woodcutter of Suchdol, of Suchdol
“I cut wood until my hands bleed while my brothers sit on their arses. And they wonder why I shout.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
If that miserable widow Magdalena comes near Cernik, I'll break her neck before she wrings his. The hound is just doing what hounds do. I'd give her a few groschen to shut her up and keep the bailiff away, but I don't have a copper to my name, and I'll freeze in hell before I ask John for it.
Nota scribaeThe man spat on the floor when he mentioned his brother. I made him wipe it up.
the Monday after Ascension Day, at None
Came back from the woods early to find Roger measuring out the far strip for a cottage. I told him he can build a cottage in the privy for all I care, but that land is mine. Father promised it to me when he was dying of the sweat. I cleared every stump from it myself!
I only measured the edge of it! And where else am I supposed to build? You have the whole forest.
That land is my dowry, you thick-headed lout. Father wouldn't have left me with nothing.
It is my land, as master of this house. Father left it all to me. Now both of you stop trampling the oats.
the feast of St Mark, at Compline
Christ almighty, my hands are raw today. Stripped twenty pines before Sext. The sap gets into the cracks in your skin and burns like fire. But it's honest work. William wouldn't know honest work if it bit him on the arse. He's off playing his little lute in Kuttenberg again.
People in Kuttenberg appreciate music, Robert. It brings coin into the house, which is more than your complaining does.
He plays well enough, though vicar Osbert hates the noise.
Nota scribaeHe showed me his hands. They were indeed very sap-stained.
the Thursday after Easter, at Terce
Saw troops on the road again today. Hungarian bastards, by the look of them. They took three good logs I left by the path to dry. What does an army need with green wood? To make wet fires and smoke themselves out? Bloody thieves.
Keep your head down and stay in the woods. We don't want them coming to the farm looking for food.
the feast of St Blaise, at Prime
Bread is dearer again. Margery tries, God bless her, but half a loaf to last the whole day in the woods is starvation. I'm doing the work of three men out there. The least John could do is let me eat like one. But no, he sits at the head of the table stuffing his face.
I stretch the flour as far as I can, Robert. The mill is asking more for grinding.
I know you do, Margery. It's not your fault John is a greedy whoreson.
Nota scribaeDictated before dawn. He smelled of old sweat and wood chips.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Robert, please. She threatened to bring the bailiff. You know we can't afford trouble right now.
Then you find the coin, Margery. It's your dog too.