hewer for the mines, of The woodcutters' camps
“I pull my weight with the broadaxe better than most, but I am stuck in the mud with fools.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Otto delayed the wages again. Christ's wounds, how am I to walk to Sedletz and pay Saint Barbara her due without coin? The lung rot spared me, but the saint will surely strike me down if I do not keep my vow. I need a cheap ale.
Nota scribaeHe kept brushing the air with his hands while speaking, as if swatting flies.
the Thursday before Ascension, at None
A royal surveyor's wagon passed and now certain lads in this camp suddenly have new boots. I want no part of it. When Otto finds out, he will have them all in the pillory. I prefer my own company to the company of thieves.
Keep your voice down, Robert. The mud is deep and a man needs dry feet.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Compline
Jan shouted in my face over his cracked whetstone. Christ's wounds, I only tripped on it because the camp is a muddy mess. I told him his brother Martin was too stupid to leave a stone in the rain, and now he stares at me like a mad dog.
You will pay for the stone, Robert, and you will wash your mouth out before speaking of Martin.
The frost cracked it before my boot ever touched it. I am paying for nothing.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the alehouse. The man was defensive and very loud.
the third week of Lent, at Terce
Richard and William have been squabbling over a rusty axe since first light. My head aches. Bartholomew complains of his sprained ankle instead of working. The wages are a bloody joke, and I am the only one pulling my weight with the broadaxe.
It is my axe, you whoreson, and you are not the only one swinging steel out here.
Candlemas, at Prime
The fever has finally broken. The lung rot nearly took me, but I swore to Saint Barbara I would walk barefoot to Sedletz with a week's wages, and she spared my life. As soon as Otto pays us, I will make the walk.
We thought we would be digging a hole for you, lad. Praise be.
Nota scribaeHe coughed heavily throughout the dictation.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stop whining and drink your ale. The saints have better things to do than watch you.