hired hand, of Around Raborsch
“I haul sacks for carters down on the road, earning an honest penny. A man ought to be paid for his sweat, not treated like a stray dog in his own father's house.”
Things Jan had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Vespers
Bloody hell, my own brother stole my pitchfork! Locked it in his shed because his vicious cur Brok got out and killed Pavlena's geese. Now William says I left the gate unlatched when I came home. Kurva, the dog dug under the fence! If anyone can break that shed open and get my fork back, I'll pay eleven groschen.
Nota scribaeThe man was waving his arms so much he struck my inkpot. I made him wipe the table.
the Monday of the first week in Lent, at None
Dodged Father Lambert again today. He says if I don't pay my parish dues he'll read my name out in front of the whole church. Asked William for an advance from Father's old stash to settle it, and he told me to get out. Christ almighty, you'd think I was asking for the king's ransom.
Pavlena's blood-money comes first. The priest will have to wait, and you'll have to bear the shame.
The Lord's patience is infinite, Jan, but mine runs out at Easter.
the feast of St Matthias, at Terce
Worked from Prime to Vespers yesterday loading grain for a carter from Prague. The man complained about the toll at the Kuttenberg gate the whole time. Sigismund's soldiers are everywhere, making bread dearer, but the sacks weigh the same. At least it meant a few groschen for ale.
the Wednesday before St Valentine, at Compline
Sitting at the alehouse because Cecily is complaining about the draught again. William struts around that holding like a lord over a patch of dirt just because Father left him the mastership. Three winters since Vitek died, and I'm still treated like a hired hand who forgot to wipe his boots.
If you acted like a man instead of a sulking child, you'd be treated like one.
Nota scribaeDictated at the alehouse, over a spilled cup.
Candlemas, at Sext
The priest made us stand in the cold for the blessing of the candles. Nearly dropped mine when my hands went numb. At least there's a bit of light in the winter. Heard a rumour on the road that there's trouble with the silver down at the mint, but that's lords' business. I just want my daily bread.
You'd have dropped it because you were shaking from last night's ale, more like.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You were so drunk you couldn't find the latch with both hands, Jan. Pay Pavlena for the geese and you can have your fork.
He brought mud all over the floor that night too. A disgrace.
Sakra, William, how am I to pay anything if I can't work the hay carts without a fork?