hired hand, of Kuttenberg
“I keep the Polner house standing and the carts rolling. It would be a fine life if the women would stop shouting and give me back my tools.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
My shoulders are aching bloody fiercely from swinging this blunt yard axe all day. All I want is one quiet jug of ale at Vendula's cellar, but Emma still refuses to make her peace over the spilled drink. Lord preserve me from stubborn women.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Poor Grete is weeping in the yard again over her father Tuma. The soldiers drove him into the Maleshov woods and no one has seen him since. By Saint Joseph, the man is surely dead in a ditch by now, but I haven't the heart to tell her.
You should tell her, Thomas. It is cruel to let the girl hope.
He is alive! He knows the woods better than any Cuman!
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very softly, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
the Feast of the Annunciation, at Sext
The cart axle snapped this morning and grease is worked deep into my tunic again. Thank the Lord for Alice, who slipped me a thick heel of bread while Joan was shrieking at the hearth. A good crust makes the heavy lifting bearable.
Eat it quick before Joan checks the pantry, Thomas!
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Compline
I lent my heavy wood-axe to Joan before Lent for the kitchen kindling, and now she claims it belongs to the hearth. That blade cost me a month's sweat. I could take it back, but the screaming would deafen the horses. So I chop with the blunt iron.
It stays in the kitchen, Thomas. We must have kindling, and the steward locked the chest!
Nota scribaeDictated in the stable. The man wiped grease on his tunic throughout.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Vespers
The steward locked the main tool chest and rode for Prague like a fool. Now I have lent my expensive iron shears to Juliana of Apollonia to patch canvas, and she will not hand them back. She looks at me as if my own tools are a tribute owed to her.
They are perfectly safe with me, Thomas. A lady of my blood must mend what she can in these trying times.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She watered the beer, Thomas! I will not bow my head to a cheating shrew.
I do not care if she pisses in it, Emma. I just want to sit down.