hired hand, of Malesov
“I split logs and mend fences for Mistress Constance until my hands go numb. I have a strong back, but I will not haul wood for other men's fires forever.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
That miser Peter wants five groschen because Brok got through the fence and killed two of his white doves. Five groschen! The birds aren't worth half a penny. I swear by Saint Barbara, if the bailiff comes for the yard dog, I will spit in Peter's grate. It is just a dog being a beast.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. He spat three times during the telling.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Mistress Constance has locked my broad spade in the pantry and refuses to give it back. I paid a traveling smith three good groschen for it at Michaelmas! All because I used the edge to pry open a stuck cellar door. If any man will fetch it out, I will gladly pay him a few pennies.
the second Friday of Lent, at Terce
If Thomas mutters one more time about Wenceslas and that spilled cup of dark ale from Saint Matthew's day, I will lose my mind. It was just ale. The man nurses a grudge like a babe at the breast. I sit as far from him by the hearth as I can manage.
It was good dark ale, and that whoreson Wenceslas bumped me on purpose! You know nothing of respect, boy.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly so the older men by the fire would not hear him.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Saw young Matilda weeping by the ash pit again today. The Mistress works us all to the bone, squeezing every penny until it hurts. I keep my head down and stare at my boots, but by Saint Barbara, the day I save ten groschen, I am walking away from this yard.
Candlemas, at Compline
The king's brother has his soldiers on the roads, and bread is dearer than I have ever seen it. We supped on thin cabbage soup again. At least the wood I chopped keeps the hired hands quarters warm, even if the roof slates are freezing. A strong back is all a man has left.
Eat your soup and thank the Lord we are not refugees sleeping out in the snow.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of wet wool and sweat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your tongue, lad. The law is the law, and Peter has the magistrate's ear.
Keep your mind on the chopping block, Richard, instead of making trouble with the neighbours.