Once or twice I exchanged a glance with him, but most of the time he rode on in front, never so far that he was out of sight or hearing, but always apart from the rest of us.It was only when we stopped to eat at noon that the Englishman approached me again. His temper had cooled, for he came with head bowed and hands clasped sombrely in front of him.He sat down beside me. ‘I’ve been meaning to apologise for last night,’ he said. ‘It was wrong for me to imply that anything’ – he hesitated, as if searching for the right word – ‘anything untoward might have taken place.’I did not reply, nor even look at him as I took another bite of bread.‘I fear I may have been too hasty in my presumptions,’ the chaplain went on. ‘I was merely concerned, for Beatrice’s sake. I have known her since she was very young, and she is dear to me. I hope you understand.’‘I thought nothing of it,’ I lied. In fact I had spent a great deal of time turning it over in my mind. I hadn’t thought the chaplain the kind of man to anger so easily – not, at least, until last night.‘That is good,’ Ælfwold said, nodding, and once more produced that gentle smile I had grown used to seeing.Still, I could not help but feel uneasy, and I kept a close watch over him over the next couple of days, though exactly what I was looking for I was not sure.The rest of the journey was passed in an ill humour: little was said and the rain and wind did nothing to lift the mood.
