senior hand at the stables, of Semin
“I am the senior hand at the stud farm. The young pups could learn a thing or two if they stopped complaining long enough to listen.”
Things Humphrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at None
Christ almighty, David will not let this bloody gambeson rest. I told the lad a hundred times the trader Baldwin took it by pure mistake when I turned my back. It was an accident! I only took it out to look at the stitching. Now let a man eat his pottage in peace.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his hands on his tunic for a long time before speaking.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Robert is hoarding his groschen and polishing that hoof knife his father Maresh left him. Fever took Maresh in ninety-nine, God rest his soul, but the lad treats that knife like it is a saint's bone. A proper hired hand spends his coin on ale.
It is a master-quality blade, Humphrey. Better than throwing coin down the ale-wife's gullet.
the Thursday after St Richard, at Sext
Bad luck follows me like a shadow. That trader Baldwin packed his cart and rode off for Prague before I could explain his mistake to him. Now I must listen to David weeping about his lost war gear every night in the loft. My ears are bleeding from it.
I saw Baldwin on the Prague road. He did not look like a man who made a mistake.
You owe me groschen, Humphrey! I spent my whole winter's pay on that padding!
Nota scribaeDictated from the muck pile. The smell was unholy.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Prime
The ale-wife was demanding her coin, so I thought to show Baldwin the fine stitching on David's new padded gambeson. Just to show him! But the careless peddler walked off with it while I was breaking ice on the water troughs. A tragedy, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Candlemas, at dawn
My back is breaking from hauling heavy sacks of oats in the dark, and all David can do is parade around the stables in his thick new gambeson to impress the girls. He thinks he will fight in Kuttenberg. Bloody fool. The senior hand does all the real work.
Aye, my back aches too. The frost is bitter today.
Nota scribaeThe man was shivering in the draughty loft.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You pawned it for ale, you whoreson! The muster is coming and I have no padding!
Mind your tongue, boy. I am the senior hand here.