miner at Horany, of Horany
“Christ, I dig silver for the Kuttenberg masters until my back screams, then I drink till it stops.”
Things Hugh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Christ, my joints are burning in this damp. Hauled ore next to Simon the Ox all day, and I kept up with him, but now I can barely stand to lift my ale. The masters in Kuttenberg don't care how our backs ache.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He rubbed his eyes constantly and smelled strongly of cheap beer.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Compline
Denis keeps looking at me across the room. We both know what is buried behind the house. If he wants to talk, he can talk, but going to the bailiff won't end well for either of us. I'll divide it when the time is right.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
They were praying for the dead yesterday. I lit a candle for Andreas. He died shivering of the bloody flux in that cursed mud at Maleshov, because Wenceslas the Horse mired the wagon with the winter blankets while drunk. Christ, I won't ever forget that.
It was the mud that stuck the wagon, not the drink! We all suffered in that camp.
You kept my spade too, you whoreson. Andreas deserved better than your foolishness.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
Jezhek lost Roger's coat at dice again. Roger is sour as spoiled milk today, cursing anyone who looks at him by the weigh-house. Vitek's boy almost didn't pick us for the shift because of the shouting. Bloody fools.
The dice were against me! I will win him a better coat next time, I swear it.
I'm freezing in the dark because of your stupidity, Jezhek.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before beginning his dictation.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
The ground is frozen solid, but down in the deep shafts it's just damp and miserable. Ever since we came back from the militia levy, everything hurts worse. At least Edmund doesn't have to freeze anymore. God rest him.
Edmund died a proper death, though it was bitter cold in the mud.
You took his cloak before he was stiff, Walter. You are no better than a thief.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly, staring at his dirt-stained hands.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You pull a good load, Hugh. Just drink up, the ale helps the knees.