hired hand and day labourer, of Suchdol
“I am saving my groschen to build a cottage on the far strip. The land is mine by right, no matter what my brother says.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
I dragged five good heavy foundation stones to the far strip yesterday. Today I found them gone. John tells me the soil there is soft and they settled under the dirt, but I know what a plow looks like. That land is mine. Father pointed his finger at it when the sweating sickness took him.
Nota scribaeHe repeated the part about the finger four times.
the Tuesday after Saint John Before the Latin Gate, at None
I dug a ditch for the miller all morning and earned three groschen. Every penny goes straight into the pouch on my belt for timber and thatch. William says I should spend it at the tavern in Kuttenberg, but William is an idle fool who plays the lute instead of working.
You will die with a full pouch and an empty belly, brother.
Leave him be, William, he works hard enough for the house.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
That dog Cernik was barking all night again. Now the widow Magdalena is threatening to bring a fine down on the whole house because the beast aggravated her birds. Margery cannot control the animal. When I have my own cottage on the far strip, I will sleep in peace without dogs or shouting siblings.
I told you we should just give the widow a few pennies to keep the bailiff away.
Nota scribaeDictated before dawn. The man was exceedingly sullen.
the second Friday of Lent, at Terce
Emma has the gall to claim the far strip is her dowry. She says father promised it to her before he died. He did no such thing. He pointed his finger right at me. I was the only one he liked. She is a maidservant and has no need of a foundation.
Candlemas, at Sext
Bread is dearer this year and the roads are full of soldiers, but dirt is still dirt. I spent the morning mending fences down by the lower path. It is honest work, better than arguing with Gottfried Kramer over some book of fables. I only care that my stones stay where I put them.
It is a fine book, Roger, though I suppose a man who stares at mud all day would not understand.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his jaw throughout the dictation and glared at the floor.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The soil is soft, Roger. Stop putting rocks where I am trying to sow beans.
It is my land, John. I will drag you before the bailiff.