hired hand at krenovy farm, of Slatejov
“I haul the heavy sacks and chop the wood while the lazy bastards watch. Just keeping my head down and my mouth shut.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
Some fool mentioned Tachov at the alehouse today. My back flared up immediately. I can't abide this damp weather, it ruins a man's spine. I told them I was going back to the barn to lie on my mat, and I left.
Nota scribaeHe spoke far too fast and kept looking at his boots instead of the parchment.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Nicholas is staring at me across the yard again. If that creeping rat wants a reward, he should do some actual work instead of standing about while I chop all the master's firewood. A man only earns his keep by the sweat of his brow.
You know exactly what I want, Robert. It's been three winters. We should divide what we found.
Keep your voice down before the bailiff hears you, you fool.
Nota scribaeDictated from a scarred stump by the woodpile. He spat in the dirt twice.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
They say there are Hungarian troops on the road to Troskowitz. Bastards taking whatever they please from honest folk. Better to keep our heads down and our pouches tied tight. A man shouldn't flash his silver when there are hungry wolves about.
Aye, lock up the chickens and bury the groschen. Times are hard enough.
the first week of Lent, at Terce
Hauling grain from the storehouse to the carts since dawn. My spine is absolutely ruined. Someone has to do the heavy lifting here, but Christ almighty, it hurts. At least I can get some sour beer on the slate tonight.
You have more than enough to pay your slate without credit. I know it.
Candlemas, at Sext
The frost is thick today. Makes the wood brittle. Reminds me of the Nebakov woods three winters back, when that massive oak branch snapped and crushed Peter. It was entirely rotten through the core. Tragic business, but it was simply the will of God.
You swung the axe, Robert. Don't you dare speak of Peter as if the tree jumped on him by itself.
You're a stubborn old dog, Richard. I told the bailiff how it was.
Nota scribaeThe man seemed entirely unwilling to meet my eye while he recounted this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It wasn't the damp weather that made you jump, Robert. It was hearing Svatava's name.
Mind your own business, you silly cow. My back is agony.