master of the farm, of Suchdol
“I hold the farm at Dum cp. 3 for my sins. The silver bleeds away into the mud, and my hired hands eat twice what they are worth.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Monday before Whitsun, at Compline
I count the lockbox every night, and the tally is short again. I swear I lock the chamber door. It is the taxes and these cursed times bleeding us dry, or someone in this very house has sticky fingers.
Nota scribaeHe fingered a key on a string around his neck the whole time he spoke.
The eve of St George, at Sext
William had another shouting match with Baldwin over spilled turnips. Now he sits by the barn scraping his boots with Isabel's tin plate. The noise in this house is enough to drive a man to drink.
Baldwin packed the cart like a fool. And the plate was already bent when I found it.
The third day of Easter week, at None
Robert lost a good sheep's halter in the woods sleeping under an elm. Three groschen that cost me. Now he whines for his wages. I took his bone-handled knife from his bedroll as a lawful pledge until he pays for the tack.
Give me my blade, you thief. You have not paid me a penny since before Lent.
Admit you slept on the watch and you will have it back.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. The man kept looking at his boots and sighing.
The Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
If Robert Coleman shouts over the fence at me one more time about his boundary stone, I will go deaf. I have nothing to do with it. My wife runs the yard, speak to her.
Your wife moved the stone two paces in the night, John! And I want my best iron spade back.
Candlemas, at Vespers
The soil is still frozen hard. I find myself missing old Lidka. She knew how to keep a house in order without all this shouting. Juliana does her best, but there is no peace in the yard.
She is dead, husband, and I am the one mending your stockings and managing the maids.
She was a kind soul. The only one who ever rested my back when it ached.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Perhaps you miscounted, master? The light is very poor in the evenings, and you are tired.