day labourer at the ditches, of Kuttenberg
“I haul dirt all day for Julian and I am the strongest man in the cellar. The rest of them are weeping old women.”
Things Jezhek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Christ almighty, that whoreson Julian docked me a half-penny today because I stopped to wipe the sweat from my eyes. A man works like an ox in the clay and they treat him like dirt. I drank my wage dry at the alehouse just so he couldn't have it back.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He was on his fourth cup and pounded the table.
the Tuesday after Quasimodo Sunday, at None
Old John is weeping again about his brother Denis up in Troskowitz, saying the Cumans will get him. I told him the Cumans would throw Denis back for being too full of complaints. Then he begged Frantishek to take a message, and the boy went red as a beetroot.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
Hynek is still whining about his bloody cloak. I stuffed it in the boards to stop the rain coming in on my straw, and now he wants ten groschen because it rotted. Ten groschen! I told him it was a rag before I touched it. He's lucky I don't charge him for the patch job.
It was my only good wool cloak, you great brute. It kept me warm all winter and now it smells of mildew and rat dirt. You owe me.
Come take it out of my hide then, little man. We'll see who rots first.
Nota scribaeThe speaker spat on the floor upon mentioning the ten groschen.
the Friday after St Gregory, at Prime
That old witch Eleanor was at the cellar door demanding her two groschen before Sunday mass. I told her the boards are rotting above our heads and she said it was our own breath dampening them. She would charge us for the rats if she could count the little bastards.
If you do not like the cellar, large man, you may sleep in the ditch you dig. The rent is due.
Please do not anger her, Jezhek, or she will throw us all out into the mud.
Nota scribaeHe asked me to write 'witch' but I have set down 'widow' in the official tally, though I left 'witch' here.
Candlemas, at Terce
First light, freezing cold, and standing in the square hoping to be picked. Half the town is out of work because of the troubles. The King is locked up somewhere and bread costs a fortune. At least Julian picked me early today. Strong back, he said. He's not wrong.
Aye, the bread prices are a sin. The millers are charging double for flour.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, Julian is a hard master. I saw him riding past the upper market yesterday, looking down his nose.
Keep your voice down, Jezhek. If Julian hears you call him a whoreson, none of us will be picked for the crew tomorrow.