Simon

the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None

My tunic is falling apart at the seams and the cellar draft is killing me. If I do not get a proper sewing needle to stitch this coarse wool, I will freeze before the summer comes. None of the guards will lend me one, thinking I might lose it.

• 
  Zdenyek

  Stop your whining, Simon. My own boots are leaking and Hugh won't give us coin to fix them.

Nota scribaeHe spent a long time rubbing his arms while dictating this.

the third day of Easter week, at Sext

I have carved three good spoons today, smooth and round. I am hoping Richard Clark might see fit to give me an extra bowl of his oat and pork stew. A man needs hot food in his belly to keep the winter sickness away.

• 
  Richard Clark

  If the spoons are as good as you say, there might be a scraping left at the bottom of the pot.

the feast of St Gregory, at Vespers

The guards above are shouting again. They always argue about dead Baldwin when the ale runs out, blaming each other for running away in the dark woods last autumn. I keep my head down. It is not my place to say a word.

• 
  Andreas

  Keep your mouth shut, prisoner, or you'll join Baldwin.

Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper so the soldiers upstairs would not hear.

the Friday after St Valentine, at Prime

The damp creeps into the stones as soon as the sun sets. I pull my knees to my chest, but the chill is in my bones. I am terrified of catching the winter sickness that took so many of the garrison. I pray the steward Hugh does not forget to feed us.

Candlemas, at Terce

Like a fool, I lent my absolute best bone-handled awl to Walter so he could mend a boot. Now he refuses to give it back, saying he took my turn at the spit, so it belongs to him. It cost me a month's work to trade for that tool.

• 
  Walter

  You owed me for turning that heavy spit all afternoon, Simon. A fair trade, I reckon.

• 
  Simon

  It was not a trade, Walter. I need it back for the leather work.