miner in the deep shafts, of Kuttenberg
“I hew silver and pay my slate. The rock dust sits heavy on a man, but I need no nursemaids knocking at my door.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Another shift done. The air down there is thick enough to chew. Godfrey looked at me twice today, waiting for my knees to give. They did not. I paid Milena a groschen off my slate, though her ale tastes like river water. The dust is bad today.
Nota scribaeHe paused often to spit a foul black humour onto my boots.
the second day of Rogation tide, at Sext
Simon the Crook still has my heavy hammer. Says he lost it in the dark, the lying whoreson. A man cannot work without his iron, and borrowing from Osbert costs me half my tally in ale. If Godfrey catches me without tools, I am finished.
I told you, the earth ate it. Ask Jan the Hare, he hears the rocks chewing.
The dark takes what it is owed, Simon. The silver sings but the iron weeps.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Compline
No Easter silver bonus from the mint. Not a single penny. We bleed for the King's coin and get dirt for our trouble. Twenty-eight men in this lodging and nothing but watered ale to celebrate the rising of the Lord. The rock takes it all.
It is the war, lad. Sigismund's army must eat, and we must dig. Rosa always said patience brings grace.
Grace does not settle Milena's slate, old man.
Nota scribaeDictated at the cellar hatch. The men were exceedingly loud and smelled of old sweat.
the feast of St Gertrude, at None
Lambert thinks he is my mother. He took my best pick so I would rest my chest. A miner who rests is a miner who starves in the mud. I will not be struck from the roster. Bring it back before the morning shift, Lambert.
Candlemas, at Prime
The priest tells us to carry candles and be glad. I carry a borrowed iron into the black earth and spit blood when I come out. Heinz dropped his load of ore today and Godfrey docked us all. A cursed start to a cursed month.
My hands were numb from the frost. Do not blame me for Godfrey's cruelty.
It was too heavy a load for one man anyway. Godfrey pushes us too hard.
Nota scribaeThe man breathes like a broken bellows. I fear I will catch his sickness.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You look like a corpse, Richard. Stay above ground tomorrow.
Keep your pity and give me back my pick, you thief.