collier at the woodcutters camp, of The woodcutters' camps
“I haul the timber and build the mounds tighter than anyone. The rest of these lads are lazy sods.”
Things Hugh the Great had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Another bloody day of rain. The wood is wet and the younger lads leave gaps in the meiler like blind fools. You get useless white ash when you stack it loose. Nobody sings anymore, just the hiss of wet timber and the damp getting into my bones.
Nota scribaeThe man wiped his nose on his sleeve no less than four times while dictating this.
the Tuesday after Easter week, at Sext
Maurice and Edward are weeping because Avice won't send any more barrels from Kolin. What did the fools expect? Drinking weak beer on credit when they haven't got a groschen between them. Now we all have to go thirsty.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at None
Vashek is still holding Geoffrey's iron spade hostage. He says he won't give it back until he gets his ten groschen share of that silver Geoffrey found in the canvas sack. I told them both to stop bickering and pull their weight.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Edward had the gall to call me a thief today, saying I kept a dry wool blanket while old Stislav froze on that cursed march. I was shaking with the fever! It was Andreas who killed the old man, making him carry that shattered cart axle like a dumb ox.
You lie, Hugh. We all saw you wrapped in that thick wool while he shivered in the freezing rain.
Your fever is a bloody lie to cover your shame. Stislav taught you the trade and you let him die.
Nota scribaeHe bellowed this so loudly my ears rang, yet he would not look me in the eye.
Candlemas, at Prime
Carried four massive trunks from the tree line this morning before the mist even cleared. These younger lads puff and pant under half the weight. A man needs to pull his share if we want good charcoal for the Kuttenberg mint.
Aye, nobody swings a felling axe or hauls like you, Hugh.
Learn to stack the timber tight like I showed you and you will be worth your salt, lad.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My brother Tobias always says it rains far less in Prague.
Tobias died in a ditch ten years ago, Frantishek. Shut your mouth and haul some wood.