hired hand, of Kuttenberg
“I fetch water for the smiths at the Italian Court. I am young and carry my weight, Saint Wenceslas knows.”
Things Edward had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
I caught my tunic on a rusted nail by the water troughs today and tore a terrible long gash in the wool. If Prokop sees me looking like a vagrant tomorrow, he will turn me away from the hiring line. Has anyone a single needle? Bozhena is sick and I have no groschen.
Nota scribaeThe lad stammered fiercely and kept trying to hide a large hole in his sleeve with his hand.
the third day of Easter week, at None
My boots are worn through and my back aches from hauling water all morning, but I can carry as much as any man here. I am grateful to Robert Cook, who slipped me a hard crust. It kept me standing.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
I have told Havel again that my tool is with the smith. It ties my stomach in knots to lie to his face, but what else can I do? I spend half the day in the sorting yard just trying to avoid his eye.
You are going to catch a hiding if you keep playing him for a fool.
Nota scribaeDictated in a panicked whisper near the alehouse door.
St Matthias's day, at Compline
Bozhena is sick abed upstairs with a fever. The older men in the cellar say she might pass if it worsens. I only hope she mends, for she has a sewing needle she sometimes lets me use, and the maid turns everyone away.
My Marika used to patch our clothes for nothing, God rest her soul. Bozhena just counts her rent ledger.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Jezhek took my only good tool in the yard today. He is massive and simply walked away with it. Saint Wenceslas knows I am too terrified to demand it back, for I will catch a beating. Now I must beg one to keep my place on Prokop's line.
You lent it to me, boy. Stop whining like a stuck pig and fetch more water.
Nota scribaeHe wept a little, though he tried to pretend it was smoke from the hearth.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I have no needle, lad, but come to the yard at noon and I will give you a heel of bread.
A peddler in the square sells them by the dozen, but they are not free.