hired hand at the farm, of Grunta
“I have worked this land since I was a boy. Christ almighty, my knees ache worse every winter, but the feed sacks will not carry themselves.”
Things Benesh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the third day of May, at Vespers
Christ almighty, Sunday is coming and still no silver from young master John. The priest looked right at me after mass. If he calls my name before the whole parish as a debtor, I will die of shame right there on the stone floor.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper behind the stables. He rubbed his knees the entire time.
the second day of Easter week, at None
They are telling Lucy not to walk barefoot to Sedletz. Lord preserve us, a holy vow is a holy vow. If she breaks it, a curse will fall on this whole yard, and we have lost enough horses to the King's men already without bringing down heaven's wrath too.
Maundy Thursday, at Prime
The morning damp has got into my bones again. Woke up in the loft and had to rub my legs a long while before I could manage the ladder. We are short three draught horses, so William and I must haul the sacks ourselves. My back is not what it was.
My dog Butcher could pull a better cart than us, if I let him.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Alice is shrieking about her stolen bolt of fine linen again. I keep my head down and walk the furrows. Women's quarrels are not for me, though Christ knows that screaming does not make the ploughing any easier. Old Peter would have silenced the yard by now.
It was fine cloth from Prague! You would scream too if you had anything worth stealing, old man.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking this.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Two winters now since old Peter died of the fever. God rest his soul, he was a brother to me, and a fair master. He always paid his men on the eve of every saint's day. Now we just get promises and empty purses from young John. Pity does not fill the belly.
Peter was a true man. This boy is ruining us.
The lad is drowning in his father's boots, Leonard. But the priest still wants his tithe.
Nota scribaeThe man was wheezing badly as he spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hide the wheel grease, Benesh. That is the only language the boy understands.
I swore on my father's grave you will be paid. The soldiers took half the grain, what am I to do?