vineyard hand hauling dung, of Lorec
“I haul dung for the vines and keep my head down. A quiet life is best, if the others would let a man have it.”
Things Tuma had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Another day hauling shit up the hill. The new overseers want twice the yield Stislav ever asked for, but they won't put an extra man on the baskets. My hands are just blisters now. At least the pottage was thick today.
Nota scribaeDictated while looking at his boots. He mumbled the curse words into his chest.
the eve of Saint Philip and Saint James, at None
Saw some of the lord's spears on the Kuttenberg road. Sent a shiver right down my back. I told Walter we ought to settle our accounts before the soldiers or the bailiff start asking questions, but he just told me to wait. I am tired of waiting.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Julian and I went to mass and thanked Christ we are still breathing. Then Thomas started shouting again outside the church doors about the skirmish. God's nails, you cannot fight armed men with pitchforks! We did what any sane man would do when the line broke.
You ran like a frightened child! Mikesh died in the frozen mud because you and Julian broke!
Leave it be, Thomas. None of us wanted Mikesh dead, but it was butchery.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed the back of his neck the entire time he spoke.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Woke up in the loft hearing the screaming again. It's just the wind in the press-house, I know that, but it sounds like the snow two winters back. I wish Stislav was still here. He knew how to keep a man's mind on the vines and off the dead.
Stislav was a good master. These new ones don't care a groschen for us.
Candlemas, at Terce
I have this to say. A man ought to be paid what he is owed. I saw a heavy silver piece two years ago, and I haven't seen a penny of my share since. If a man holds onto something that isn't his, it brings bad luck. Or the bailiff's men.
Are you daft? We spoke of this. It's too hot to trade in Kuttenberg right now.
What silver are you two whispering about?
Nothing. Just a debt from a dice game.
Nota scribaeDictated in a low whisper. He looked over his shoulder twice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye lad, it's hard work. Keep your head down, it'll pass.
The pottage would be thicker if you lazy whoresons worked faster. My poor brother never complained so.