The Lady Elstred was known to suffer from the migraine, a sad malady indeed. But Aelgifu had noticed that whenever her royal sister truly was ill, she could not bear to be exposed to even the dimmest of light. Sound also seemed to cause pain when the headache was upon her. A walk outside in the sunshine would have been unthinkable.

The day was bright and cloudless. The birds chirped endlessly in their spring rituals of courtship and war. But the Lady Elstred displayed no distress from the sunlight. Nor did she complain of the birds' racket. Aelgifu concluded that Elstred was not truly ill and had only wanted an excuse to escape the tedium of the bower.

That the princess had asked for Aelgifu's company was not a total surprise. The queen would never let a daughter roam about unescorted, not even the daughter she cared for least. Such conduct was unseemly in a Christian princess and would draw a rebuke from Archbishop Asser should the matter come to his attention. Elstred was clever enough to realize this. She also knew that of all the women in the bower, her mother could most easily dispense with Aelgifu's presence.

The two girls were tied together by an odd bond that was neither friendship nor affection. Certainly they were not rivals for the king's favor.

Officially, Aelgifu existed on sufferance while Elstred was the king's beloved child. In reality, however, Alfred reveled in his paternity. He loved all of his children in his own austere way and derived great satisfaction and enjoyment from seeing them about his hearth. His emotional attachment to his children underlay his resistance to permitting Elfleda to remove with her husband to Mercia as custom required. It was the reason a new abbey was under construction near the court for Elgifu, so that the king might keep his youngest girl close at hand even after she took her vows.

Aelgifu suspected it also was the reason Elstred had no husband. Alfred simply did not want to send his daughters out of the kingdom to cement alliances. Neighboring Mercia was an exception. Wessex had in essence annexed its former master owing to the Danish assault on Mercian territory. Thus, Alfred could marry his daughter to the lord of the remaining Mercians but coerce the new-married son at law to leave her in Wessex until he regained his full patrimony. All knew this was an unlikely dream now that the recent treaty with Guthrum had been concluded, signed and witnessed by the Danish lawgivers and the leading prelates of Wessex. But the lord of the Mercians dared not voice his opinion. And Elfleda remained in her father's hall.

There was no other nearby kingdom to supply a spouse for Elstred. Aelgifu surmised the king was too astute to dispose of the girl with one of his thanes who might then claim first place after Alfred's own sons. Worse, such a man might try to displace Alfred's issue. Elstred faced a husbandless and childless life. And, once her father died, she was bound to end in a convent for the same reasons Archbishop Asser demanded Aelgifu's forced dedication to the church.

If Aelgifu needed an ally, so too did the Lady Elstred. But Aelgifu's need was immediate while Elstred's problem was for the future.

Aelgifu had devoted much time to considering her situation. There was only one source of safety: the king himself. He knew Aelgifu had no vocation and that she loathed even the idea of becoming a nun. He had promised he would never give her as oblate but would not commit himself beyond that. He flatly refused to find a husband for her. When she began to cry, he sternly warned her that all men must bend to the will of God and also must obey their king. He intimated that her ingratitude and rebelliousness was convincing evidence Archbishop Asser had been correct last Yuletide when he advised the king to send Aelgifu to the convent in Canterbury for instruction in meekness and fear of the Lord.

And thus matters remained. Elstred could protect her. At least during their father's lifetime. But Elstred would need a reason to help her unacknowledged half-sister by begging for her companionship. It would behoove Aelgifu to supply that reason.

"Princess, may I ask a question of you?" Aelgifu's voice was serious enough that Elstred stopped walking and turned to face the girl.

"What is it you wish to know?"

Aelgifu pointed to a rustic wooden bench. "Perhaps it would be pleasant to sit there, and enjoy the spring warmth."

The princess nodded her assent and promptly sat down. Aelgifu took her place at her half-sister's side. The difference between Elstred and the other two royal princesses was obvious. Elfleda, Lady of the Mercians, would not have condescended to sit unless the bench had been cleaned first. Princess Elgifu would never have sat with Aelgifu at all.

The two women sat in silence for awhile before Elstred queried, "So what is it that you want to ask me?" Her gaze was piercing. Just like our father's thought Aelgifu.

"You are a lover of nature." It was not a question. The point was self-evidently true. "You love hawking and the hunt. You watch the birds and observe their behavior--as you do with the prey. And yet you love equally the pursuits of scholarship. When Archbishop Asser calls you 'daughter,' he means it. You are a daughter of his heart and dear to him. But it is penance almost beyond endurance for you to be cooped with the women in the bower."

The princess stirred uncomfortably. But Aelgifu's tone was too dispassionate to cause offense. "You speak the truth. However, I see no point to your analysis." She shrugged dismissively.

"Bear with me, lady. Here is my question. Do you know the fate of the last princesses of Deira?"

Elstred wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. "Of course I do. They married the sons of their conqueror, the King of Northumbria."

"There is more to the tale than that…"