hired hand at the wagons, of Nomad camp
“I grease axles, haul sacks and mend canvas for Master Lambert. You keep your head down and do the work.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Master Lambert is expected back from town tomorrow. I have been rubbing at my left palm for an hour but there is no feeling in it at all, just the ache. John says he will take the heavy side of the silver crates so Lambert does not see.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
The rain has turned these cart-tracks into a swamp. We took the back roads to avoid the king's highway tolls, and now we are paying for it in mud. Greased the axles twice today but the big wagon still squeals.
Aye, the mud is up to the hubs. Better mud than Cumans, though.
Nota scribaeDictated from under a cart. The man smelled strongly of wet wool.
the feast of St Benedict, at None
Lida took pity and gave me some willow bark off-cuts. I boiled it in my tin cup to numb the joints. It tastes like old swamp water, but it takes the edge off the damp. It shames me to beg.
It is no begging, Walter. I had too much willow anyway. Just do not let Master Lambert see you idling with tea.
the Friday after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Woke up shivering, dreaming of that freezing mud near Nebakov four winters ago. The crack the wagon rim made when it pinned my hand against the stone. That local barber who set it crooked... I hope the whoreson drinks sour ale forever.
I made a promise to St Jude that day that you would live. You are still breathing, are you not?
Nota scribaeHe spoke in a low grumble and kept his hand wrapped in a dirty rag the whole time.
Candlemas, at Sext
Chewed a piece of bread harder than a cobblestone for my midday meal. Lida says the flour is dearer than last year with all these soldiers on the roads. At least the canvas tarps are holding against the heavy frost.
The mercenaries eat better than we do, that is the truth of it.
Let them. I would rather have hard bread than a spear in the gut.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your hand tucked in your belt, Walter. I told the master you had a flux of the bowels and were resting.