hired hand in the vines, of Lorec
“I pull weeds and tie shoots on the western terraces from first light until dusk. I try to keep my head down and just do the work.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Friday before Whitsun, at Compline
I turned over every clod of earth on the far slope today. The foreman told me to stop looking at my boots and tie the vines. I cannot stop looking. If the dirt swallows her cross, I have nothing left of her.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so softly I had to lean across the table to hear him.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Adam was weeping over his mother Magdalena again. I had to walk away to the other end of the shed. It is hard enough to carry my own grief without hearing another man water the straw with his.
the Tuesday after St George, at Sext
The air bites out on the terraces. Robert shared a cup of ale with me today, asking for nothing. It was a kindness. Better to sit in silence than listen to Nicholas shouting about unpaid debts by the fireside.
If men paid what they owed, I would not have to shout, would I?
the third day of Easter week, at None
A man's few things are easily taken if he does not guard them. I saw Hynek looking at my boots while I slept. I keep my bundle pressed to my chest now. There are thieves everywhere since the king was taken.
I was looking at a rat near your foot, you quiet fool. I do not want your muddy boots.
Nota scribaeHe pulled at the rough hem of his tunic the entire time he spoke.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Vespers
I have lost it. Elizabeth's iron cross must have slipped from its string while I was bent over the shoots on the western slope. I sifted the soil with my fingers until dark. May the Lord preserve me, I must find it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We will look again tomorrow before the others wake, William. Keep your heart up.