hired hand driving carts, of Suchdol
“I haul sacks and fix splintered fences for a master who has forgotten how to open his purse. I do the labour of three grown men and ask only for honest coin.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Three men's work I did today, hauling sacks until my back was raw, and still no silver from John. He claims the taxes are heavy. I say a thief is a thief, be he a king or a farmer. If I had my coin, I would walk to Kuttenberg tonight.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor of the tavern when he said the farmer's name, and refused to clean it up.
the feast of St Pancras, at Sext
William is an absolute fool. He picked a shouting match with Baldwin the carter over some spilled turnips in the mud. A man should care about getting his wages paid, not acting the great lord over root vegetables. We are bleeding money in this house and the women do nothing but make noise.
the second day of May, at None
A poor man has nothing but his tools, and now my good bone-handled knife is gone. John walked to my bedroll and took it like a bandit. He says it is a lawful pledge for a lost halter. I say he took it from pure spite because I demanded my back pay at supper.
A good leather halter costs three groschen, which you owe me. Find the sheep's harness in the woods and you may have your blade back.
The woods are thick and a sheep is a stupid beast. It is not my fault it slipped its bindings.
Nota scribaeDictated in a slow, deliberate manner, jabbing the air with two fingers until he nearly knocked over the inkwell.
the Thursday of Easter week, at Prime
Christ is risen, but my purse is still in the tomb. Not a single groschen paid to me since the bells rang. Juliana is shouting again about the boundary with Robert Coleman, and Isabel dropped another bucket. If Lidka were alive, she would have brought some order to this yard.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Compline
There are soldiers on the road again, marching toward the silver mines. We hear the Hungarians are taking whatever grain they find. It makes a man think he should find work in Kuttenberg at Robert Coleman's yard instead of hauling carts in Suchdol for stale bread and a sore back.
I have no need of a hired hand who complains of a sore back before the cart is even loaded.
Be grateful you are not bound to a tanner far away in the stench like poor Edward.
Nota scribaeHe fell asleep midway through the dictation and had to be woken by a sharp kick to the stool.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will get your coin when you stop sleeping under the elm tree and do a full day's labour.
I close my eyes in the shade to pray for patience, not to sleep.