hired hand for the masons, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down, drag the timber, and hope my back holds out.”
Things Peshek the Horse had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The muster is coming and I am a dead man or a pillory fool. Michael the Nasty still has not redeemed my iron cap from Juliana's grille. I saved good silver for that gear fetching logs so the town bailiff would not throw me in the stocks.
Nota scribaeThe man spat three times on the floor of the parish house while dictating.
the feast of St Pancras, at Compline
Carried two buckets of water up the hill all day while Konrad struggled with one. It is honest sweat, but the refugees on the road make bread dearer every week. Lambert the foreman says the pay is the pay. I bought my stale loaf and kept my mouth shut.
My buckets leaked, Peshek. It had nothing to do with my arms.
If the bread is dear, you can always pawn your boots.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Drslav the Boar fell from the timber wagon today and his leg cracked like a dry branch. I kept walking. A hired hand who stops working is a hand who starves. I pray the Lord keeps the rot out of my own bones.
You could have fetched the barber, you cold bastard.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Woke up coughing the cellar chill from my lungs. Dietrich the Sly talked my ear off at the lower market while we waited for the foremen. I do not wave my arms to be picked. My shoulders speak for themselves.
A man must make himself known to the foreman, Peshek, or he stays hungry.
Nota scribaeDictated before work. He smelled strongly of damp wool and stared at my boots.
Candlemas, at Vespers
I slept, and Michael took my new gambeson and iron cap. He pawned them to Juliana behind her grille for ale money. I lack the fire to beat him bloody, but I want my gear back. I spit on him.
Juliana's grille is tighter than a nun's purse. You will never see that cap again.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your tongue, Peshek. I just need a few days of work to get the silver to buy it back.
You have said that since Lent, you whoreson.