farmhand at the Semin estate, of Semin
“Thirty years hauling carts and chopping wood, and all I have to show for it is a ruined back.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
My back is seized up worse than ever, but still I am chopping wood while Joan sits on her hands. She tells us the clerk Gilbert is shut in the castle and sends no coin. A bloody lie. She is hoarding our silver in her apron, thinking I will just rot here quietly.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor after he said this, and refused to sweep it up.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
Julian walks around the yard acting the lord because he bought himself a gambeson. Scraped his groschen together like a miser. I would smash his locked box to splinters if my joints did not ache so much. A young fool playing soldier while the rest of us starve.
I earned my coin, old man. Keep your dirty hands off my chest.
the week after Easter, at Prime
Prokop is staring at the mud again, weeping over a cheap glass ring his brother Jan left him. God rest the dead, but crying over glass when we have not seen a silver penny since Easter is a fool's game. Wake up, lad, before they starve us both.
It was all I had left of him. Leave me be.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man rubbed his lower back and groaned.
the third week of Lent, at Terce
There are soldiers on the roads and the bread gets dearer every day, but I am still the only one keeping this thatch from collapsing. I told Juliana she owes this crumbling estate nothing. If I had my back pay, I would be gone tomorrow. Saint Wenceslas give me strength.
I will go to Kuttenberg as soon as the roads are clear. This place is cursed.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
The winter stew is just water and old cabbage now. Clemence would have clouted my ear for complaining, but she would have filled the larder too. God take her soul. She ran a proper house, not like the miserable pot of ruin we have now. At least my boots are dry.
My mother did what she could, and I am doing what I can. The estate sends nothing.
Your mother would have marched to the castle and squeezed the silver out of Gilbert herself.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of wet wool.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I have shown you the empty box, Walter. There is no silver. Do you think I like eating thin cabbage any more than you?
I think you learned nothing from your mother, girl. Clemence always paid.
He is right. We should all walk out.