stone hauler at the Italian Court, of Kuttenberg
“I haul stone for the masons at the Italian Court. It is honest sweat, and a man is only worth the strength in his arms.”
Things Geoffrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
My back is near broken from pushing these carts, though I'd never let Otto see it. Honest sweat is one thing, but this wooden shovel is slowing me. Now I have to step over Robert lying drunk in the straw. If he misses another shift, Doubravka will toss him in the mud.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his spine throughout the telling and sighed heavily.
the Tuesday after St George, at Vespers
Adam will not stop whining at me to carry word to his sister Marika in Maleshov. I push stone to the mortar pits, I do not walk to Maleshov. Let him spend his own sweat and wages on a messenger instead of badgering me.
The soldiers are out there taking the grain! I only asked a favour, you miserable old mule.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Adam claims his debt is paid because he pushed my stone quota twice. I told him a debt of three groschen is paid in silver, not in sweat. I have his tin plate safe in my sack, and he can eat his pottage off bark until I see the coin.
I carried your load when your back was giving out! Give me my plate before I take it from you.
Bring me three groschen and you will have your tin back. Not before.
Nota scribaeDictated near the market. He clutched his woollen sack tightly.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Terce
Bread is dearer than last year, and the soldiers on the roads make it no better. We pour our sweat into the earth just to keep a heel of hard crust in our bellies. At least poor Simon is spared this hunger, God rest him.
Simon always shared his loaf. There is no good ale left in this cursed town anyway.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Like a fool I lent my best iron-shod spade to Hermann for the mortar pits. He swore on his mother's grave he would hand it back before the week was out. Now I must break my back with an old wooden shovel, and every shift costs me twice the sweat.
I still need it for the mortar! Keep your shirt on, I will bring it to the cellar on Sunday.
Nota scribaeThe man spat on the ground after naming Hermann.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The lad is drowning in his cups since Simon died. You speak true, Geoffrey, but go easy on him.
Let him sleep in the mud! More straw for the rest of us.