Maresh

the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline

Roger has taken Nicholas's axe, and so Nicholas took Julian's fine carpenter's axe. A circle of fools. I shape my own hafts and sharpen my own iron so I do not have to pay Chenyek two pennies a day, nor steal from my neighbours. The trees are quiet. Men are not.

• 
  Julian

  Tell him to give it back, Maresh. You're the only one talking sense.

the second day of Easter week, at Prime

The rain came through the roof of widow Juliana's shed again last night. A groschen a week for damp joints. I stand out in the heavy pines to get warm. Tuma says she leaves us alone, but she leaves the leaks alone too.

Nota scribaeDictated while he was sharpening an axe. He spoke very slowly.

the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Vespers

Adam chipped his blade again today because he swings angry. Then he sat by the fire and called me a coward over what happened to Mikesh last year. The Hungarian horses broke our line. I was pushed back. If I had stood fast, there would be two dead woodcutters in the mud. He knows nothing.

• 
  Adam

  You ran, Maresh. Mikesh bled while you saved your own skin. Don't speak his name.

• 
  Maresh

  I gave ground. Keep your mind on your tally, boy, and off things you don't understand.

the Friday after St Valentine, at None

Roger and Adam are shouting at Tuma again over the rout. I watch them and turn my back. I have no breath left for arguing at night. Let them exhaust themselves. I have a mature oak to finish before dusk, and the cold is settling in my bones.

• 
  Roger

  Mind your own wood, Maresh. We haven't forgotten what you did either.

Candlemas, at Terce

A cold morning for the heavy timber. I swing my axe with a steady rhythm to last the day. The young lads attack the branches like dogs at a bone and tire themselves by Sext. If you do not pace yourself in the lord's woods, the woods will bury you.

Nota scribaeThe man crossed his arms and stared at me until I finished writing.