farmer's son, of Malesov
“I am the rightful heir to this holding, kept in the muck like a common hand. When my time comes, things will change.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I saw those Hungarian soldiers on the road again. If I had the silver, I'd pay them to drive Isabel off the far strip. She was down there today pulling flax as if she owns it. My mother Katherine promised that land to me for my own holding, not for some dowry.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly. He crossed his arms and glared at a passing dog.
the second day of Rogation week, at Terce
God's wounds, I am treated like dirt on my own future land. Bartholomew the clerk came sniffing around for the new coin tax, and father had me stand at the back like a hired boy while he spoke for the house. And Anna hovering about. She's bleeding the farm dry, I swear it.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
Vashek and William were mocking me in the field today. I gave them a lawful order about the furrows, and they laughed. Wait until my name is on the tally. I'll have them digging ditches until their backs break. I have the calluses to prove I do more work than anyone.
You gave the order backwards, lad. The plough doesn't care who your father is.
Nota scribaeThe man's hands were indeed very calloused.
the first week of Lent, at Prime
I want my tin pitcher back. I lent it to Isabel for the harvest ale last Saint Martin's, and she left it in the dairy measuring whey. Now she says I have to pay her to get my own property back! Pure spite. I'm taking it to the ironmonger the moment I lay hands on it.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
Five winters now since my mother Katherine died of the fever. She knew how to run this house. She treated me like the firstborn I am. Now I eat thin pottage with the servants while father sits by the hearth. Everything is upside down in this cursed place.
The pottage isn't so bad if you put some salt in it, John.
Nota scribaeDictated over a bowl of pottage. He did not offer me any.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Mother promised it for my dowry. And you wouldn't have the silver to hire a blind beggar, let alone soldiers.
I'll have the silver when I sell that pitcher you stole!