hired hand hauling wine, of Kuttenberg
“I do the sweating around here while the master sleeps warm. A man should see silver for his aches.”
Things Nicholas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
Tobias is strutting around the yard again like he won a war. Soft as sheep gut, the lad. Still weeping over that girl Avice but trying to look fierce. If a Cuman so much as coughed at him, he'd dirty his breeches. Horse shit, the lot of it.
the eve of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Master John weeps about the war ruining trade, says the soldiers took his best casks. I say he has silver buried in the cellar. I haven't seen a groschen since Saint Martin's day, and I'll not do a stroke more than I must. Grete's roof can rot and fall in for all I care.
The roads are choked with soldiers and tolls, Nicholas. Have some patience. You get your pottage every noon.
The roof drips on my bed, Nicholas! It would take you an afternoon with a ladder and some pitch.
Nota scribaeDictated with much spitting onto the floor.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Christine Barbora is sighing again over that cooper boy George who went off with the levy. Lord above, a sharp switch would cure her of it entirely. It ruins a man's digestion to hear all that weeping over his pottage. The only thing worth weeping over in this house is my empty purse.
You have a stone where your heart should be! George is away at war, and you only care for coin.
the Friday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
I've got half a mind to pack my things and walk to the silver mines. A man sees actual coin there, not just Master John's endless excuses. Only reason I haven't is the roads. Hungarian soldiers everywhere. If it weren't for the war, I'd be long gone and John could shift his own pressing stones.
Don't go out there, Nicholas. Men die on the roads. It's safer behind the town walls, even with no money.
Nota scribaeHe threw a wooden mallet against the wall while saying this. It missed my head by a hand's breadth.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Another feast day, another day freezing by the cellar door with my joints aching. I moved four great stones today and dragged five casks up the ramp. I am the only one who works in this godforsaken place. The maid Anna just scurries around like a frightened mouse.
I stay out of your way because you do nothing but shout, Nicholas. There's no need to call me names.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your mouth shut, you old fool. I bear arms to protect this house. You only haul dirt.
I carry more weight on my back before Terce than you will in your whole life, boy.