Across the hall, Tindal was not even faintly drowsy. As they all had done, he had bathed and changed his clothes, though he with that extra fastidiousness which was part of his character and which had earned him so many extra gibes aboard ship. But he was too preoccupied and overwrought to lie down for a nap as the others had done; and now he paced the room, now stared out the tall windows into the rainy dark.
He was well aware of his reputation aboard the Sword, how he appeared in the eyes of his fellow crewmen. They tolerated him merely, suffered his sarcasm and his cynicism and his general attitude, for the sole sake of his brilliance at his job. There were few finer science officers in the Navy, and they knew it; more to the point, he knew it. What had always held him back from further promotion or greater responsibilities or awarded honors was a certain tendency to stir things up for the sheer sake of watching them swirl: a kind of joy in malice that no Navy alienist had missed noting in him and that no commanding officer had failed to keep a weather eye on. In Navy parlance, Tindal was a mixer. But much could be forgiven for excellence, and Tindal generally knew to the last fraction exactly how far his brilliance and utility could be made to balance off his perversity.
But what his crewmates on all the many vessels that had seen his service could never manage to forgive was his opportunism. Tindal, in any conceivable set of circumstances, could unfailingly be counted upon to secure Tindal's interests first. It was a trait not so much acquired as inborn, as much a part of his essential nature as his lanky frame or receding hairline or watery blue eyes. It was also a trait guaranteed to win him few friends, and the people who shared the Sword with him had been no exception.
Yet here, maybe, was a chance for him like no other chance he had ever had before. This Keltia, now, was a totally unknown quantity, obviously immensely powerful--to hold seven star systems together against all comers for three thousand years, it would have to be--and Tindal had always liked monarchies anyway. The scope here was unparalleled in his experience: for mischief, or for gain. The great thing was that so far, outside the five members of the Sword's crew, no Terran yet knew Keltia even existed. The subspace communique Haruko had ordered sent would not reach the Admiralty for at least a week; until then, they were unique in their knowledge. How that might work to his advantage, Tindal did not yet know. But if it could, he would...
*
Haruko had expected dinner to be something of a strained and formal occasion, but he was both surprised and delighted to be proved wrong. That bored, space-weary crew of his seemed to have come alive--it couldn't have been just the salutary effects of a bath and a nap, he thought; they were all of them, even Tindal, absolutely sparkling--and Haruko found himself responding to their gaiety with a merry mood of his own. What it was, he finally decided, was simply five people giving themselves over to the moment, the spirit of adventure taking the helm at last; though no one except perhaps Hathaway would admit to so frivolous a motivation.
In any event, the Terrans and their hosts were mutually and equally delighted. The food was simple and delicious, the conversation agreeable, the wines and ales and the noble drink called usqueba strong and plentiful.
After dinner, the entire party, save for the medics and guards, adjourned to a drawing room, where a fire burned upon a huge hearth and where the sense of being snug against the storm was conducive to talk. Even Melangell had let down her air of royal reserve, and was chatting animatedly with Hathaway and O'Reilly.
"But I forget," she said at last, with a charming smile, "I am here to answer your questions, not you mine! What is it you might like to know?"
"Everything," said Mikhailova simply.
Melangell laughed. "That would be beyond my telling, I fear." She paused, then continued in a style and attitude rather different from the one she had previously displayed, and Haruko guessed they were seeing the bardic manner at work. "We came from Earth, as you have heard, and as I know Morgan will sing you later. For now, I will say only that we have dwelt here many centuries in peace, and in what passed for peace, and in red war undoubted."
Haruko put to her the question he had asked twice already, to which he had twice received no answer. He expected none now, really, but...
"Why haven't we ever heard of you before?"
To his surprise, Melangell answered at once, with a frankness he saw was genuine.
"By policy. About your Earth year 1800, we came upon very bitter times in Keltia. It was the time of the Interregnum, the Druid Theocracy, when the Druid priests, or very many of them, led by the Archdruid Edeyrn, seized power and used it for their own evil ends. There was civil war--for many resisted--and then, at Edeyrn's own instigation, alien invasion, fearful destruction all over our worlds. We were delivered by the arm of King Arthur of glorious memory, he who would become the greatest monarch we ever had. Yet even he fell in time; and when he came to leave us, his sister, Morgan Magistra, resolved that none should ever again find us whom we did not wish to find us.
"Now Morgan was a sorceress, the greatest we have known, mightier even than St. Brendan himself, and she used her sorcery to raise the Curtain Wall, which is our chiefest defense. You will pass through it when we leave here for Caerdroia."
Tindal's professionalism as science officer was aroused. "What does this Curtain Wall actually do?"
"Your people might well call it magic," said Morgan Cairbre. "But to us it is simple science. It is an energy barrier, a force-field that shields all Keltia from entry or observation; it surrounds our systems, hiding suns, planets, people, all. Even energy cannot pass through it, and the Wall cannot be breached in either direction without a ship being keyed to the secret frequencies that permit it to pass. The Wall does not conceal us--from the outside, one knows there is something there--but it does effectively mask the space within, the Bawn of Keltia, from without. People know where Keltia is, but they can neither see it nor get into it."
There was an awed little silence. "How can this be possible?" asked O'Reilly then.
"I am no scientist," said Morgan, smiling. "And I could not tell you even were I able to explain such a thing. Call it magic, and let us leave it. But there is much else we may speak of instead." The conversation that had languished flowed smoothly into other channels, and the tension of the moment passed.
Until Tindal brought up politics.
"The Imperium?" repeated Morgan, with a faint frown. "Well, it is far from us, for one thing, and for the rest we have a policy of what you might call hostile noninvolvement, thanks to the work Queen Aeron's father, the Ard-righ Fionnbarr, did before he was slain. Indeed, it was partly for that policy they killed him and his Queen... But it is a difficult peace, uneasy at best, and, I think, not long to last."
"And the Phalanx?"
"Ah. That's very different."
O'Reilly said, slowly and diffidently, "On the Sword--the scouts told me a little, they said there was some personal feeling between Queen Aeron and King Bres of Fomor, who is now Archon of the Phalanx?"
Melangell gave a short laugh. "There is indeed. Dearly does each detest the other."
"But why?"
"It was Bres of Fomor ordered the ambush that killed Aeron's parents and consort and about a hundred of our folk beside. They were on an embassy ship, with three escort cursals, sailing outside the Curtain Wall under galactic peace ensigns, and the Fomori fell upon them without warning. All were slaughtered."
"What happened then?" Even Tindal was shaken.
Melangell's lovely face had grown bleak. "Something none of us is greatly proud of. Least of all Aeron..." She did not look at any of them. "When Aeron was told what had befallen the embassy ship," she said at last, "she said no word to anyone of her intentions, but took her own ship and went out alone from Tara. She went first of all to the--the wreck of the embassy ship, then she sailed through subspace to--"
"Subspace!" gasped Haruko. "That's the most incredible--" He broke off. Only radio waves, as a rule, ever travelled in subspace; he had never heard
of any vessel navigating safely through the weird milky turbulence that lay below normal space as hyperspace lay above it.
"So it is," said Melangell. "But a ship cannot be traced or followed across subspace, and Aeron wanted that security, so that no more Kelts might be lost for this grievance. Also a ship coming out of subspace cannot be detected, and she wanted likewise the element of surprise." She resumed the tale. "Any road, she came out of subspace in the Fomori outskirt system from which the ambush attack had been launched. She announced to them who she was and why she had come; and then she reduced the entire Fomori military outpost, a planetoid known as Bellator, with all its people, down to molten bedrock."
The room had gone totally silent, and only the raging of the storm outside could be heard. Then Hathaway, "Wait a minute... I mean, forgive me, Your Highness, but that's just not possible. You'd need at least a dreadnaught, or a fleet of destroyers--"
"Nay, but it happened just so, Hathaway." Melangell smiled bleakly. "Aeron transmitted a broadcast, both sight and sound, of the entire episode as it actually occurred; not only back to us in Keltia but to the Imperial and Fomori capitals as well. You may view the tapes later if you wish, they are horrifying. It was like--I know not what it was like, there had never been anything like it before. Any road, the Fomori sued for mercy instantly; there was a treaty waiting for Aeron to sign when she arrived back at Caerdroia. Oh, aye, there was talk of further reprisals on both sides, some blusterings about galactic censures and punishments, but the overall feeling seemed to be that the one horror cancelled the other, and the whole matter was best put behind us. The Fomori evidently thought the same." She looked up at last, at their shocked frozen faces. "I tell you all this not to frighten you into any decision or action, but only so that you may know a little of Aeron when you come to deal with her. You have a right to know."
"Was she--how was she, after?" asked Mikhailova timidly.
But Melangell was silent, and after a swift glance at her Morgan Cairbre picked up the tale.
"The Ard-rian was physically unharmed, but in spirit she was very nearly destroyed by what had happened, and by what she herself had caused to happen. Consider: She had lost her father and mother, who were of course also her King and Queen like anyone else's, a double loss for her there; she lost her consort, Roderick, whom she had wed only five weeks before; and she had lost many loyal friends and subjects also. Add to that the death of Bellator, a whole planet annihilated by her mind and hand, and how many thousands of human souls with it... Revenge is a costly business; sometimes the price one pays for it is too high. Even though one may think one can well afford it, too often it turns out not so affordable in the end, and so it was with Aeron. Some folk could kill planets and never think twice about it, so hard are their souls with the usages of evil. Not Aeron; she nearly died of what she had done--more of what she had done, I think, than of what had been done to her. Any road, it was only the soul-healing skills of Her Grace"--here he bowed to Melangell, who sat with bent head, her silky blonde hair veiling her face--"that kept Aeron on life at all, and saved her reason in the end."
Haruko made no attempt to hide his shock; indeed, all in the room were visibly disturbed, even Tindal. Though Haruko's heart had been touched, he had also been somewhat appalled, and slightly staggered at the power apparently commanded by the ruler of this kingdom. Perhaps by others as well?
"How did she do it?" he asked presently. "Destroy Bellator?"
"She never told us," said Melangell. "And we never dared ask her. Black magic, undoubtedly."
Haruko gave her a sharp look, but the Princess's expression was utterly serious; plainly she meant just what she had said. Black magic? What kind of place is this? But all Haruko said aloud was, "The Imperium must have been grateful, then, that it was Fomor to take such a blow, not any Imperial fief."
The bard shrugged. "Perhaps so," he said. "I daresay Strephon found something in it to turn to his own advantage. But how can he be sure that one day Aeron may not have equal cause for fury with the Imperium, and choose to deal with them in like fashion? We think she would never do so again, but he has no such certainty."
"You can't just go around melting down planets!" That was O'Reilly, outraged.
"No, of course not," replied Morgan Cairbre in a gentle voice. "That is why Aeron nearly died. There is a terrible price set upon such a use of magical power, even when used in grief or revenge however just or righteous. Aeron broke every rule there is concerning the exercise of her powers, and she paid dearly for it. She knew she would have to pay for her actions, and she chose the price herself. That was why she went alone, so that the punishment would fall upon her alone, and not upon the people. She could easily have declared war; many wars have been fought for far less cause. But she took her own way instead... This was three years ago now; and in that time Aeron has learned, and we have learned, and, no doubt, Fomor has learned. Whatever grief she may yet feel, her desire for revenge, at least, is no more, and her hatred diminished."
"And her power?" asked Mikhailova quietly.
Morgan only shrugged.
"My cousin is young for a queen of ours," volunteered Melangell. "Younger than any monarch we have ever had, in fact, save for Prince Arawn, who was young enough to need a regency set up for him--and that was fifteen hundred years ago. In your Earth reckoning Aeron would be barely of full legal age. And she is young in other ways as well; there is in her still much fire and much emotion that only the years can teach her to control. When she was Crown Princess, Tanista, the people used to call her Aeron Anfa, for that 'anfa' means 'storm' in our tongue."
Tindal smiled. "And what do they call her now?"
Morgan gave him a long measuring stare before he spoke. "'Her Majesty,'" he said, and the sting of the cool little rebuke cracked across the room.
Melangell stepped quickly into the jangling pause. "Perhaps Master Morgan would consent to play for us now?" It was not a request, and the bard bowed deeply to her before reaching for his harp.
As the long strong fingers drew a preliminary shower of crystal notes from the instrument, the Terrans, though profoundly grateful for the diversion, sat back (with the exception of O'Reilly) fully prepared to be bored. They were wrong.
Morgan Cairbre was a master for good reason; from the first word his rich deep voice held them enthralled. He had chosen for his chant the epic known as "The Rock Beyond the Billow," which told of the coming of the Milesians to the shores of Ireland, and what welcome they got there from the Danaans who were lords of the land in that time. And the tale told of Amergin, prince and Druid, son of Milesius and that Lady Scota who was the King of Egypt's own daughter: Amergin, who fought the Danaans with their own weapons of magical art, and who won the day and the land for his kindred.
But that was not the end, not then, and Morgan chanted now of Brendan, a thousand years later, son of a Danaan mother and a Milesian father, who grew weary of the suspicious eye, and more than an eye in the end, cast upon the Old Ways by Patrick and his flock of Christers. And so Brendan gathered all those who held as he did, all those skilled in the magical or scientifical arts, all the Druids and priestesses and artificers, all those learned in lore or hardship or crafts or crofting--and he built a ship as the Danaans taught him, a ship to sail the stars, and the old man Barinthus stood beside him at the helm, and his own mother Nia of the Golden Hair stood behind him, and Gael and Danaan went out together. In time to come, Patrick would call them snakes and serpents, that the power of the new god had driven from the land.
But that was no longer their concern; they were gone like the snow off the mountain, and from those first starfarers all Keltia was descended. Danaan nobles married royal Milesians, and so the great houses were born. And Brendan--they were beginning to call him Saint Brendan even now--did return to Earth, to gather more of his folk to him. He went in secret, in a ship that glimmered like a salmon in a stream, to Scotland, to Wales, to the hidden coves of Cornwall and the Isle of Man behind her rampar
t of mists and the iron coasts of Brittany across the Narrow Seas--to all the last strongholds of the Keltic race that once had ridden down all Europe. And those strongholds now threw their gates open to a man who talked quietly of a Keltic kingdom out among the stars, of magic green islands outside this world; and those who understood his words were never seen again on Earth...
The chant ended on a ringing note that was like one star of hope in a stormy sky, and for long moments no one stirred. In the firelight, the faces of the Terrans reflected their feeling: hearts at odds with minds. The story of Brendan had worked upon them in strange tandem with the tale of Aeron's vengeance upon the Fomori and the interwoven thread of Amergin and his magic.
And doubtless that was entirely what had been intended, thought Haruko cynically, though he had in truth been as enchanted as the rest.
But the room had grown very quiet. Melangell, suddenly recalling that all the laws of etiquette on all the worlds there were held that no one however diplomatically privileged might leave a room before royalty left it, quickly stood up and bowed to the entire company.
"Until the morning, then. Master Morgan, my thanks. Sirs and ladies, I give you all a very good night." She was gone in a rustle of silks before they could rise or reply.
Haruko got to his feet with an effort. "I don't know about the rest of you," he said, "but I have never been so tired in my life." It was true, too; even more than the voyage, or the Firedrake, or the contact itself, even, the last few hours had wrung him of emotions he hadn't known were still there, and now he wanted only to go instantly to sleep.
Apparently the others felt the same, for everyone seemed to be drifting toward the door... In a very short time there was left in the room by the fire only Morgan Cairbre. He sat motionless a while, gazing into the leaping flames, then he began to play to himself upon his harp, very softly, a tune that flickered like the fire and ran away into the shadows of the room. It was a sword-dance.
The Copper Crown Page 10