the Thursday after Ascension, at Vespers
The bailiff is talking about a muster again. Bloody hell. If John Black asks after that war gear he gave me to hold, tell him it is safe. Rye flour is too bloody dear to worry about spears just now.
Nota scribaeDictated at the cellar. The man was sweating profusely when he spoke of the gear.

Safe where, Kubyenka? I paid good silver for that kit. I want it in my hands by Sunday.