digger at the stone works, of Kuttenberg
“I dig the trenches and keep my head down. A quiet man lives longer than a loud fool, especially with soldiers on the road.”
Things Standa Lane had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Pentecost, at Vespers
Christ almighty, Tuma took a tumble from the high scaffold today. Heard his leg snap like a dry branch from down in my trench. Let the others climb into the sky for David. I'll stay in the mud where it's safe.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man rubbed his hands together incessantly.
the feast of the Invention of the Holy Cross, at Compline
They say the bailiff's clerks are writing down names again. A man needs to secure his own fate. Sixty groschen, I reckon, is what a certain clerk might need to look the other way. Every penny I earn goes under the floorboards now.
What floorboards? Have you been prying up the wood in my house, boy?
Godfrey, leave him be. If it keeps him from a Hungarian spear, let him hide his coin.
the Tuesday of Easter week, at None
I cannot abide working near Reginald Wright. He wails about the muster roll so loud the whole town can hear him. Does he want Peter to put our names down out of spite? I slouched all morning just to stay out of David's sight.
I have my own griefs to bear, Standa. My poor mother Svatava would weep to see my lamp stolen.
Nobody cares about your bloody lamp, Gilbert.
Nota scribaeThe speaker kept glancing over his shoulder toward the town hall.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Prime
Anthony Fair asked if I was coming to the tavern tonight. I told him I have better things to do than listen to him fight with his brother Hynek over a patch of dirt. Ale costs money, and money is life these days.
It is not just dirt, it is my inheritance! But stay in your cellar, miser.
At least you don't pay rent to Walter. That old devil would charge us for breathing if he could.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Sext
The ground is frozen solid but David still wants his trenches dug. My hands are a mess of blisters. But the pay is steady, and I need the silver. There are worse things than backache. A Cuman arrow, for one.
They are coming for us! The clerks have their lists!
Nota scribaeHe showed me his hands. They were indeed blistered, though perhaps less than he claimed.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
They'll send us up there next, Standa! Or worse, the levy! We're dead men either way!
Shut your mouth, Reginald, before the guards hear you whining.