Between Two Fires by Mark Noce

from Caerwent, the black banners of North Wales going one way and the green dragon flags of the Free Cantrefs marching the other. A few watchmen in red tunics look on from the bastion towers, but no bugle calls or friendly goodbyes ring from the battlements. It looks as though the great gathering has ended already.
    Heading toward the stairs, I open my bedchamber door to find a guardsman posted on the top step. I gasp, nearly running into the spearman before recognizing Ahern. I smile at my half brother, but he merely frowns back at me through his beard.
    â€œSorry, my Queen, but all royals are to remain in their quarters this morn. King’s orders.”
    â€œAhern, what do you mean? Am I prisoner in my own bedchamber? What’s going on?”
    Ahern leans closer, pleading with me.
    â€œStay up here in your solar, safe and sound. Please, Lady Branwen.”
    My voice fails me upon seeing such worry in his normally placid eyes. A draft from the tower window chills my skin. The only royals in this household are myself, Arthwys, Malcolm, and the King. What madness is this? I doubt Morgan has confined himself to any particular room. Whatever vexes my husband this morning, I do not see why it applies to me. I’ve done nothing worthy of punishment, nor do I intend to be kenneled like a dog in my own home. I lean in close to Ahern, nearly nose to nose.
    â€œBrother, you are a warrior of Dyfed, guardsman to the Queen, and part of my household, not my husband’s. Either you will stand aside, or you will be my guardsman no more.”
    The spearman blinks, taking a half step back. He narrows his gaze and for a moment I fear he has seen through my bluff. Instead, he stands aside with his spear and shield at attention.
    â€œAs you wish, my Queen. I will die before I betray a noblewoman of Dyfed and my own blood.”
    I put a gentle hand on his forearm.
    â€œThank you, Ahern. You are a good man, and an honorable one.”
    Although he tries to hide it, Ahern’s chest puffs out a little broader at the mention of honor. He may not hold a knighthood, but Ahern’s sense of duty gives him more chivalry than any knight in Wales. He keeps his lonely vigil, guarding the door to my solar as I descend the stairs.
    Now to find out what mischief is afoot in the castle this morn. My husband has tried to cage me like a rat, and I must find out why.
    Avoiding the archways leading to the atrium, I steal down to the kitchens. Morgan will not think to look for me amongst the servants’ quarters, hiding amidst the foggy steam of boiling cauldrons. Whatever has happened, the Hammer King is still accustomed to having his orders obeyed. I wonder with a sinking feeling what will happen if Morgan finds me creeping about the castle against his command.
    The long tunnels beneath the main floor of the castle allow servants to navigate Caerwent easily and out of sight, running their daily errands without clogging the narrow hallways used by knights and lords. But today, the corridors appear almost empty. I peer around each corner, never spying more than an occasional scullery maid passing by, going about her chores. Since the Welshmen of the North and Free Cantrefs left, the fortress seems eerily silent. Perhaps I’m behaving foolishly, tiptoeing around my own castle like a thief.
    I reach the south end of the castle where several apartments of the King’s knights and household keep their beds. Ducking into one room, I find the walls covered in tapestries of boyhood squires and pages in battle. Wood and clay toys cover the floor, a set of dull-pointed sparring spears leaned in the corner. A young noble boy’s room. Above the doorway hangs the red dragon crest of the Hammer King. This must be Arthwys’s bedchamber.
    I peer about his bedroom, but find no one within. Where are the guards that should be posted outside the doorway? Ahern said that the King ordered all royals confined to their rooms, and my brother