hired hand at the farm, of Suchdol
“I do the heavy lifting for Mistress Beatrice, just as I did for her late husband. A quiet life is a safe one.”
Things Hugh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
My back is holding up well, praise Saint Barbara. I lifted three full barrels from the well this morning and my knees did not even shake. I am worth my keep to Mistress Beatrice, whatever the younger lads say about me slowing down.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his hands together the entire time he spoke these words.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I passed the cross on the road today and felt a great chill in my stomach. I promised Saint Barbara I would walk barefoot to the monks at Sedletz if I survived the fever last year. I have not gone. I fear the Lord will send a worse sickness to strike me down.
the Tuesday after Saint Ambrose, at Sext
I saw what I saw in the barn. Master John and Master Thomas throwing dice in the hay, and the old master's tin plate lost in the wager. If Mistress Beatrice finds out that her late husband's plate was gambled away, there will be a terrible wrath falling upon this yard. But it is not my place to speak.
Keep your mouth shut, Hugh. I will get it back from him before she notices it is gone.
It is mine now by right of the dice.
Nota scribaeDictated while feeding the dog. The hound would not cease barking at my inkhorn.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
It rained hard in the night. I was dry in the barn with Colle the dog, but I heard Master Thomas cursing landlord Francis again from the outbuilding. The roof there leaks like a sieve, and Francis is away in Kuttenberg. If the young masters were not so lazy, they would patch it themselves with a bit of straw.
Betty's hens were half drowned in the mud this morning. It is a wet spring for us all.
Candlemas, at None
Another winter nearly done, praise the saints. The wood is chopped and the beasts are fed. Master Jezhek used to say a farm is only as good as the sweat you pour into it. I pour mine every day, and Mistress Beatrice pays my groschen. I just wish the sickness in my memory would let me sleep.
You are a steady hand, Hugh. My husband knew your worth, and so do I.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You lift barrels because you have not the wits to do anything else, old man.
The beasts must drink, Master Thomas. Wits or no wits.