ditch-digger at the works, of Kuttenberg
“I dig the deep drainage trenches by the Italian Court and try to keep these useless lads from starving. God knows it is a heavy burden.”
Things Nicholas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
The town captain will call the muster soon, and I am still without my padded gambeson. Udo pawned it for ale, the little shit. If I am pushed into the front rank to take a Cuman arrow because of his thirst, I swear I will haunt him from purgatory.
Nota scribaeThe man pointed a thick, calloused finger at the other lad the entire time he spoke.
the eve of Saint George, at Prime
Robert took a bad fall on the cobbles and lies burning with fever in the straw. I cannot stay, or Master Otto will strike my name from the ledger. If some good Christian would force water down his throat three times today, I would be obliged. The boy must not die like his brother Simon.
I cannot miss the morning hiring either, Nicholas. My stones will not haul themselves.
Better him sick than my sister Marika in Maleshov. The soldiers took her grain, you know.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking, staring down at his blistered hands.
the second day of Easter week, at None
I caught Joseph Fuller near the market again, asking if he travels near my kin. He says no, but I know he rides that way. I have sent them no coin since the snow melted, and the guilt eats at my gut. I just want him to tell them I still draw breath.
I told you, digger, my trade takes me north, not to your village. Leave me be.
the Monday before Palm Sunday, at Compline
I am so tired of this cellar. Hermann spits and curses about his stolen pickaxe, and Adam whines endlessly. They will both lose their hire over a bloody pitchfork. Master Otto wants men with tools, not children squabbling in the mud. And Kunz jumps at every rat in the thatch.
It is my livelihood! A man cannot dig rock with his bare hands.
Udo said the rats here have a taste for toes. I cannot sleep.
Nota scribaeDictated in the cellar. It smelled strongly of damp earth and unwashed men.
the second week of Lent, at Sext
The trench at the mint gets deeper by the day. Otto turned away three lads this morning for hiding that they had no shovels. Good. Discipline keeps the ditch from caving in on us. I hold my spade until the evening bell rings, as a man should.
If you lot spent less time talking to the priest and more time digging, the walls would be finished by now.
Aye, hard work never killed a man. Though it breaks his back soon enough.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Christ almighty, it was only for a few days! The ale-wife will give it back when I get my silver.
You have no silver, you fool. You spend it before the sun sets.