hired hand at the vineyard, of Lorec
“I pull my weight and keep my own tallies. Sweat and silver give a man the right.”
Things Paul had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Father Maresh says I am barred from confession until I take my hoe to the four strips of barley I sowed on Walter's land. By Christ's wounds, I will not do it. Two strips paid his debt, two paid for my good seed corn. Let him complain, but the math is fair.
Nota scribaeHe spat thrice while dictating this and kept counting on his fingers.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Terce
Three rows of vines pruned before the sun was fully up. My knife is sharp and my purse is heavy enough. I see the other lads dawdling and waiting for the foreman. A groschen earned is a groschen kept, if a man is not a blind fool.
You work fast, but you leave half the roots behind. Give it a rest, lad.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Julian had the gall to sit on the bench near me while I ate my pottage. I moved. I will not break bread near a man who steps back when the line holds. Otto's empty place is loud enough without his bloody whispering.
We all fell back, Paul. You ran just as fast when the Hungarians charged.
Leave it be. The boy is gone and the priest says we must forgive.
Nota scribaeDictated at the hub. The speaker was visibly trembling with anger.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
The spring thaw showed Walter's cellar let the damp in and rotted his seed corn. I brought my own heavy sack and spent three mornings out on the slope. Four strips sown. The sweat is mine and the seed is mine, so the crop will be mine.
Candlemas, at Prime
Another cold morning in this drafty barn. My hands are stiff, but my silver is safe in my purse. I wish Otto had lived to see the snow melt, but the Hungarians took him on the eve of Saint Martin's. Christ's wounds, some men should have stood their ground.
We were all afraid that day, lad. Even you.
Nota scribaeThe man kept tapping his thumb against his knuckles.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was supposed to be two strips, you greedy whoreson. You took advantage of my rotted cellar.
You had the land and nothing to put in it. I did you a favour, blind fool.