hired hand at Grunta, of Grunta
“I am the senior hand at this yard. I keep the beasts fed and the carts running while others make excuses.”
Things Frantishek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
The damp is in the air again and my shoulder aches like the devil. I hauled three loads of timber today without a word. Isabel left me a thicker bowl of pottage by the hearth. She knows the worth of a man who does not whine when the weather turns.
Nota scribaeThe man grunted twice while speaking, rubbing his right shoulder.
the second day of the Rogation days, at None
John is weeping about Tuma the clerk again. Thinks the bailiff's man will drag him off to the levy. I told him to pick up his axe and work the terror out of his blood. A busy man has no time to worry about soldiers or town clerks.
You say that because Tuma does not know your name. They are taking men from the villages, Frantishek.
If they take you, I will have more room in the loft.
the Friday after St George, at Prime
That boy Thomas is a fool and a menace to good timber. I lent him my only pot of wheel grease for the cart. He drove it straight into a rut and snapped the front axle clean in two. Now he claims the wood was rotten and refuses to return my grease.
The axle was black with rot! You just want a scapegoat for the master's cheap timber. You are not getting the grease back until you admit it.
You cannot steer a cart, boy. Bring me my tallow before I tan your hide.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very loudly, ensuring the whole yard could hear.
the fourth Sunday of Lent, at Terce
William spent the morning searching the dirt for that wooden dove Klara carved him. I told him the mud will not give it back. It is a hard thing to lose a good wife, but scratching in the muck will not bring her down from heaven.
It must have fallen near the fence. It is all I have left of her hands.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
Father Peshek is dead of the flux. He was a good man. He never bothered a tired man with talk of penance when he knew the harvest was heavy. God rest him. I suppose Thomas will have to whine to someone else about his church debts now.
He was a saint. It is a pity his estate still demands the coin I owe.
Nota scribaeDictated near the churchyard. The man made the sign of the cross.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You earned it, Frantishek. You lift more than the young ones combined.