John

the feast of Saint Pancras, at Vespers

The wind is blowing straight from the devil today. I cannot stop coughing, a wet rattle in my chest that scares me half to death. If I die of the ague before I see a real battle, I will be bloody furious. At least Mikesh's boots keep my feet dry.

• 
  Ralph

  Stop your whining and keep the Cumans away. That is what we pay you for.

• 
  John

  Come down here and say that to my face, you tight-fisted whoreson.

Nota scribaeDictated while shivering violently.

the third day of Easter week, at None

Went to the tavern to thaw out. The ale-wife gave me a hard look over those four groschen I owe her. Christ almighty, I would pay her if the monks paid me on time, or if Ralph would mend the roof on my shed so I didn't need the fire.

the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Prime

That bastard Ralph locked his heavy oak door again when I went to ask for a handful of thatch. The law says he must keep my billeting dry, but he claims poverty. He lives by the upper toll gate in a stone house! I hope Saint Lawrence roasts his feet.

• 
  Ralph

  I have no coin for your shed. The king's ransom took it all.

Nota scribaeThe subject used several other words for his landlord which I have omitted.

the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext

Heard the Hungarians were seen near the woods. I stare at the Kuttenberg road gripping my spear until my knuckles go white, but all I saw today was a merchant's cart. I polished Mikesh's boots with some mutton fat though.

• 
  John

  Poor Mikesh. I still wish he had given me back my two groschen before that arrow got him.

Candlemas, at Terce

Woke up in a puddle again. The snow melted right through the roof of this rotting lean-to. My chest feels like a crushed wagon wheel. The priest says the Pope wants to read about my days, so let him read this: I am freezing to death in a malt-house shed.

Nota scribaeThe soldier coughed the entire time he spoke.