The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  "Shall we go in?" repeated Morwen, smiling, and Haruko blushed to realize that his reverie had been keeping everyone waiting.

  "Of course," he said, and Morwen led the procession into the Keep.

  Haruko had a confused impression of arched ceilings, saluting guards, the glowing crystal eyes of the farviewer cameras. Morwen halted before a set of colossal double doors, perhaps fifty feet high. They were made of solid copper, those doors, hammered into interlaced patterns of knotwork and spirals and fantastical animals, and they were unguarded.

  "This is the Hall of Heroes," said Morwen, and now her mien was solemn. "Within, you are awaited by the highest in the land. It is no ordeal, but welcome; you are guests here, and you will learn, in days to come, what honor that state carries among us. Are you ready?"

  Haruko did not trust himself to speak, but queried each member of his crew with his eyes. He was satisfied with what he saw there. Interest, excitement, a not unacceptable degree of awe and impressed respect, even a faint amusement in the face of the cynic Tindal--but all was well. He took a deep breath and nodded to Morwen, and then in the last remaining seconds he composed his own self, his emotions and his countenance and his hara, as the doors swung open into the Hall of Heroes.

  The size of the chamber hit him with all the force of a blow. It was bigger than a Starship's hangar bay, marble-floored and marble-walled, pillared and cruciform and colossal. Two hundred feet above his head, heraldic banners hung down from the stone ribbing that supported the giant cross-vaults of the ceiling, the armorial devices indistinguishable at that distance, even in the brilliant glow of the crystal sconces set into the walls.

  He had little leisure to study the decor. Several thousand people--the rulers both noble and common of seven star systems, the entire royal family, Kelts all--had risen to their feet at the entrance of the visitors from Earth. The courtesy rocked Haruko for an instant, then he recalled the bard Morgan telling them, back beyond the Curtain Wall on Inishgall, that this was Keltic custom when guests entered the hall, no matter how high or noble the host or how low-born the guest.

  There was a fanfare salute of trumpets, silvery and sweet, echoing off the marble walls and sounding in the roof, and then, at a tiny nod from Morwen, Haruko began the long, long walk down the green-carpeted aisle.

  It was a walk the likes of which Haruko had never before experienced: He would not care to repeat it, and he would not ever forget it, and he dared not think of the effect it must be having on his crew, for if he started worrying about them his own composure would slip its tenuous moorings and that would be that. The whole of the enormous chamber was silent; only the music still sounded, and as he paced down the length of the room, Haruko kept his eyes straight ahead, fixed upon the one person in the Hall of Heroes who had not risen when the doors opened.

  Directly behind her captain, O'Reilly was looking around her at every step. Her lips were parted in a half-smile and her eyes were shining, and any Kelt who caught her eye smiled back at her, and everyone who saw her that day remembered her happiness forever.

  But for her as for the rest of them, it was the occupant of the great carved-stone throne that commanded all attention. Alone of her folk, she remained seated as the Terrans drew near, and as he approached her, Haruko found that he could not look her in the face just yet, could not raise his eyes above the topmost of the seven steps that led up to the throne.

  As the procession reached the wide carpeted space between the dais and the first rows of seats, Morwen, Melangell, Cairbre and the other Kelts who had escorted the Terrans from the port turned aside to their own seats, leaving the Terrans to go on alone. As they covered the last little distance, the woman in green slowly and gracefully rose to her feet, timing the movement perfectly, so that she stood and the Terrans halted before her in the same instant.

  Haruko, standing forward of the others, bowed deeply in the Japanasian manner, holding the bow for the full ten seconds required for a reigning monarch, then straightened up to look her directly in the face. It was the shock of his life, before which all the other shocks they had met with paled to nothing: He had seen her before, for she was the red-haired girl who had stood upon the bridge of the Firedrake.

  He had a few minutes' grace to cushion his shock, for the musicians instantly struck up the Federacy's anthem and then went smoothly into the Keltic anthem. But he heard neither, and, if challenged later, could not even have said what it was that the musicians had played.

  At the anthems' conclusion, Aeron, by the grace of the gods Ard-rian of Keltia, Empress of the West and Domina Bellorum, inclined her head gravely to the Terrans and seated herself again upon the Throne of Scone. There was a rustling as the rest of the aonach took their own seats, leaving only the Terrans still standing; but Haruko correctly surmised that the Queen would not keep them so long.

  Aeron had dressed with care for this first official encounter. She was clad in a long plain tight-fitting guna of the royal green, her only jewels the two rings she wore always: the big emerald that was the Great Seal of Keltia, and the black and silver Unicorn Seal, personal signet of the Aoibhell monarchs. Her hair was unbound, streaming down over the purple cushions of the throne, except where it was caught back by the curiously fashioned crown that so nearly matched it in color and gleam: the ancient Copper Crown of Keltia. The crown's origins were lost in myth: Some loremasters held that it had been brought from Ireland by St. Brendan's mother in the first great immram, while others said it was older by far, that it had been forged in Atlantis by Gavida, Smith of the Gods. But whatever the truth of its making, the Copper Crown held the soul of the Kelts within it, and no monarch ever placed it lightly upon his brow.

  "I welcome you to Keltia, friends from Earth," said Aeron.

  Haruko bowed again, less deeply and more briefly than before.

  "Your Majesty's welcome is more than welcome to us," he replied, blessing O'Reilly for all those language tapes she had stuffed into his head, for the Queen had, of course, spoken to them in the formal speech, the High Gaeloch. But the diplomatic platitude had rippled off his tongue before he could think about it. The truth was that he was still totally confounded at seeing her, and he knew she knew it, and she gave him a smile that echoed that knowledge.

  "You at least I know already, Captain Haruko," she said. "Though I fear I have yet to make the acquaintance of your companions."

  Steadied at once by this graceful reminder, Haruko threw her a glance of thanks and turned to present the others to her. They, of course, had not been aboard the Firedrake; he had not mentioned the enigmatic red-haired woman to them, and they had been more than a little puzzled by both their captain's astonishment and the Keltic Queen's words. Aeron, however, had a courteous speech and a smile for each Terran, and won O'Reilly completely by greeting her as a distant kinswoman. Then the Queen rose, descended the steps, and began to present the Kelts to the Terrans.

  It had been decided in Council, in the interests of time and confusion, and in the face of the probable fatigue, emotional as well as physical, of the Terrans, that Aeron would present at the aonach only the immediate members of the royal family, the members of the High Council, and the heads of the three houses of government--still a daunting number of new faces for strangers to deal with. As she moved down the front rows of chairs, she could see the Terrans making visible efforts to memorize everything, and she smiled inwardly. I shall like these folk, she thought.

  Haruko's fleeting impression was of a lot of very tall and very attractive people, all of whom were much more richly and impressively clad than their Queen, who had obviously opted for understatement. Of all the Terrans, Haruko was the only one accustomed to formal diplomatic presentations, though not many of his experience had been quite so grand as this one, and by rights he should have been the first to recover his self-possession. But he was just as bedazzled as the diplomatic novice O'Reilly... In all the bewilderment of strange faces and stranger names, two images stood out clear and vivid in
his mind's eye: the calm blonde beauty of Morwen Lochcarron, and the enigmatic bearded countenance of Gwydion Prince of Don...

  With a start, Haruko realized that Aeron was speaking again, and he had missed most of what she had said. One does not ask enthroned sovereigns to repeat themselves, so when she paused and looked expectantly at him he could only leap boldly and blindly into the breach.

  "We are most honored, Your Majesty, by your kindness and that of your people, and may we express the hope that, ah, that our two nations will soon be joined in the bond of friendship and alliance, renewing our kinship from of old." And Kuan-yin, Mother of Mercy, let that make sense to her...

  But Aeron appeared satisfied with the sentiment, and turned to face the hall, lifting her chin a little and standing quite still. That seemed to be the signal for the end of the audience, for everyone immediately stood up and began to talk informally to those in neighboring seats.

  For one panic-stricken moment Haruko wondered what on all the earths he was expected to do next, but he need not have worried. Aeron took his arm, surprising him considerably, and, nodding to the others to follow, she led him through a small door set in the wall to the right of the throne-dais.

  Looking quickly behind him, Haruko saw his crew following after, escorted by other members of the royal family with an apparent total disregard for precedence, the Councillors and various other Kelts trailing along behind. This sequel had not been discussed in advance; neither Melangell nor Morwen had mentioned it, and Haruko's misgivings returned in force. He was not alone, though, in wondering what the Queen had in mind. Every Kelt in the room was wondering right along with him.

  Chapter Nine

  Within the presence-chamber adjoining the Hall of Heroes, however, nothing more alarming awaited than a small informal reception ordered by Aeron for the Terrans. Considerably relieved, though perhaps a little annoyed that the Queen had not seen fit to inform them of her plans, her advisors relaxed, and devoted themselves to easing the social tensions of the moment, for Kelts and Terrans alike.

  Having spoken briefly and privately to each of her guests, Aeron had singled out Haruko for special attention--he was, after all, the one holding ambassadorial rank, and thus, as a representative of a foreign power, technically her equal--and was now talking to him animatedly in a corner of the room. Language, she was beginning to realize, was indeed going to be a problem, though not in the way she had anticipated.

  She had addressed the Terrans from the throne in the High Gaeloch, knowing that her subjects would have resented the use of any other tongue in such a moment; but when first she began to chat informally with the visitors, she did so in word-perfect Englic.

  Haruko, however, out of some perverse wish not to be outdone in courtesy, and O'Reilly, whose professional honor was at stake, stubbornly elected to speak to their hosts only in Gaeloch, which they had sleep-studied until their very dreams rang with its cadences; and when on occasion this difficult new acquisition failed them, though they were by far the most proficient of the Sword's crew they used Latin, which had come to all five Terrans more readily than had the Keltic tongue.

  It was rapidly evolving into something of a comic problem, and Aeron finally put a laughing stop to it.

  "Of your grace, Captain Haruko," she said, "allow us to be the ones to do battle with the language of the stranger; at least for the time being, and those of us who can. You will grow facile in our tongue sooner than you think. Are we agreed?"

  "As Your Majesty wishes," he replied in Englic, bowing. The faintest of pained expressions flickered across Aeron's mobile face and was as swiftly gone.

  After the Queen had moved away, Rioghnach took Haruko by the arm and smiled at him winningly.

  "I know your Earth custom," she said. "But did no one instruct you as to how we address our monarchs here?"

  Haruko stared, a little discomfited. "Your Highness--I mean, then all that was true? We are expected to address the Queen's Majesty as--'Aeron'?" He seemed to have difficulty getting out the unadorned name.

  "Not only expected, but encouraged, and assured by law as well as custom. Of course, you may wish to do as we do, and by your courtesy call her 'Lady' or 'Ard-rian.' But, yes, it is surely 'Aeron,' to prince and crofter alike, and no one's feathers are ruffled--least of all Aeron's. It is more pleasant so, don't you think?"

  Haruko wasn't quite sure. Any monarchy that tried that sort of thing anyplace else he had ever heard of would not long keep the respectful submission of its subjects. But perhaps the Kelts, though they certainly seemed believers in respect, held no brief for submission?

  "It seems very--democratic," he said.

  The Queen's sister laughed. "By out-Wall standards I daresay it is," she said. "There is no keeping of great state here to distance the folk from their rulers; that is not our way. The great love and respect the people bear the Ard-rian is the only kind of distancer we care for. But royalty here is otherwise little different from royalty elsewhere. And nor is it our only hereditary profession. Among others, we have hereditary poets and jurisconsults and warriors as well."

  "Suppose the hereditary poet can't rhyme to save his life?"

  "Most unlikely," said Rioghnach firmly. "But so long as someone of the name carried on what you might call the family business, no sanction would be taken."

  "Sanction?"

  "Oh yes, our law provides fine and sanctions for an amazing number of offenses, from insult to murder... As you no doubt know, hospitality is a sacred obligation with us, and anyone who transgresses the law of the coire ainsec is subject to a fine. Or if I should take it into my head to insult you, and you could not answer in kind. I would be obliged to pay you a blush-fine--in proportion to your honor-price, of course, which is also set by law. An ambassador's is equal to a king's," she added teasingly.

  "Such a law must be hard on your satirists."

  "Oh, they are exempt." They both laughed, and Rioghnach added, "But for the sake of that exemption, they can claim insult from no one. Still, it doesn't seem to blunt their tongues--as you will doubtless learn."

  Over in the center of the room, Mikhailova was studying a large three-dimensional construct worked in gold, silver and various jewels. She looked up as she was joined by Melangell and a tall man with red-brown hair and mustache that she vaguely remembered being presented to, one of the Queen's cousins or Council lords or something... She smiled shyly at Melangell.

  "I'm not very used to this sort of thing," she confided, indicating the room as a whole.

  "No more are we," said Melangell. "No, truly; never before have we had such guests. You do very well, Ensign. But I think you have met Prince Rohan?"

  Mikhailova blushed; Rohan was the heir-presumptive to the throne, and she should certainly have remembered him...

  "You'll be kind enough to forgive me, Highness," she said. "I haven't got everybody's name and face fixed yet."

  "Many times I feel the same way myself," said Rohan with a smile. "You will learn very quickly; look how you have done with our language. The Ard-rian tells me you are an artificer-specialist, most skilled too."

  Mikhailova could think of nothing to say in reply to that, so she pointed to the construct instead.

  "What is this, my lord?"

  "A representation of Keltia. See, this globe is Tara; and here, this marks Caerdroia." He touched an emerald set into a rock-crystal sphere; the crystal itself was etched with the outlines of oceans and continents, and ringed with two flat gold planes representing the Criosanna. "Here you see the other star systems of our realm--the construct is not astronomically accurate for distance, of course, but it is correct for direction and relative size."

  Mikhailova, looking at the seven interlocked gold spheres that represented the seven suns of Keltia, felt the reality, and the immensity, of Aeron's kingdom as she had not done before. Then she yawned.

  "Your pardon," she stammered, appalled. "I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm just--all of a sudden I am just so tired--"

>   "And no surprise," said Rohan sympathetically. He caught Aeron's eye, where she stood on the other side of the room talking with Tindal and Morwen, and she nodded.

  Mikhailova stared. "What--what did you do?"

  "Did your Captain not tell you? We have some skill as short-range telepaths, and some among us who are trained to it can send their thought lightyears. Any road, it can often save a great deal of time and explanation. I simply suggested the thought to the Queen that you be allowed to go to your rooms and settle in. There will be a ceili tonight--a party--and you will need to rest yourselves for it. See, she is saying as much now to Captain Haruko."

  *

  As soon as the double doors shut behind the green-liveried page, O'Reilly ran to the window and jumped on the cushioned seat. Directly below her, as she knelt leaning on the wide sill, were the royal gardens, and beyond the walls of Turusachan all Caerdroia fell away down the mountainside, spread out in the golden afternoon light. Something absolutely enormous to the north and east, which she suddenly realized was the Wolf Gate seen from behind; on the other side, the view glimpsed through the sitting-room windows was over the sea.

  O'Reilly roamed around idly. The chambers were elegant without being intimidating--a Keltic commonplace, as she was coming to learn. The furniture was of goldenwood, carved and inlaid; there were tapestries on the walls, a few portraits--ancestors of Aeron's, perhaps, cold of eye and arrogant of mouth--but nothing abstract. Melangell had told them that Keltic art was almost purely representational, running to portraits and landscapes and illuminations. But there were beautiful hand-embroidered oak-leaf borders on the silkwool sheets, and a fur bedspread that had apparently been knitted, or knotted, into a striking diamond pattern, and books bound in leather and enamelwork, and one of the ubiquitous computer-pads beside the bed--and, neatly hung in a big carved wardrobe, all her own things brought down from the Sword.