miller's man, of Pritoky
“I break my back carrying sacks for Alan the farmer so he can get rich and I can stay poor. A draft horse gets more rest than me.”
Things Jarda had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Alan says there is still no silver for my wages because of the soldiers on the Kuttenberg road. I say that is a load of horse dung. He just wants to keep the coin in his own pouch. My back aches worse than ever, and I have not seen the inside of a tavern in weeks.
Nota scribaeThe lad kicked a stool over while saying this.
the second day of the Rogation days, at None
Simon Carter will not stop bothering my master about taking a message to Kouřim. The baker is a fool. Walk the three days yourself if you want to see your sister so badly! I have enough sacks to lift without listening to him whine about Milada.
The roads are not safe for a baker, Jarda. The carts go with guards. I only want her to know I still bake here.
the second Sunday after Easter, at Sext
Bought a good apple from Frantishek Bright today with my last spare penny. Sweetest thing I have tasted all spring. Least I do not have to worry about George running it over. That blind carter is still locked in his yard nursing his ankle.
Thank you, lad. And may that clumsy fool George stay in his bed for ruining my turnips.
Aye, George drove straight into the rut like a man with no eyes.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the carter was far fouler.
Saint Gregory's day, at Vespers
By Saint Wenceslas, I saw the finest show in the village today. George drove his cart straight into a deep mud rut and snapped his ankle like a dry twig. Crushed Frantishek's turnips into paste! Reckon George deserved it for not looking where he steers.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Prime
Another month begins and another mountain of hemp sacks waits. I lifted twenty before the sun was fully up. There is not a man in Pritoky who can haul what I haul, but sakra, my shoulders feel like cracked stone. If I do not get some ale soon, my spine will give out.
You have a strong back, lad, but you complain like an old woman.
Nota scribaeDictated before he broke his fast, in a sour temper.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you worked as hard as you complain, Jarda, we might sell enough flour to pay you. The tolls are bleeding me dry.
I haul fifty sacks a day! You sit on a barrel and watch. Pay me what you owe.