farmer and household master, of Suchdol
“I keep the plough moving and this noisy house fed, though my brothers make it a daily burden.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Margery's hound dug under the widow Magdalena's fence again to get at her birds. The sour old woman swears she will fetch the bailiff. I dread the fine more than the dead fowl, but Margery weeps if I speak of tying the beast up. Christ almighty, this dog brings more grief than a Cuman raiding party.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man held a struggling hound by a frayed rope. The wife wept loudly throughout.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Turned the earth on the far strip today. Robert shouted across the fence that old Adam meant it for him because he cleared the stumps years ago. I told him he can have the dirt when he eats it in his grave. The yield feeds us all, not just his pride.
the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, at Prime
William came back from Kuttenberg stinking of ale and singing tavern songs. He speaks of some preacher named Gottfried, as if words ever filled a barn. My hands are blistered from the hoe, and my own brother sits by the hearth plucking a lute. Bloody hell.
There is more to the world than mud and pig shit, brother. You would know if you ever listened.
Aye, a lute makes a poor shovel. Come have a cup of ale later, John.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was paused twice so the man could rub his neck and sigh.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
The ground is still hard, but I shared a good cup of thin ale with John Polner and Thomas Fisher today. They let a man sit in silence without asking for a dowry or a cottage site. Up in heaven, there will be no siblings waiting at the supper table.
Always a seat for you at the bench, friend. We know how it is.
I nursed father at the end! That strip was promised to me, no matter how much you complain into your cup.
Candlemas, at Prime
Three winters now since the sweating sickness took father Adam. I stepped up so we would not starve, taking mastery of the holding. I wish he had spoken clearer at the end, instead of leaving me this mess. A man should not have to fight his own blood for his daily bread.
He was clear enough about my cottage. You are the only one who refuses to hear it.
He was rattling with fever, Roger. He was pointing at a rat in the corner, not the far strip.
Nota scribaeThe man's tone was exceedingly weary.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Cernik is a good creature! He only wants to play. Magdalena has a black heart to threaten him.
Let her wring its neck. The bloody thing barks all night when a working man needs his sleep.