which Aeron chose to ignore.

  "Will you join me for breakfast? There is time yet before the Council meeting."

  They followed her in silence through the halls to her tower, where in the grianan, the sunny room overlooking a garden courtyard, breakfast was already laid out. It was a silent meal, and finally Aeron capitulated.

  "Very well! I will give you a brief word as to what happened. I will be telling it all at the Council meeting, and I do not wish to go through it twice over." She broke off a piece of bread, dipped it in ale, and smiled at them guilelessly before she bit into it. "It was not so easy for me to judge of them as I thought," she remarked, not looking at anyone's eyes. "But the Terrans are coming here. Aye, they are coming. They are on their way to Inishgall even now, and they will be here at Caerdroia before the week is out. Now do not tell me, any of you, that this is ill thought of or hasty, for I do not wish to hear it from you. There will be enough of that, more than enough, later on... But for the Terrans themselves, they seem honorable folk, and I am very glad I went." She set down her ale mether and glanced around the table. "How did the Council take the news?"

  "Very badly," said Morwen. "As you knew they would... Any road, there were but six of them present; the others were off-planet, and you can surprise them at the joint session. Straloch was furious with you, and I am not sure he was not right to be angry. We did the best we could to smooth things for you, Aeron, but they'll not stay smoothed for long."

  "Aeron," came Rohan's reasonable voice, "if your own Councillors feel you have acted in haste, perhaps you should reconsider. Send the Terrans home to fetch a proper embassy, or delay them in quarantine a little while longer while one is summoned--a fortnight, a month..."

  "A year," muttered Morwen.

  "Not an hour," said Aeron evenly, and left the grianan to prepare herself for the session to come.

  Behind her, she left sour silence. Morwen reached for the keeve of ale, poured out a full mether.

  "For all of me," she said in honest bewilderment, "I do not understand this sudden passion to entangle ourselves with Earth. We have lived well enough without them all these years; why now must Aeron rush to throw us into their arms?"

  Gwydion, who had been silent this long time, looked up at her.

  "I think, Lochcarron," he said quietly, "that in truth you do not need that question answered... She sees what we have seen, of course. War with the Imperium, war with the Phalanx. And she is praying, as we have prayed, that it will not be war with both of them at the same time. And she fears, as we fear, that that is indeed what will come to pass. So, she buys time for us. An alliance with Earth may well be a naked provocation to battle, as Gavin and some of the others think. Or it may be an effective deterrent. We cannot know. But either way Aeron must be ready. And so must we." He rose from the table, and the others did likewise, for the meeting was almost upon them and they had much to prepare before its start.

  "In the meantime," remarked Rohan, "I suggest we begin the ordering of those ceremonies Aeron wishes. If it is to be done at all, let us by all means do it correctly. We have guests coming, and traditions to maintain--as you know."

  *

  Joint sessions of the High Council of Keltia and the Privy Council to the Ard-rian were held once a lunar month. Owing to the number of those who were required to attend, such sessions took place in the Hall of Meetings, a large, twelve-sided chamber located on the palace's second floor.

  Little ceremony accompanied joint sessions; they were working meetings, and those who attended them were under no illusions about that. Even the Hall itself echoed this workaday slant: It was simply furnished, dominated by a big oblong table of black granite with computer-pads inlaid at each place, and benches along the walls also equipped with computer stations. The ceiling was skylighted, the walls faced with cream-colored marble, the ornamentation classically severe. At the northern end of the room, huge windows ran floor to ceiling, framing a spectacular view over Caerdroia, the Great Glen, and, far across the valley, the mountains of the Stair. Aeron's chair was placed with its back to the view; the chair was more elaborate than the others, but her position was not otherwise set apart, and, save for the Tanist's seat on her left, and the Taoiseach's at her right, there were no other formal seating arrangements at the table, and the other members of the Ard-eis sat where they pleased.

  The Privy Councillors, who occupied the seats along the wall, had no vote as individuals, only as a body; and if they could not reach a consensus they had no vote at all. That had been made law by the first Aoibhell monarch, Brendan Mor; he it was who had first divided the Keltic Council into the Ard-eis, composed of officeholders and heads of orders such as the Ban-draoi and the Druids; and the Privy Council, which each monarch assembled to suit his or her personal needs, generally choosing kin or friends or recognized experts in specific disciplines.

  Aeron's choices for Privy Councillors were no exception: her sister Rioghnach, next eldest after herself and Rohan; her uncles Estyn and Deian; her cousins Melangell, Shane and Macsen; her childhood friend Sabia ni Dalaigh; and several others. Upon the first anniversary of her accession, lest the royalist party become too unleavened an influence, Aeron had expanded the Privy Council to include the leaders of Keltia's elected and hereditary assemblies as well, a break with tradition that, though widely hailed as a popular victory and a blast of fresh air, had nevertheless made for no little acrimony in joint sessions such as these. Aeron, though, and others, thought that was all to the good; if nothing else, at least the discord of faction fights might serve to keep Councillors awake--though today that, at least, was unlikely to be a problem.

  There had been considerable acrimony over Aeron's selections for the High Council. In the first days after her accession, she had decided to carry over many of her father's appointments: older, experienced individuals such as Alun Dyved, the Home Lord, and Kelynen Gwennol, Rechtair of the Keltic treasuries. And that had seemed right and respectful, a most satisfactory attitude. The trouble began when Aeron named to the key positions of Taoiseach and First Lord of War her former sister-in-law Morwen and her future consort Gwydion. The outcry had been loud and bitter; but Aeron, already showing the fabled Aoibhell intransigence, had let the storm break over her with sublime indifference, and in the end nothing had changed. But the resentment among the Council elders had only submerged itself, not dissipated, and it would take very little to bring it to the surface once more.

  And such discord, right now, they simply could not afford; therefore did Morwen glance around the Council chamber with such trepidation. She had been one of the earliest arrivals, hoping to test the temper of the hour by observing the others as they came in.

  Word of the Terrans' coming had apparently travelled swiftly: The prevailing attitude, as far as Morwen could tell, seemed to be intense annoyance with the Queen and her three chief abettors, and the air was already electric with the expectation of strife.

  Not but that Aeron would only enjoy it, thought Morwen. As a rule the Queen could handle her Council with both hands behind her back. But this was a problem of an entirely new order, and Morwen, for all her self-
assurance, was for once slightly doubtful of Aeron's abilities.

  The room was filled now; with the arrival of Aeron, Rohan a half-step behind her, the tension and excitement shivered down to grim anticipation. Morwen groaned inwardly even as she rose with the rest for the Queen: Aeron was informally dressed, like everyone else, in tunic, trews and boots; but around her neck she wore openly the silver medallion of the Dragon Kinship, and the rod-and-crescent of the Ban-draoi was embroidered in silver around the hem of her tunic. It was not usual for her to make such obvious statements, and Morwen was not alone in wondering why the Ard-rian felt this sudden need to emphasize the source of her powers.

  But statements and declarations were thick on the ground today, and Morwen's heart further misgave her as she continued to scan the hall. Gwydion, who sat at the main table a few places down on Aeron's right, had chosen to change his attire since that rather strained morning meal in the royal grianan. As a rule the subtlest of people, he now lounged at the Council table clad in the battle uniform of the Dragon Kinship. Of course he was Pendragon, and entitled to wear the Kinship's garb whenever he pleased, as indeed was any Kelt who was Kin to the Dragon. But Gwydion wore the field uniform, the plain black battle dress seen only in time of war, and few in the room had missed his point. Rohan, across the table, was in the royal green, Morwen was relieved to see, and that was harmless. But all too many of the others, both High Councillors and Privy Councillors alike, wore the dark brown of the Fianna, the military elite of the Keltic armed forces, and that was perhaps even more alarming an indication than Aeron's or Gwydion's displays.

  Morwen suddenly felt incredibly unsure, and out of place, and totally unequipped to deal with what was sure to come. Rohan threw her a supportive smile, and farther down the table Douglass frowned slightly.

  Aeron noticed all of this, as she noticed most of what went on around her, but she made no sign as she took her seat. Though all in the room had risen when she came in, once the meeting began she would pace back and forth by the windows as often as she would sit, and no one was required to leap up whenever she did.