carpenter at the Italian Court, of Kuttenberg
“I haul timber for the mint and keep my mouth shut. A man's worth is what his back can carry.”
Things Ernest Grey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
The damp is in my bones today. Foreman Hynek looked at me long this morning, but I stood straight as a plumb line. I bit my cheek so hard I tasted blood, but I carried my share of the oak.
Nota scribaeHe spoke stiffly, turning his whole body to look at me.
the second day of Easter week, at Compline
William and Thomas are shouting over a rusty axe again. Bloody fools. Drink away your wages, pawn your tools to the widow Marion, and then blame each other. I save my coin and bring my own gear.
It is my axe and he knows it.
I paid for the grinding!
the Thursday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Sat by the stone wall at midday. My father William slipped me some good bread from the tavern kitchens. It helps a man get through the afternoon shift when the pine logs feel heavier than lead.
Eat up, lad. You need your strength for that foreman.
Nota scribaeDictated while eating a crust.
the feast of St Thomas Aquinas, at None
If any man knows of a good poultice for a stiffness in the joints, tell me quietly. It is not for me, but for an old dog that struggles in the damp mornings. I have a groschen for a true remedy.
Ernest, what dog? We have no dog.
Mind your own business, Ellen.
Nota scribaeHe looked nervously at the door while saying this.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Vespers
Three winters since I fell from that cursed wet scaffold into the frozen mud. I still remember the sound my back made. But I am still standing, and I still earn my wage. That is more than some can say.
You are too stubborn to die, brother.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You always walk like you swallowed a spear, Ernest.
And you work like you swallowed a feather, John.