Richard

the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers

The priest sends word my name will be read to the whole parish on Sunday if my arrears are not settled. I have halved my meals to scrape the groschen together. The war takes everything, and the church takes the rest. A pound of trouble for every ounce of wax.

• 
  Alan

  I can stand by the door Sunday, master, if you want to slip out before the sermon.

• 
  Richard

  I will not hide like a thief in my own parish, Alan. We will face it.

Nota scribaeHe stared at the floor for a long time after saying this.

the Thursday after Easter, at None

The spring swarm is restless. I spent the morning boiling wax in the iron cauldrons. Alan chopped the wood, though he is slow about it. I pay him a fair wage to guard against the vagabonds on the road, but a man must check his own fences.

• 
  Alan

  My back is stiff from the damp, master. The wood is chopped all the same.

the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Sext

The tolls on the Kuttenberg road have ruined the price of good wax. The lords play their games with the Hungarian King, and we are left to balance the ledger. My mother Joan would weep to see what a groschen buys today.

Nota scribaeDictated beside the hives. I was stung twice.

the feast of St Gregory, at Prime

The bailiff says we must put our days in this book for the Pope. I have nothing to hide. My holding is orderly, the wax-knives are clean, and I measure my life honestly. The Lord will see my ledgers are kept right, even if the priest says otherwise.

• 
  Wenceslas

  The Lord sees the ledgers, Richard, but the parish requires its coin. The church roof does not mend itself.

Candlemas, at Terce

I brought my best pure wax for the parish candles today, skimming the dross myself. Priest Wenceslas took it, but reminded me of the winter arrears before the whole churchyard. An ounce of charity would not kill the man.

Nota scribaeThe priest asked me to cross out the word 'charity' but I had already written it in ink.