Ellis Peters
The Potter's Field
Chapter One
SAINT PETER’S FAIR of that year, 1143, was one week past, and they were settling down again into the ordinary routine of a dry and favourable August, with the corn harvest already being carted into the barns, when Brother Matthew the cellarer first brought into chapter the matter of business he had been discussing for some days during the Fair with the prior of the Augustinian priory of Saint John the Evangelist, at Haughmond, about four miles to the north-east of Shrewsbury. Haughmond was a FitzAlan foundation, and FitzAlan was out of favour and dispossessed since he had held Shrewsbury castle against King Stephen, though rumour said he was back in England again from his refuge in France, and safe with the Empress’s forces in Bristol. But many of his tenants locally had continued loyal to the king, and retained their lands, and Haughmond flourished in their patronage and gifts, a highly respectable neighbour with whom business could be done to mutual advantage at times. This, according to Brother Matthew, was one of the times.
‘The proposal for this exchange of land came from Haughmond,’ he said, ‘but it makes good sense for both houses. I have already set the necessary facts before Father Abbot and Prior Robert, and I have here rough plans of the two fields in question, both large and of comparable quality. The one which this house owns lies some mile and a half beyond Haughton, and is bounded on all sides by land gifted to Haughmond Priory. Clearly it will advantage them to add this piece to their holdings, for economy in use and the saving of time and labour in going back and forth. And the field which Haughmond wishes to exchange for it is on the hither side of the manor of Longner, barely two miles from us but inconveniently distant from Haughmond. Clearly it is good sense to consider this exchange. I have viewed the ground, and the bargain is a fair one. I recommend that we should accept.’
‘If this field is on the hither side of Longner,’ said Brother Richard, the sub-prior, who came from a mile or so beyond that manor and knew the outlines of the land, ‘how does it lie with regard to the river? Is it subject to flooding?’
‘No. It has the Severn along one flank, yes, but the bank is high, and the meadow climbs gradually from it to a headland and a windbreak of trees and bushes along the ridge. It is the field of which Brother Ruald was tenant until some fifteen months ago. There were two or three small claypits along the river bank, but I believe they are exhausted. The field is known as the Potter’s Field.’
A slight ripple of movement went round the chapterhouse, as all heads turned in one direction, and all eyes fastened for one discreet moment upon Brother Ruald. A slight, quiet, grave man, with a long, austere face, very regular of feature, of an ageless, classical comeliness, he still went about the devout hours of the day like one half withdrawn into a private rapture, for his final vows were only two months old, and his desire for the life of the cloister, recognised only after fifteen years of married life and twenty-five of plying the potter’s craft, had burned into an acute agony before he gained admittance and entered into peace. A peace he never seemed to leave now, even for a moment. All eyes might turn on him, and his calm remained absolute. Everyone here knew his story, which was complex and strange enough, but that did not trouble him. He was where he wanted to be.
‘It is good pasture,’ he said simply. ‘And could well be cultivated, if it is needed. It lies well above any common floodline. The other field, of course, I do not know.’
‘It may be a little greater,’ said Brother Matthew judicially, contemplating his parchments with head on one side, measuring with narrowed eyes. ‘But at that distance we are spared time and labour. I have said, I judge it a fair exchange.’
“The Potter’s Field!’ said Prior Robert, musing. ‘It was such a field that was bought with the silver of Judas’s betrayal, for the burial of strangers. I trust there can be no ill omen in the name.’
‘It was only named for my craft,’ said Ruald. ‘Earth is innocent. Only the use we make of it can mar it. I laboured honestly there, before I knew whither I was truly bound. It is good land. It may well be better used than for a workshop and kiln such as mine. A narrow yard would have done for that.’
‘And access is easy?’ asked Brother Richard. ‘It lies on the far side of the river from the highroad.’
‘There is a ford a little way upstream, and a ferry even nearer to the field.’
‘That land was gifted to Haughmond only a year ago, by Eudo Blount of Longner,’ Brother Anselm reminded them. ‘Is Blount a partner to this exchange? He made no demur? Or has he yet been consulted?’
‘You will remember,’ said Brother Matthew, patiently competent at every point, as was his way,’that Eudo Blount the elder died early this year at Wilton, in the rearguard that secured the king’s retreat. His son, also Eudo, is now lord of Longner. Yes, we have talked with him. He has no objection. The gift is Haughmond’s property, to be used to Haughmond’s best advantage, which manifestly this exchange serves well. There is no obstacle there.’
‘And no restriction as to the use we in our turn may make of it?’ demanded the prior acutely. “The agreement will be on the usual terms? That either party may make whatever use it wishes of the fields? To build, or cultivate, or keep as pasture, at will?’
‘That is agreed. If we want to plough, there is no bar.’
‘It seems to me,’ said Abbot Radulfus, casting a long glance around at the attentive faces of his flock,’that we have heard enough. If anyone has any other point to raise, do so now, by all means.’
In the considering silence that followed many eyes turned again, mildly expectant, to the austere face of Brother Ruald, who alone remained withdrawn and unconcerned. Who should know better the qualities of that field where he had worked for so many years, or be better qualified to state whether they would be doing well in approving the proposed exchange? But he had said all he had to say, in duty bound, and felt no need to add another word. When he had turned his back upon the world and entered into his desired vocation, field and cottage and kiln and kin had vanished for him. He never spoke of his former life, probably he never thought of it. All those years he had been astray and far from home.
‘Very well!’ said the abbot. ‘Clearly both we and Haughmond gain by the exchange. Will you confer with the prior, Matthew, and draw up the charter accordingly, and as soon as a day can be fixed we will see it witnessed and sealed. And once that is done, I think Brother Richard and Brother Cadfael might view the ground, and consider its most profitable use.’
Brother Matthew rolled up his plans with a brisk hand and a satisfied countenance. It was his part to keep a strict eye upon the property and funds of the house, to reckon up land, crops, gifts and legacies in the profits they could bring to the monastery of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and he had assessed the Potter’s Field with professional shrewdness, and liked what he saw.
There is no other business?’ asked Radulfus.
‘None, Father?’
‘Then this chapter is concluded,’ said the abbot, and led the way out of the chapterhouse into the sun-bleached August grasses of the cemetery.
Brother Cadfael went up into the town after Vespers, in the cooling sunlight of a clear evening, to sup with his friend Hugh Beringar, and visit his godson Giles, three and a half years old, long and strong and something of a benevolent tyrant to the entire household. In view of the sacred duty such a sponsor has towards his charge. Cadfael had leave to visit the house with reasonable regularity, and if the time he spent with the boy was occupied more often in play than in the serious admonitions of a responsible godparent, neither Giles nor his own parents had any complaint to make.