rock hauler at the mines, of Horany
“I am the youngest of the crew and I carry more baskets than the greybeards. Sakra, I just want to work and be left in peace.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Sakra, I am ruined. I snagged my only good tunic on a jagged timber prop in the shaft and tore the right sleeve half off. Vitek turns away anyone at the weigh-house who looks like a beggar. I desperately need a single sewing needle to mend it, but the pedlars will only sell a whole case and I have no pennies.
Nota scribaeHe spent the entire dictation picking nervously at a ragged piece of wool on his arm.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Standing in the shivering dawn air waiting for Vitek's boy to come out with the slate. Sakra, it is bitter today. I make sure to stand tall and look alert so they see I am stronger than the old men. If my name is not called, there is no stew for me tonight.
Keep your head down and stop boasting, boy. The rock does not care how young you are.
the feast of St Richard, at Compline
Roger is a liar. Sakra, he told me the barber-surgeon had already packed his bags and left for Kuttenberg! That is the only reason I lay down in that freezing mud at Maleshov. There was no surgeon to find. Now he denies he said a word, and Daniel looks at me like I am lazy.
I never said a word about Kuttenberg. You were just lazy and curled up to sleep while Andreas suffered.
You slept while he burned up with the bloody flux. I will never forget it, boy.
Sakra, I was half-starved and shaking! Why would I walk in the freezing rain if Roger said the man was gone?
Nota scribaeThe dictating took long, for he kept shrugging and pacing about the room in a fretful manner.
the Friday after St Gregory, at None
I cannot bear the tavern when Wenceslas the Horse starts shouting about the militia camp at Maleshov. Sakra, it terrifies me just to hear of it. The freezing rain, the trenches, listening to men rave in the mud with no clean water. I take my thin ale outside now.
It was a dark time, but a man must drink and shout to forget the mud! Do not be so soft.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
Ten hours in the dark climbing wet wooden ladders with broken rock on my back. My knees ache, but Simon the Ox takes twice the load without a single complaint. Sakra, I envy his brute strength on the rock face, even if he is simple. At least I have a heel of hard bread for midday.
The rock is heavy but it does not complain. You talk too much on the ladders.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of the deep earth and stale sweat, and spoke very quickly.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Use a sharp splinter of bone to pierce it and some twine, lad. It will not look pretty but it holds.
I have hands too big for needles. I cannot help you.