hired hand and cart mender, of Grunta
“I mend the carts and do the heavy lifting at this farm. A man's labour is worth his silver, and I hold fast until I see it.”
Things Leonard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The eve of the Ascension, at None
John shouted himself red in the yard today, wanting the pot of wheel grease back so he can take the large cart to market. I spat in the dust and walked back to the fields. The grease stays in my sack until I see the three weeks of silver he swore on old Peter's grave to pay me by Easter.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very slowly and stared at me until I wrote every word.
The feast of Saint Mark, at Vespers
Alice is weeping loud enough to wake the dead because John locked her fine linen in his cupboard so she cannot leave. It is a coward's trick, keeping a servant by stealing their goods. Though I suppose it is exactly what I am doing with the wheel grease. At least I do not wail about it.
The third day of Easter week, at Prime
Easter has come and gone, just as I knew it would. No silver from John. Old Peter paid us on the eve of every saint's day, rain or shine. Now the lockbox is empty and the master is a boy playing with a farm he cannot hold. Let us see how long the ploughs hold together.
The priest will name me a debtor on Sunday over the parish dues. Lord preserve me.
Nota scribaeDictated at the trough while washing mud from his hands.
The feast of Saint Joseph, at Sext
I mended the small handcart today. Replaced the cracked spokes and made it fit to roll. John handed me the farm's only pot of Kuttenberg wheel grease for the axle. The work is done, but the pot went into my kit. A fair pledge for silver owed. I am a quiet man, but I am no fool.
Give it back, Leonard! That cost half a groschen!
The Monday after Candlemas, at Compline
Half the grain and three draught horses gone to the King's men last autumn, and we are still limping from it. To make the evening worse, William will not stop whining about that miserable dog of his, Butcher. The beast killed a neighbour's birds. If it ran off to the woods, we might get some peace in the loft.
Butcher is a good hound! He only meant to play with the fowls.
He frightened me half to death by the woodpile yesterday.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted twice by the barking of a dog in the yard.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You obstinate mule, the cart will rot and we will all starve if I cannot sell the grain!
Pay what is owed. Then the wheels will turn.