farmer of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I lease a few strips outside the town gates and keep my head down. It is honest work, though it leaves a man's bones aching.”
Things Gilbert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
My knees ache worse today. I look at the sky and see judgment in the clouds. I know I promised the Cistercians at Sedletz a sack of my best grain two harvests past, and a barefoot walk if the frost broke. I meant to do it, Lord, I truly did.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the gates. He rubbed his joints without ceasing.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The rain came heavy last night and the roof dripped right onto the bed. Else shouted until dawn about the landlord, but I will not make a fuss. Peshek's steward takes our silver groschen and leaves us be. Better a wet blanket than being thrown into the street.
Peshek has not shown his face in three years. He has coin enough to thatch a roof, Christ almighty!
My mother never let the rain come through. She kept this house proper.
the Friday after St Gregory, at Prime
I am going out to the strips to check the young crops. It is early in the year, but with the soldiers on the roads and bread so dear, a man must watch his own. I leave the household to sort out its own troubles until dusk.
I will keep your pottage warm by the hearth for when you return, master.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very slowly, as if the words cost him coin.
the second Tuesday of Lent, at Vespers
Another evening of quiet war between my wife and my son. I am too weary to referee them after breaking my back over the soil. I am proud John Clark has taken up the mason's trade, but I wish the boy would let the dead rest and let us have peace.
She is barely older than I am, father. She is not the mistress of this house.
She is my wife, lad. Hold your tongue.
Candlemas, at Terce
I lit a candle for the souls departed, as is right. Five winters since the sweating fever took my first wife Elizabeth. I grieved her deeply, but a man must carry on. Now I only pray the Lord spares us another late frost this year.
She was a good woman, Gilbert. The Lord rests her soul.
I said a prayer for her yesterday, master. I have not forgotten.
Nota scribaeHe stared at the ground for a long time after saying this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Make the walk, Gilbert. A broken vow is a heavy thing to carry.
We cannot spare a full sack of our best grain for monks who sit on their arses all day.