hired hand, of Kuttenberg
“I haul heavy stone and talk my way into the best work gangs in Kuttenberg.”
Things Oswald had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Ten groschen to the man who looks in on Maurice three times today and tells me he still breathes. I cannot miss a shift hauling stone for Prokop or I will starve, but the thought of that wagon wheel cracking gives me no peace. Just tell me he is not dead yet.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed the back of his neck furiously while he spoke, looking everywhere but at me.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
By Saint Barbara, Anthony must learn patience! I took his padded jack for safekeeping, and yes, Drslav holds it behind his bolted door for now. It is but a small loan between friends to buy ale. I will earn the groschen back before the muster, I swear it.
Maundy Thursday, at None
Young Philip has a brass neck on him, holding onto Baldwin's iron-shod spade like it is his own. I admire the cheek, even if he is a stubborn fool. A man has to do what he can to catch Prokop's eye in the yard.
A spade belongs to the hands that use it. Baldwin was asleep by the ale barrel.
Nota scribaeHe spoke without pausing for breath.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
A cursed morning at the timber yards. I only turned my head a moment to speak to a carter, and the wood snapped. Poor Maurice took a foul tumble. His leg is in a bad way. Heaven mend him, or let it end quickly.
You were supposed to be watching the wheels, you bloody fool. You talked his leg right off.
Candlemas, at Prime
Standing in the yard at the Italian Court, freezing my arse off waiting for Prokop to point his finger. I am the strongest stone-hauler here! If the man had eyes in his head, he would put me on the works every single day.
We are all freezing, Oswald. Save your breath to keep your hands warm.
Nota scribaeDictated in a loud, fast shout that startled the passing monks.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will do it for twelve. He is burning with fever, Oswald. The cellar stinks of death.