farmhand at the stud, of Outlying farms
“I am but a farmhand, aye, sorry to say. Trying to keep my head down and the geldings calm.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Compline
Francis sent word through the bailiff today. I am terrified, aye. He says he will read my name out from the pulpit on Sunday for dodging the candle arrears. It is not my fault Frantishek docked our pay, but God does not care for excuses.
Nota scribaeDictated whilst the boy frantically scrubbed his hands on his tunic.
the Tuesday after St Florian, at Vespers
The men are hungry, and I am sweeping up dropped oats to boil for my supper again. Since the Hungarian captain took our three best destriers and left only that worthless paper, Frantishek cut our rations to the bone. Bloody hell, I am hollow.
Christ almighty, it's bad everywhere. The troops take whatever they please.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I have missed the Easter payment to Saint Jude. My poor mother Constance would weep to see me break her vow. I meant to pay, I swear it, but Frantishek took our coin when that roan mare slipped on the ice.
The Lord's ledger is not balanced with intentions, Thomas. The debt remains a slight to God.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
A bit of pride today, sorry as I am to say it. A big bay gelding was spooking hard at the wind, kicking the partition. I got him calmed faster than anyone. John said I have a proper way with them, aye.
You have a soft hand, lad. The beasts know it.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
The ice is terrible thick in the yard. I was hauling water when one of the mares slipped and broke her leg. Frantishek sent word from Kuttenberg that the loss comes out of our pay. I am so sorry for the beast, and my purse is bare.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quickly and asked if I charged for the ink. I do.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Ignore him, lad. God cares more for the living than for wax.
I cannot sleep for the worry, John. Sorry, but it is my mother's vow.