worker at the vines, of Lorec
“Lord preserve us, my knees ache from the damp dirt and I am just trying to earn my pennies in peace without tempting the Almighty.”
Things Frantishek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Ascension, at None
The roads to Sedletz are deep with mud from the spring rains. A man could catch his death walking barefoot in such muck. The Lord knows my heart is willing to make the pilgrimage I promised, but surely He does not want me to ruin my feet before the harvest.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his knees for the entirety of the dictation.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
I paid my pennies for a proper meal after the holy days, but Joan's pottage is naught but warm water and floating turnips. I reckon she thins it out of spite. Lord preserve us, a man cannot haul dung on an empty belly. Master Stislav would never have allowed such thin soup.
If you want thick stew, bring me a fat hen. Until then, sup what you are given and hold your tongue.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Compline
There is no peace in this loft. Thomas is shouting again about the snow and how Julian and Tuma broke the line. He wakes the whole press-house with his wailing over Mikesh. I crossed myself three times and hid under my blanket. All this drunken fury is a sin that will rot the vines.
If you had marched with us instead of whining in your straw, you would shout too.
Leave it be, Thomas. And you, Frantishek, keep my name out of your mouth.
Nota scribaeThe speaker whispered this so quietly I had to ask him to repeat it thrice.
the feast of Saint Matthias, at Terce
Crawled the lower rows all morning with Zdenyek looking for the damp rot. The wet seeps right through my breeches. Zdenyek says his name is on the bailiff's roll for the next levy. Praise the saints my name is not chalked there. I am far too sickly to march, as my fever proved.
My bones are too old for the spears, Frantishek. Master Stislav would have spoken for me.
The King's army needs men, old or not.
Candlemas, at Prime
It has been two winters since the terrible fever took me. I lay sweating on this very pallet while the others marched off into the freezing snow. I promised the Almighty I would walk to Sedletz without boots if He spared me. The holy days remind me of it. My boots have holes anyway, but the frost is too sharp just yet.
You were lucky to stay behind. The frost bit worse than any fever.
Nota scribaeHe made the sign of the cross four times before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
God's patience is great, my son, but the abbey bells ring for you regardless of the mud.
Just wrap your feet in rags and go, lad, before a real curse hits us.