hired hand at the Dum, of Suchdol
“I haul feed and try to keep my head down. Best not to be noticed by anyone with a quill.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Saw riders on the Kuttenberg road today. Every time hoofbeats come near the yard, my blood turns to ice. I know that clerk David went back to Prague, but he took that ledger with him. Sakra, if the levy comes, I have not a single groschen to bribe my way out.
Nota scribaeHe kept looking over his shoulder toward the road as he spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Adam has been shouting all morning about the padded jack he lent to Roger. I reckon a man is an idiot to hand good war gear to a gambler. I am just glad I own nothing worth stealing, so no soldiers will come sniffing around my hayloft.
I told him he will get it back when I win my next game of dice.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Swept the yard twice today because Rosa Fisher was watching from the taproom door. That woman scares me worse than the bailiff. I owe her for three small beers and I don't need her shouting at me the way she shouts when someone mentions Bartholomew to her girl.
You owe for four beers, John. And if you leave manure by my door again, I'll take it out of your hide.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the tavern-keeper was not 'woman'.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Terce
Watched the silver wagons roll past today. Makes a man wonder about walking away from this muck and leaving the steward's shouting behind. But the woods are full of Cumans and outlaws. Better to stay here, haul the oats, and pray nobody comes looking for me.
The roads are a terrible danger. My uncle Standa had to flee all the way to Moravia to escape the burning.
Candlemas, at Prime
It has been nearly a year since last Easter when I shouted at that clerk in the yard. I still see him slowly scraping his quill, writing my name down. The steward docked my pay again for a cracked bucket, so I have nothing to give the bailiff's men when they finally march me to Hungary.
And Adam just laughs. But he won't be laughing when the King's men drag us all away.
Nota scribaeDictated in the stables. The smell of horse manure was overpowering.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You are a fool to fear a man who pushes a quill. The ink-stained whoreson is long gone.
Least you don't have Richard pestering you to run messages down that road.