hauler at the tannery, of Kuttenberg
“I am an honest man hauling hides for my daily bread, though the young lads mock my prayers.”
Things Standa Taylor had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Peter Gerber slipped by the vats again and favors his bad hand. I told him to pray to St Jude, but he just cursed. The young ones have no discipline. In old Godfrey's day he would have been docked a penny for taking the Lord's name.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the church doors. He crossed himself four times.
the second week after Easter, at None
My bread fell in the lye this morning. It is a punishment. Ever since I dropped the wooden saint my mother Rose carved for me into the yard mud, nothing goes right. I must search the bottom of the scraping vat again.
We have work to do, Standa. Stop digging in the muck for a piece of firewood.
Maundy Thursday, at Prime
Julian Little is right to be angry. He lent a fine pewter jug to Tuma Short before Lent, and Tuma keeps it, claiming a debt. A man who steals from his neighbors out of fear of the levy has no place taking communion.
He owes me for the ale slate! I am no thief, just a man securing his coin!
God bless you Standa, at least one man sees reason in this town.
Nota scribaeHe lowered his voice so the passing watch would not hear.
the second Tuesday in Lent, at Terce
Prokop Alder and Vitek Fisher weary me. Every day it is another shout about land strips and their brothers. A man should pray for his family, not drag them to the bailiff. God rest my mother, she taught me better.
You have no land to measure, Standa, so keep your nose in the hides.
Candlemas, at Sext
A dark day. I reached into my tunic and my mother's token is gone. The wooden saint she carved before she passed in ninety-nine. I have searched the yard from the gates to the drying racks. God protect me, the luck is gone from me.
Come home, husband. A carved block cannot feed the girls.
Nota scribaeThe man was weeping and smelled strongly of rotting fat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your prayers, Standa. My bones ache and a holy word will not set them straight.