hired hand at the church, of Suchdol
“I am the oldest hand here and I run the yard, sakra, though the steward says otherwise.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
I cornered young William behind the stables again. I told him a man cannot eat thatch, and what sits in the roof does us no bloody good. He just stared like a frightened sheep. Sakra, if he does not give me my rightful half soon, I will climb up there and take the whole purse myself.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. The man kept rubbing his dirty chin.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Peter the steward docked me a penny today because there was still mud on the yard cobbles. The man sits in a warm house while my hands crack from the frost. Up in heaven there will be no stewards, only honest men who know how to swing an axe.
A penny lost is a hard thing, Robert. Come share a skin of sour ale with me later.
the Thursday before St George, at Sext
Walter has not spoken two words to me or William all week. He just sits in the loft brooding over the mud and the baggage cart from last autumn. I told him Ulrich is with the saints now and rain is rain. A slipped wheel is an accident, sakra, not murder.
He dropped the lead rope, Robert. You know he did.
the Tuesday of the second week of Lent, at Vespers
My back is broken from splitting oak logs since Prime. The frost is deep this year and the church fires need feeding. At least the work keeps a man warm, though my belly is empty but for thin pottage. If I had silver, I would buy a roasted goose and a hot bath.
Do not talk so loud of silver where ears can hear, Robert! Are you trying to get us killed?
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before the word silver.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
The loft was so bloody cold last night my breath turned to ice on the straw. William tossed and turned like a man with the sweating sickness. I swear I am the only one who does a day's work in this yard, yet I must sleep with boys who jump at shadows.
We all sleep in the same cold, old man. Keep your complaints to yourself.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Are you mad? Peter will have us whipped and branded if he sees it! Leave it be!
I am tired of freezing on your account, lad. I want my share.