The same feeling of homecoming that she had experienced on Inishgall came over her again, many times stronger, almost buckling her knees with the strength of delight it brought her. What unbelievable luck that she had been chosen for this particular exploratory... or maybe luck had nothing to do with it? O'Reilly did a little sideways vault and landed full-length on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles and arms flung out to the side. Whatever the diplomatic upshot of all this, she had a feeling that she was going to be very, very happy here.
*
That night saw Caerdroia aglow with the lights of a thousand festive meetings; on such an auspicious occasion, and with so many visitors in the City, that was not to be wondered at. But chiefest of all, and the most fiercely aspired-to, was the royal ceili given by the Queen for the Terrans. Held in the seldom-used State Apartments, the party was enormous; Aeron had invited only the barest minimum of politically-dictated guests, and had filled the halls instead with the merriest Kelts she could find: nobles and commons alike, poets, artists, bards, warriors, musicians, dancers, and the entire royal family, even the youngest and shyest Aoibhell of all, the Princess Fionnuala.
And most of that family was in a line at the doors to greet their guests ... the Queen included, noted Haruko with some surprise; he had expected her at least to follow universal royal custom and enter ceremonially once the ball was well under way. But here again the Kelts, or perhaps just Aeron, were a law unto themselves, and Aeron was standing in the middle of the line, smiling and greeting everyone with real warmth and a personal word, passing each guest down the line to her brothers and sisters and cousins and uncles and aunts.
Once he had leisure to look around him, Haruko's breath was taken away by the beauty of the setting: a series of huge airy chambers opening into each other, walled and floored with gold-veined creamy marble, gilt flowerets spangling the arched ceilings. Dull gold hangings of some unfamiliar figured cloth draped floor-to-ceiling windows, some of which led out into a garden pleasaunce with fountains. At one end of the main room was a low dais occupied by apparently indefatigable musicians, and in other rooms long tables were laden with all manner of food and drink. There were easily a thousand people present.
An excess of timidity had overcome all the Terrans at first, even the suave Hathaway, but that soon vanished as a Keltic escort attached to each one of them--out of courtesy, surely, Haruko thought, and not to spy on them as Tindal so plainly suspected. These escorts, or protectors, or guides, changed several times over the course of the evening, so that never was a Terran left alone, and to all except Tindal their presence was never other than welcome. Haruko found himself on the arm of the Princess Rioghnach, while across the room her husband, the Duke of Tir-connell, was teaching the shy Mikhailova the steps of an incredibly vigorous Keltic dance.
"Do you care to dance, Highness?" asked Haruko gallantly.
Rioghnach's face flashed into laughter. "That is a most noble offer, my lord Captain," she said. "But I think perhaps you might better enjoy yourself in talk?"
"I would," he confessed with frank gratitude. "There is so much to learn... If you could begin by telling me who some of these people are? The bard who instructed us on Inishgall, and your lady cousin, taught us as much as we could remember, but it was all so new, and so confusing--"
"I doubt it not," said Rioghnach with a smile. "But come, I think by now you know all my brothers and sisters? And Morwen and Gwydion..."
Haruko scanned the room. "Who is that?"
The Princess's huge dark eyes grew cold. "That's Arianeira," she muttered. Then, recollecting her manners, "The Princess Arianeira... Gwydion's sister. They were born at the one birth, though you'd not think it to look at them--or to know them. Also she is Aeron's foster-sister--and among us that bond is as sacred as blood-kinship or marriage-kinship."
Haruko was enchanted by the streaming silver-gilt hair, the magnificent figure clad in the white, silver-girdled gown, the moon-paleness of the finely drawn face.
"She's very lovely."
"Oh aye, she's beautiful, right enough--at least on the outside." With the air of one leaving a distasteful subject for a pleasanter, Rioghnach nodded over to the opposite corner of the room, leaving Haruko intensely curious about Prince Gwydion's lovely sister. "But over there, my grandmother the Dowager Queen Gwyneira, now I shall present you to her--"
O'Reilly giggled to see the staid Haruko dragged off by the dainty black-haired Princess, and drained her third cup of ale.
Her companion smiled down at her: Aeron's cousin Desmond, tall, black-haired, blue-eyed, a Fian general and Elharn's eldest son.
"You enjoy yourself, then, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, I do--"
"Glad I am to hear it. Still, I think perhaps not all of your compatriots share your feeling?" He directed her gaze to where Tindal, arms folded, stood leaning against the wall, contemplating the entire assembly in a vaguely offensive manner. Tindal's escort of the moment--Morwen--looked more than a little helpless. As they watched, they saw Tindal speak briefly to her and then wander off alone in the direction of the banquet tables. Morwen, noticing their attention on her, came over to them with some relief.
"I mean no insult, O'Reilly," she remarked, "but is Tindal always so?"
O'Reilly nodded happily and maliciously. "Always."
*
Over across the room, Arianeira sipped warmed wine from a silver cup and watched her brother with the eyes of a nesting hawk. Kynon, who attended her, shifted restlessly at her side, but dared not speak.
Arianeira was greatly interested in the Terrans, all of whom had been presented to her over the course of the evening. She had dismissed most of them immediately as unsuitable to her purposes: The captain who led the embassy was too unshakably righteous; the tall black man seemed too perceptive; and the Irishwoman, whom she had at first appraised as the most promising candidate, was all too clearly already too infatuated with the established order--by which Arianeira meant Aeron. That left a pair of possibilities: the rather weedy-looking Tindal, and the small dark woman, Mikhailova. Either would do very well, if Arianeira had been correctly informed: Tindal was science and engineering officer, Mikhailova technical and weapons officer; and there were suitable strategies to be employed with both.
A smile flowed across Arianeira's lovely features. This was an opportunity she had not expected--and one of which she intended to take fullest advantage.
*
In a pause in the dancing, Aeron withdrew laughing from the last wild reel and retired to a seat, attended by a small group of courtiers. She had dressed for once in full court panoply, and the effect was considerable: Her gown of heavy violet silk was edged with pearls and silver embroidery, and a small crown of amethysts and diamonds held the golden-red hair in thick braided swags. She was set to charm as well, not only the Terran visitors but her own folk also; for she would need all the allies she could muster for her future course. But tonight, at least, everyone seemed intent on nothing more serious than having a merry time, and by and large they were all succeeding. Across the room, she saw her grandmother talking with Douglass Graham and Douglass's brother Wolf. She threaded her way among the throng, swept up her grandmother and went out with her, arm in arm, to the gardens.
The Dowager Queen Gwyneira was a lovely woman still, her charm and intelligence undimmed by the years. The famous violet eyes were pale lilac now; the red hair her royal grandchildren had inherited proved her name--"Whitesnow"--at last. But the mind and will that had ruled Keltia--and, some said, the Ard-righ Lasairian--were sharp as ever.
"What is it, child?"
Aeron laughed. "Never could I keep anything from your Majesty--The Terrans, to be sure."
"What of them?"
"That is just my difficulty. I cannot put my swordpoint to it yet, but there is something, something for which they shall be the crux, and I feel too that I can do naught to stop it, or turn it aside."
"Surely no more than what we all must feel, now that
we have made contact with Earth again, and great changes are toward? Or, is it more?"
"More, I think, and worse." She recounted to her grandmother the dream she had had, and Gwydion's reaction.
"What does Morwen say?"
Aeron gave a short laugh. "She suggested the taghairm. But she is no sorcerer, and Gwydion forbade me to try."
"I agree with Gwydion. It seems a desperate measure for so early times. Better perhaps to wait."
"Until desperate times are full upon me? By then we might well be at war."
"Nothing seems more probable, Ard-rian," said her grandmother gently. "And not just for reason of the Terrans' coming. That you know... Can you deal with it?"
"I shall have to." Aeron stabbed moodily at a dead leaf that had lodged in a cracked corner of the bench on which they sat. "But upon my soul, when I opened the Curtain Wall to the Terrans, it was not my chiefest thought."
"Three years ago it was your only thought."
Aeron's head came up at that, and she stared at her grandmother's serene face, green eyes into violet.
"Three years ago I had great cause to be thinking so. Interstellar war has been made for less."
Gwyneira nodded. "True; but you took your own eraic for the deaths of your kin. It was a creagh-righ, a royal reiving, and you did not take Keltia with you when you went out against the Fomori."
"It seemed the best and only way," said Aeron in a low voice. "Was I wrong, then, grandmother?"
"Not to my mind! I'd have done no different, had I been in your boots, or even but fifty years younger. Nay, child, what you did was fearful, but it was your doing. Rest sure in that."
"And now?"
"We must all wait upon the time. You most of all."
"Ah! Waiting is worst. I'd sooner be doing."
Gwyneira laughed and put her arm around her granddaughter's waist. "Now there spoke your great-grandmother Aoife... let us go back in."
*
When Aeron had at last bidden good night to her guests, and left hand in hand with Gwydion to walk through the palace corridors back to her own apartments, it was very late, and very quiet in that part of the royal residence, though behind them the ball went on unchecked.
They entered the round bedchamber, where a fire burned on the hearth, and Aeron dismissed the attendants who had been waiting on her retiring.
"Aeronwy, you are sleepwalking," said Gwydion, half teasing, half solicitous.
She smiled. "Then so must you be, else could I not be speaking with you." She pulled off the little crown and tossed it onto the bed. "A long and weary day, Prince of Gwynedd."
"Sit, then."
Aeron obeyed, and he began to unpin the heavy plaits, thick as a spear-haft, unbraiding the knee-length strands with gentle fingers. She relaxed visibly, closing her eyes; her hair was a living extension of herself, as much so as an arm or leg, and sometimes it seemed to those who knew her best that her very nerves lived in the network of red-gold tresses.
"What do you think of our new friends?" she asked after a while.
The silver brush did not alter itss steady rhythm upon her hair.
"Early days to say. They seemed well enough, fair-spoken certainly, and I think as wishful of peaceful alliance between our nations as are we." Gwydion ran his hands under the heavy hair and began to massage neck and shoulder muscles stiff with strain. "And there will be more trouble with Straloch, I think."
"Peace between us is not the question. It is the Imperium that concerns me most. And as for Gavin, if he goes at such a gait very much longer I shall replace him on the Council. Mac Diarmada of Rannoch would be a good choice..." She leaned back against the strong swordsman's hands that pressed against her neck--it felt so good--and veered off at a tangent. "Ari looked lovely tonight, did she not? I have asked her to stay on here as long as she likes, in the palace if she wishes, or perhaps she will go to Llys Don. Any road, it may help to make us better friends again."
"What did she say to that?"
Aeron shrugged. "She seemed delighted that I asked."
"But?"
"No buts." She shivered a little, and the hands stopped at once.
"You are chilled--" Gwydion turned away, intending to fetch her robe, but she caught the hem of his tunic.
"Nay, we will be warm enough."
*
For all his nervous exhaustion, Tindal was not in the least sleepy, and after returning to his rooms from the ceili, he read for a while, then pulled on a robe and went to the window. Located near O'Reilly's in the Rose Tower, his rooms faced east with a view past the Keep and Seren Beirdd, the Star of the Bards, down over the Stonerows to the plain.
He pushed the casement open to the night, and the stillness struck him like a blow. It was so quiet, even for so late an hour; no drone or hum of machinery, Keltic technology was beyond that. From far below, a voice raised in laughing challenge floated up to him; then silence again. The air was cold and fresh, and the breeze that blew along the Strath carried the pungent smell of burning autumn leaves.
Tindal reflected on the events of the day. No doubt about it, Keltia was an impressive place, and it had an impressive ruler. But the person who stood foremost in his thoughts was a lady he had not met until the evening had been well advanced. She had smiled at him, beckoning him over, and had herself introduced to him--the Princess Arianeira of Gwynedd, sister to the formidable Gwydion.
A smile on his face, Tindal returned to bed, as inexplicably happy as O'Reilly had been earlier that day, though his reasons were rather different. He allowed himself the hope that Queen Aeron would take her time about alliance; the longer the delay, the better it would be for him. He would get something out of this kingdom and this situation if it was the last thing he ever did. And if he could not, he would make such trouble that the whole kingdom would wish he had...
He had no way of knowing that Arianeira, alone and equally wakeful in her own rooms, looking out on the same moon-washed middle-night quiet, shared his thought, and, moreover, planned to do all she could to bring that end about.
*
"Christ," muttered Hathaway, a little daunted. "Isn't anyone here just a humble peasant?"
He and Haruko, on an impulse and for lack of anything required of them to do or anywhere they were required to be, had risen early on the morning after their arrival to take advantage of the freedom of the City that Aeron had conferred upon them, and now, after breakfast, they were making their leisurely way down from Turusachan to the marketing streets and squares of the lower City. They were accompanied at a respectful and discreet distance by two Fians, two lords of the royal household, and two of Aeron's personal pages.
Haruko knew very well what his officer meant. Even the babies carried themselves like princes, and as for the princes--not to mention the Queen, he thought, whom we won't mention--well, they carried themselves more like your minor gods. Yet no one was arrogant or condescending; on the contrary, as aboard the Firedrake, Haruko was aware only of an open, warm, exquisitely polite interest in himself and his companion as people first, Earth people second, and he felt it from every Kelt they met: kilted warriors, merchants wearing rich figured cloaks fringed with gold, ladies tall as spears and graceful as osiers, fearless children who spoke to them frankly and unselfconsciously.
The other thing that impressed Haruko most vividly, as it had Tindal some six hours earlier, was how quiet it all was. Even in daytime, in the stone streets of this fortress-city, capital of seven star systems, the stillness was incredible. It had a curious quality all its own, making both Terrans feel oddly elated, as if a great joy were dancing somewhere in the air, just out of reach of their senses.
Hathaway was eager to purchase something, anything, and Melangell had recommended a visit to a certain shop in the Street of the Metalworkers, in the craftsmen's quarter that spread out around the Market Square.
"You can't send it home, you know," Haruko pointed out, as they emerged from the little shop after a half-hour during which not o
nly had the jewelsmith refused to accept payment, claiming the not inconsiderable honor of being the first to serve the Terrans, but had introduced them to his sons and drunk a welcome-cup with them besides.
"Then I'll wear it myself." Hathaway affixed the silver and enamel brooch to his uniform breast, noting with a start an ancient painted sign hanging outside another tiny shop: LICENSED TO SELL WEASELS AND JADE EARRINGS. Having no need of either commodity, they spent another pleasant couple of hours in the huge Market Square and the nearby public gardens, then began to stroll back up the stepped streets to the palace.
Halfway there, Hathaway surprised a strange look on his captain's face.
"What's the matter?"
Haruko smiled, a little embarrassed. "I've never before known anyone personally who had her picture on coins."
Delighted, Hathaway immediately dug into his belt-pouch, coming up with a handful of Keltic coinage which the palace rechtair had given them in exchange for their own trading currency--a needless courtesy, since so far no one had allowed them to pay for a thing. About half the coins--small gold crossics, large silver coroins--bore Aeron's crowned likeness, full-face, not profile; recognizably herself, but imperious, and very cold. They examined the other coins curiously. The bearded, kind-eyed man of middle age was Aeron's father and immediate predecessor, the late and genuinely lamented Fionnbarr; while, on the more worn coins, the considerably older-looking individual was apparently Lasairian, Gwyneira's husband, and the woman wearing a flowing veil and wimple beneath her crown could only be Aoife, Aeron's redoubtable great-grandmother.
The Copper Crown Page 14