master of the yard, of Kuttenberg
“I buy the timber, I cut it, and I put bread on my table for my brothers.”
Things Andrew had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after St Urban, at Compline
Another night by the candle, and the sums are short again. My table, my bread, and someone is eating more than their share of the pennies. If a man cannot trust the hands he hires, what is the world coming to? I have half a mind to snap someone's jaw.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his eyes constantly while speaking and stared hard at a young man in the yard.
the feast of St Pancras, at Sext
Nickel had the gall to ask for his copper jug back. I told him he gets it when he pays the fifteen groschen for the chopping block he split with his drunken arse before St Martin's. You break a working man's livelihood, you pay for it.
the second day of Easter week, at None
John is sweeping the yard and crying again over that wooden ring our mother gave him. God rest her soul, Zlata was a hard woman, but she would have slapped him for weeping like a child when there is timber to be moved. I cannot carry them all.
I dropped it near the raw timber carts. It is all I have left of her.
What you have left is the roof I put over your head. Keep sweeping.
Nota scribaeHe pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily before returning to the wood.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Terce
Bread is dearer than last year, and Vashek the clerk sent word from Prague about the parish debts. The burial costs are dragging me under the mud. I buy the raw timber, I cut it, and every groschen flies out of my calloused hands before the sun sets.
Aye, the king's war makes everything dear. Even a poor woodcutter feels the pinch.
Candlemas, at Prime
Woke before dawn to a leaking roof and my hired hand snoring like a pig. Shouted Roger and my brothers awake. If they want to sit at my table, they will swing an axe until their hands bleed. We have to work twice as hard to keep from begging.
I am awake, Andrew! I am awake! Just don't let them take me to the levy.
Nota scribaeDictated in the freezing yard. The man spoke with great impatience.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I cut what you marked, master. The wood was wet, it weighed heavy on the cart, maybe it sold for less.
Don't shout, Andrew, please. If the bailiff hears us fighting he'll send me to the soldiers.