woodworker at Vrchlicko sawmill, of The woodcutters' camps
“I am saving my groschen to leave this cursed sawmill behind and marry my Mary.”
Things Paul Fair had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Whitsun, at None
Michael the clerk wants more planks for the royal quota. My hands are raw from the lesser saw and the pay is a pittance. I cannot wait to shake the soot off my tunic for good and live in Kuttenberg.
Nota scribaeHe paced the dirt yard the entire time he spoke.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Andrew acts as if the groschen I lent him in Lent was a gift. It was not. I have taken his bag of forged nails from his chest as a lawful pledge, and I will keep them until he admits his debt before the household.
You are a thief, Paul. Put them back before I break your jaw.
the day after Saint George, at Prime
My father has locked my bag of iron nails in his strongbox. I bought them with my own saved pennies to build a chest for Mary. He claims it is for the king's timber, but he only wants to ruin my match because she has no dowry.
Mary would bring nothing but shame to this house. The iron serves the camp now.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke so fast I could barely catch his words.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Jezhek and Standa are shouting again over Lambert's old strip of land. It is a miserable thing to watch grown men fight over a patch of dirt. I will not end up like them, rotting in this camp and bickering over scraps.
Mind your tongue, boy. That land is my rightful share.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Sext
I lent my brother Andrew a heavy sum of groschen today. He was desperate and I am a good brother, though I need the coin for my own plans. He swore to pay it back before the weather turns warm.
Nota scribaeDictated near the burn piles.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Father will beat you if he hears you speaking like that.
Let him hear it. I am not afraid of him forever.