hired hand in the vineyards, of Lorec
“I am the eldest hand on the southern slope, brother. I know the dirt here better than the bailiff.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
My bones ache worse this spring. Adam works hard enough, but he lets his mind wander from the soil. He whines endlessly about his mother Magdalena and her pottage. The young ones have strength, but they lack patience.
Nota scribaeThe man wiped his hands down his tunic the entire time he spoke.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Compline
Nicholas is wailing that he lost his fine pruning knife. He boasted entirely too much about that blade. I say it is a fair lesson in humility. A common knife is enough if your hands know the work.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
Hugh is asking after his padded jack again. I told him plainly that I left it in another shed to keep the damp off it, or perhaps the tailor is mending a tear. He will have it back in good time.
I need it now, brother. There are Cumans on the roads and a man needs his kit.
Nota scribaeHe spoke these words very slowly, as if chewing on them.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at None
The cold was bitter last month and the steward's rations ran thin. A man must find bread where he can, even if it means going into Kuttenberg. Seven groschen does not buy much ale when the prices are this high.
Aye, my belly was empty the whole of Lent.
Candlemas, at Prime
The old, knotted vines on the southern terraces cannot be cut with a common blade. I have asked Hugh to lend me his heavy billhook. I will keep it tucked in my belt until the work is properly finished.
You said you only needed it for the morning, Richard.
The work takes as long as the soil demands, brother.
Nota scribaeDictated before dawn. The man smelled strongly of thin ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you ate her pottage instead of that thin slop, Richard, you would speak of it too.