hired hand for errands, of Pritoky
“I run errands for the old lord upstairs, walking the Kuttenberg paths to keep clear of the squabbling in the stables.”
Things Geoffrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Sext
Tried washing my own tunic today in the stream. It looks worse than before. I wish Svatava the widow had not run off to Sedletz to hide from the soldiers. She used to mend our boots and scrub our clothes for a loaf of bread, and now I just smell of damp wool and horse piss.
Nota scribaeThe man indeed smelled foul. I held my breath.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
The old master's cough is much worse today. If he dies here, Christ forbid, we will be left to the Hungarian soldiers on the roads with no wages. Old Peshek would have known what to do. He had a heavy hand, but he kept us from ruin.
Peshek would have clapped our ears just for worrying. Rest his soul.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
Hugh still will not pay what he owes me from the dice, and he will not give back my flute. I don't even care about the groschen. I told him he can keep the coin if he just hands over my father's flute, but he is stubborn as a rock.
I am not paying a dice debt to a man who pesters me every day about a piece of wood.
Nota scribaeDictated on the road to Kuttenberg. He kept looking at his boots.
the eve of St Gregory, at Compline
Raining through the stable roof tonight. We drank cheap rye spirits and threw Godfrey's old bone dice by a tallow candle. I won a month's wages from Hugh. It ruined the rest of them too. Robert owes Walter, Walter owes Ralph. A miserable fellowship we are.
My back aches enough from hauling grain without losing my coin, sakra.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Bitter cold today. I gave my father's wooden flute to Hugh just to sit by the hearth and eat some turnip stew. I was shivering too hard to care, but Christ almighty, I miss the flute already. I hope he gives it back when the frost breaks.
A trade is a trade, lad. It is mine now, unless you have ten groschen.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly, staring at the floor the entire time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We all stink, Geoffrey. Stop crying about it and fetch the ale.