hired hand at krenovy farm, of Slatejov
“I am an ageing hand with an aching back, tending beasts and keeping a heavy silence. Lord knows the young ones are no good.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The master's porridge is thin enough to read through again. I sat by the boundary fences to eat it in peace. Nicholas was skulking by the barn shadows, eavesdropping on Farmer Bourek. Lord knows I have no patience for a creeping coward. I just want to tend the heavy horses and be left alone.
Nota scribaeHe crossed his thick arms over his chest while dictating this.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I saw soldiers on the road today, looking for grain to take. The war keeps us all trapped here like rats in a barrel. I had to mend harness leather all afternoon, and the joints in my hands are popping. At least the beasts do not talk back or make excuses for their failings.
Aye, the soldiers took two of my best laying hens yesterday. A curse on them all.
the eve of St George, at Sext
I flatly refused to work the east field today because Robert was assigned there. I will not stand on the same side of the farm as the man whose clumsy axe stroke shocked the dead wood and crushed Peter. He was rushing his work. And Joan is just as useless for failing to shout a warning from the canopy.
It was a frozen bough, Richard! The winter killed him, not my axe. You have held this grudge for three winters.
I was looking at the guide ropes, Richard. I cannot see the wind breaking a branch high up.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke with a slow, deliberate cadence and glared at the ink.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Prime
Milena is prancing around the yard worrying about village gossip, wearing a heavy woolen cloak. I know she took it from the logging camp in the Nebakov woods three winters ago. She is vain and foolish. Lord knows we are surrounded by thieves and chatterers.
It was left in the mud and freezing rain. Was I to let it rot?
Leave her be, Richard. You carry too much bitterness in your heart.
Candlemas, at Prime
Woke in the dark before the sun. My back aches terribly today. It has been three winters since Peter died coughing blood into the snow. We shared a sleeping mat for five years. I keep having the dream where I hear the branch snapping. I wish I had taken the axe from Robert's hands. I cannot even walk to Tachov to face Svatava.
Poor Svatava is taking in laundry to survive. It is a heavy burden on us all, Richard. God rest his soul.
Nota scribaeHe fell silent for a long time after saying the widow's name.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I was not eavesdropping, Richard. I was looking for a lost hinge from the gate.
You are a lazy whelp and you know it.