Frantishek

the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers

Another storm in the night, and a hole in the thatch the size of a wagon wheel. Margery took my four groschen today and bolted her door. Christ almighty, I am coughing up my lungs.

• 
  Havel

  It is a cruel thing, Frantishek. Wrap yourself in a sack if you must.

the feast of St Mark, at None

Robert worked us like mules today clearing rubble. My hands are bleeding again. But I hauled the mortar with my own bucket, so I get my full three groschen. Better than the fools who pawned their gear.

Nota scribaeHe coughed the entire time he spoke, and wiped blood from his hand on my table.

the third day of Easter week, at Sext

Ludwig is still making excuses about returning his borrowed iron. He swore he needed until Easter, and Easter is gone. The lad is crafting lies faster than a weaver makes cloth. I watch and laugh, but keep my own shovel close.

• 
  Ludwig

  I only need it until the feast of St George, Frantishek! I swear it on the Virgin.

the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime

Bartel and Julian are at each other's throats over that pick again. I kept my head down and hauled clay. A man cannot afford to make enemies of the fellows holding the shovels beside him.

• 
  Bartel

  He stole my iron, Frantishek! You know he did.

• 
  Julian

  It was lying in the mud, nobody's property.

Candlemas, at Vespers

Robert declared today that any man without his own tools gets boy's wages, two groschen a day. Half the crew is cursing him to hell. I kept my tools through the winter. I am a grown man and I earn a man's wage.

• 
  Robert

  A man without tools is no man at all. Be glad you have yours, Frantishek.

Nota scribaeDictated in the square. The man's voice is so raspy I could scarce hear the words.