The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  "This meeting in joint session extraordinary of the Ard-eis Keltannach and the Queen's Privy Council is now open," murmured Morwen dutifully at Aeron's nod, and immediately the room burst into contentious life.

  Aeron allowed the uproar to go on for a few moments, then raised a hand and there was instant silence.

  "I see most of you have already heard about the situation we are met to discuss. That is well, for it saves me some time. Even so, I would like now to set out in sequence for the rest of you, and for the record, everything that has happened since last night. Uninterrupted," she added with emphasis. "After that, I will allow debate."

  "So ordered, Ard-rian." Morwen began recording, and the room settled down to listen.

  With that Aeron plunged into a spare narrative that touched upon every aspect of the crisis, from the first reports sent her by the commander of the Glaistig, to her middle-night conference with her chief advisors, to her decision to meet the Terrans incognita aboard the Firedrake, and what had happened there, to the arrival of the Terrans on the planetoid and their imminent coming to Caerdroia.

  Despite what they had gleaned from rumorous sources and from those who had been present at the earlier meeting, most of Aeron's listeners were ignorant of the details of the situation, and now they were reluctantly fascinated by her account, no matter their private opinions of her actions.

  Gwydion, to whom this was old news save for the happenings aboard Firedrake, was listening to his ruler with only half an ear. The chief part of his not inconsiderable concentration was focused upon her audience. Like Morwen, he had immediately perceived that Aeron was facing a fight. One had only to look at Straloch, for instance, no whit less obstinate than he had been earlier that day. Or Malen Darowen, the Kymric viceroy, who sat as did all the system lords on the Privy Council; or Rollow of Davillaun, Chief Assemblator, the most important elected representative in all Keltia; or any of what Gwydion uneasily concluded was a very fair number dead set against Aeron, and who would, as soon as she had finished speaking, without a doubt make their feelings all too plain. It was not impossible, even, for a vote of censure to be taken against the Queen.

  Not that censure would stop Aeron on her own course, or even discommode her to any great extent. The Council had specific, but limited, legal powers; and as sovereign, Aeron had the power to override a vote even if the entire membership of both groups should range itself against her. Though she would be ill-advised indeed to do so; such a thing had happened but rarely in all Keltic history, and was, on balance, unlikely to happen now. Still--

  "If you permit, Ard-rian," said Gwydion, coming in smoothly upon her concluding remarks, "I should like to begin that debate you spoke of by outlining our military position for the civilian members of the Councils." He used the bard's voice that, though unraised, resonated authoritatively through the room, and as he looked around he noted with hidden relief that even the most outraged Councillors were prepared at least to listen to him.

  That was not always the case. In spite of his royal rank as Prince of Gwynedd, his position on the Council, his personal relationship with Aeron, in spite even of his awesome powers as sorcerer and Pendragon, Gwydion was often viewed--and treated--by the older Councillors as a youth presuming to instruct his betters. This bothered him little for himself; though on occasion it vexed him for Aeron's sake, that they should continue to question her judgment and treat her as a precocious child who just happened, by sheer ill chance, to have become their absolute ruler. But they would learn, as he had known from the first, what manner of Ard-rian they had in truth got themselves.

  "I have no objections, First Lord of War," said Aeron, and Gwydion laughed inwardly at her none too subtle stressing of his title and sphere of rule in Council.

  Now it was Aeron's turn to assess the room, and from under her lashes she studied the more obvious trouble spots. It was all so very tiresome. Now Gwydion was speaking, with a patience and tact much greater than they deserved, and when he had finished it would be as if they had heard not the smallest word of what he had said, so hot were they upon their own trail. She knew it so well, had seen it so often before. What a waste of precious time, hers, his, everyone's. They should not be talking at all, but getting ready for war on the one hand and alliance on the other, since the latter was what Aeron wanted and the former was what she confidently expected...

  Abruptly she stood up, startling everyone but Gwydion, whose voice never even wavered, and stalked over to the windows. Below, in the faha, the wide grassy courtyard enclosed by the palace's battlemented walls, a company of Fians was drilling, and Aeron watched them as closely as everyone else in the room watched her.

  Gwydion ceased to speak. Without turning, Aeron addressed herself to Morwen.

  "I will now hear debate, Taoiseach. You have heard me, and you have heard Gwydion. But before anyone else speaks here, know this: I will open diplomatic relations with Earth, now or later, by royal fiant if you give me no other choice; and I will sign a treaty of alliance also. It is only a matter of time. The Terrans come here in three days, and they will remain here until such time as a treaty is signed."

  Straloch, face dark with fury, leaped to his feet. "A plague upon your royal father's daughter! Then why discuss it at all? And what of the Protectorates, Aeron? What say have they in all this? And any road, I demand a vote!"

  His angry challenge contained one question just about everyone in the room wanted to have answered. Over the past four or five reigns, Keltia had attracted petitions from neighboring star systems, suing for the protection of the Keltic sword against the planet-hungry expansionism of the Imperium and the Phalanx. Keltia's fierce stance of nonalignment seemed the best hope of continued independence for these systems, most of them small, technology-poor, and ill-equipped to beat off the military might of the two chief galactic aggressors; and Keltia had defended her Protectorates militarily many times. Aeron herself had seen active service in that cause.

  During the three years of Aeron's reign, however, these petitions had increased dramatically, both in number and in desperation, and each had been duly and carefully considered. And almost all of them had been granted, with the somewhat ironic result that Keltia itself was now an empire of sorts, though the protectorates were regarded rather as friends than vassals. Still, in many of these systems, the sovereigns of Keltia were called by the ancient title first restored by Arthur himself: Imperator, Emperor of the West. And that had not gone unnoticed, either on Alphor or among the Fomori.

  "What is that to you? The Protectorates will do as we bid them," said Rohan crossly, answering Straloch. "You are Lord Extern, you know perfectly well that is part of their bargain with us." He glanced aside at his sister's stony profile, sighed to himself. "We have been down this road with you once today already, Gavin. As to the need for debate on so great a matter, I would think that to be obvious even to you. Though the outcome be already settled by the will of the Ard-rian, there are still many details of the first importance to be determined."

  Straloch subsided with an ill grace, and a low mutter of talk ran through the room. Over the muted discussion, Aeron's friend Sabia spoke out from where she sat beside Rioghnach against the wall.

  "I move the Taoiseach take the vote Straloch has asked for. Everyone knew what everyone else thinks a long time ago. More talk might ease hearts but cloud minds, and nothing will be altered."

  "Very well so," said Morwen. "Will the Lord Extern put his statement on the record?"

  "I am opposed, Taoiseach, to the actions taken last night by the Ard-rian, and to the actions she now purposes to take."

  Over at the windows, Aeron's back stiffened, but still she did not turn.

  Morwen spoke in a neutral voice. "Who holds with my lord of Straloch?"

  Nine people raised their hands, reluctantly or otherwise. Of those, five were members of the Privy Council and had no personal vote. The other four, even though High Councillors, were not enough to make up a majority, and Morwen was de
eply relieved.

  "The vote is four and five against you, Ard-rian."

  At that Aeron did turn round to them. "My sorrow if I have vexed the Council," she said in a cold silky voice.

  The Council knew that voice of old, knew what it foreboded. They had heard the Ard-righ Fionnbarr use it, and the Ard-righ Lasairian, and some of the eldest of them had even heard the Ard-rian Aoife use it, colder and silkier than anyone except the one who used it now. And Aeron Aoibhell in a temper was a terror they did not care to face. Few dared go up against her in such a mood; Gwydion alone, and sometimes Morwen and Rohan, could coax her out of one. Even so, they were surprised, for unlike the Ard-rian Aoife, not lightly did Aeron give way to anger.

  She returned to her place, though she remained standing, and cast a baleful stare around the table.

  "I have heard your advice," she said very softly, and they flattened themselves back in their chairs for the blast that was sure to follow.

  But again she surprised them. "Taoiseach, dismiss the Councils with our thanks."

  It was the customary phrase of royal dismissal, and no one needed to be told twice. The room emptied as if by magic. Morwen, after a hesitant glance at Aeron's thunderous countenance, thought better of what she had intended to say, and instead caught Rohan's eye, jerked her head toward the door, and went out with him.

  Gwydion remained unmoving in his seat. Aeron, whose eyes had been fixed on the table directly in front of her, slammed her fists into the black granite, then looked up. She smiled ruefully on seeing him still there, and brushed back her hair with a characteristic gesture.

  "Was I so impossible?" she asked, coming to him and putting her arms around his neck.

  "Very nearly," he said after a moment, and her arms fell away.

  "I am sorry to hear you say it," she said, stung. "We won, did we not? Even Straloch had to bend. And there's an end of it."

  Gwydion stood up. "Nay, Aeron, there's not the end of it. Because you and you alone are the one who must act on what you have seen and learned and kenned and thought. No matter who throws caltraps in your road, only you have the power and the sacred duty to act. Not I. Not Rohan nor Morwen. Certainly not Straloch. No one else on the Council or off it but you alone."

  "Aye so!" she snapped, whirling on him. "And that is why I went out as I did! For all my soul I can not understand why everyone is making so great a matter of it. You at least must understand what it is that I do here."

  "I understand very well," he said, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her gently backwards, until she leaned against his chest. But her body stiffened at the soothing tones in his voice, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders. "That does not mean I must like it. Aeron, at the end of all counsels, you are Queen and we are your servants. I think you forget that all too often." He looked down with concern at the top of her head, for she had gone very still in his grasp. "And I fear for you," he added, in a lower voice. "More than you know."

  At that, she turned in his arms and looked up into his troubled face. She was smiling, though tears sparkled in the green eyes.

  "You have spoken two falsehoods, Prince of Gwynedd," she said. "The Ard-rian is the servant of Keltia, not the Kelts hers; and that is the one thing of all things the Ard-rian never forgets."

  "And the other falsehood you say I speak?"

  "I know too well your fears for me," she said after a hesitation. "Never think I do not know. But, Gwydion, do you know how much I have feared for you? I never thought to admit my care, I did not want to lose you the way I--"

  "--the way you lost Roderick," he finished gently and felt her flinch beneath his hands. "Aeronwy, I loved him too. He was my very dear friend, and whatever would have fallen out in the end between you and him, or between you and me, that would not have changed, ever. I knew the choice you had to make three years ago, and I knew the reasons you made it as you did."

  They had never before spoken of this so openly, and Gwydion's words were so reasoned and so true that Aeron dropped her eyes before his face. In all truth, it had been her parents rather than she who had been eager for the match with the Douglases, though she herself had hero-worshipped Roderick, the Prince of Scots who was eight years her senior, since she had been a small child. All through her adolescence, it had been assumed by their parents that, one day, Aeron and Rhodri would wed and rule Keltia together. But it had come to be Gwydion who had touched Aeron's deepest soul...

  Keltic law, uncommonly perceptive and sympathetic among galactic legal canons, allowed for ten sorts of marriage, only three of which were considered permanent; each of them was as lawfully binding as the others, all of them dissolvable, and none of them carried any dishonor. Torn between obedience to her parents and her own wishes, Aeron had given in so far as to make a brehon marriage with Roderick for the usual term of a lunar year. And Gwydion's peace had not been troubled in the slightest. But then Roderick had been slain, with Emer and Fionnbarr, a scant five weeks after the ceremony; and though it was a deeply shaken Aeron who had then turned to Gwydion, both of them knew it was no makeshift second choice but the affirmation of a love each of them had borne the other all along.

  He saw her distress, pulled her close against him and spoke soft-voiced into her hair.

  "Aeronwy, all is meant. As a Ban-draoi, you know that as surely as do I who am Druid."

  Her voice came muffled. "I thought--I feared that you were jealous of my memory."

  "That would insult all three of us. But Rhodri is well enough now; we must leave him to work his own dan, and you and I must work our own for ourselves here without him. I am here for you, always; and you for me. What more is there?"

  She tightened her arms about him. "No more, lord, than that; except that whatever is coming now to Keltia, I am glad we shall meet it together, you and I, and glad likewise that no one begrudges us our joy."

  But in that last Aeron was wrong indeed.

  Chapter Five

  It was mid-afternoon, and autumn, at Caerdroia as Aeron turned to Gwydion in the Council chamber, but at Caer Ys on the planet of Gwynedd, in the Kymric system, spring and sunrise were only just at hand.

  The island castle at the mouth of the Velindre loomed up insubstantial as a phantom in the morning twilight, its lower stories wreathed in the ground-mist that rose steaming from the damp grass, its upper tower-tips already catching the first faint rays that shot from Beli, the giant sun that was this system's primary.

  Down on the rocky beach below the castle, a woman walked with two white dogs. She was dressed in white, and the slanting dawnlight glinted silver-gilt sparks off her coiled hair. From time to time, she bent down, scarcely pausing in her long springy stride, to pick up pieces of driftwood and fling them arcing down the strand for the dogs to fetch, but otherwise her eyes were fixed on the surging sea, though her thoughts were far elsewhere. Seeing her easy, unhurried pace, a watcher might have been tempted to join her; seeing her face, no watcher would have dared.

  But of late everyone walked in fear around Arianeira of Gwynedd. Ever since her brother Gwydion had been elected to the Pendragonship, and had been appointed by Aeron Aoibhell to be her First Lord of War, people on Gwynedd had not failed to notice that his twin sister, Arianeira, had become increasingly difficult to live with, or to serve under. Where formerly she had been fickle, she had become perverse; where once she had been merely capricious, now she had grown fractious. There was no pleasing her, and no anticipating her, and those who tried either soon wished they had done neither.

  In the manner of folk who know when to leave ill enough alone, the Gwyneddans opined quietly to themselves that perhaps their Princess had too little to occupy her time, now that Gwydion spent all his own time at Caerdroia. The governance of the planet, which had formerly been Gwydion's task, had now largely been assumed by the twins' younger brother Elved, who was making a fine and conscientious job of it. Little responsibility was thus left to Arianeira, and much leisure in which to feel herself neglected and aggri
eved. But her folk thought all this softly, when they thought it at all, and spoke none of it overloud; the daughters of the House of Don were reputed able to hear words upon the winds.

  As usual, all of that was only partly true. Arianeira's heart had indeed grown hard with the absence of her favorite brother. But the fox that gnawed the deepest at her vitals, as she felt it, was no simple vixen but the She-wolf herself. Aeron, Morwen and Arianeira had all three been fostered together as children, and the roots of the Princess's present mood went long and deep into that past. When one's spirit craved to rule, hard enough to know that one would not; but when one's foster-sister was a future queen, and one's other foster-sister a future ruling duchess, how much harder to accept for oneself a quiet life.

  With the instincts of a twin and a woman, Arianeira knew perhaps even more of the hearts and fates of Gwydion and Aeron than those two knew themselves. And what she knew, she did not love. So she grew, not less lovely, but deeply angrier, and when at last the chance was laid before her, it found her not at all slow to take it.

  *

  Up in one horn of the tower nearest the sea, a man leaned against the battlements, his eyes fixed on the distant white-clad figure. He was dark as only the purest Kymry of all Kelts were dark: black hair, thick and curling; black eyes deep-set beneath straight bars of brows; skin ruddier than was the rule among his folk. He was dressed plainly, in a blue tunic of good fabric and gray leather trews and low black boots; his cloak was worn slung over one shoulder and under the opposite arm, fastened by knotted cords across his chest. He looked too common to be a noble, and too arrogant to be a commoner, and no servitor would ever have stared at his mistress as he now stared at the Princess.