fisherman at Vidlak pond, of The fishermen's huts
“I haul the heavy hemp nets and gut carp while my father counts the coin. Sakra, I do the work of two men but still sleep in his cramped hut.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Sakra, the soldiers were at the stall again today. Ate their fill of smoked pike and paid in coppers and threats. My father just bows and scrapes to them, but my back aches from hauling the catch they steal. We will have nothing left by summer at this rate.
Nota scribaeDictated in a great rush, pacing the length of the room.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
I am frantic. I will not court the tradesman's daughter from Tachov, no matter how fat her dowry is. I want Mary. She smells of woodsmoke and she is the only good thing in my life. I just need a well-spoken man, a knight or a bailiff, to talk some sense into my father.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
I bought my own blade yesterday. Sakra, it took half my saved pennies, but my father will not lend out his antler-handled knife even to his own blood. Let him keep it. I scale the catch and gut the carp myself anyway. I do the lion's share of the work here.
Nota scribaeHe demonstrated the gutting motion with his hands, nearly knocking over my ink.
the feast of St Gertrude, at None
The ice is finally off the Vidlak pond, but the water bites at your legs like a stray dog. I hauled the hemp nets alone this morning. It is a miserable house to return to since my mother Avice died. She used to make the draughty hut feel like a home. Now it is just cold.
She was a saint, Lord rest her soul. Do not use her memory to excuse your sour mood, lad. Get back to mending the meshes.
the Wednesday after Candlemas, at Compline
My father yelled until he was purple, saying I abandoned the nets to go drinking in the woods and cost us a day's catch. I was not drinking! Sakra, I was out by the Apollonia rocks. There is a whole world beyond the freezing ponds, if I ever find the courage to walk into it.
Nota scribaeThe lad shifted from foot to foot the entire time he spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your tongue, boy. A copper is better than a Hungarian sword in the belly. You have no sense of the world.