farmhand in Tachov, of Tachov
“I-I just keep my head down and do as I'm told. There's water to fetch and wood to chop, and I want no part of any war.”
Things Vashek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Compline
Every shadow looks like Humphrey the clerk coming with his ledger. They say the levy is being called up. I-I can outrun a wolf, but my boots are wearing right through. If they hand me a spear, a Cuman will have my guts on it before the first battle.
Nota scribaeThe lad kept looking over his shoulder and wiping his nose on his sleeve.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Prokop is asking after his brass lamp again. Roger says he lost it. I heard Roger drop something heavy in the dark weeks ago, and curse like a tinker, but I'm not saying a word. Roger won't even share a crust of bread, I don't want his temper on me.
the third Sunday in Lent, at None
Roger is hoarding every penny he gets for a steel cuirass. He refuses to buy a round of ale to save a dying man. And Prokop hasn't stopped talking about Joan since Prime. Lord rest her soul, but she died of the sweat six winters ago and I'm tired of hearing about her.
Joan was a saint among women. You show some respect, boy.
Nota scribaeHe asked to cross out the part about Joan, then said to leave it.
the Monday after St Matthias, at Terce
Master Andreas has me hauling water from the well until my shoulders burn. Then chopping firewood until my palms blister. It's honest work, I reckon, but I'm so tired I could sleep standing up in the muck. Just trying to earn my keep and stay out of the way.
Less whining and more chopping, Vashek. The pigs won't feed themselves.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Humphrey the clerk came today with his inkwell. He wrote my name down on the rolls. Christ's wounds, why me? I'm just a hired hand. I'd gladly run off into the woods if the soldiers come to march us off. I've got no stomach for it.
The King's business spares no man, lad. The rolls are the rolls.
Nota scribaeDictated in the barn. The boy was trembling so much he dropped a bucket.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stop sniveling, Vashek. If they take you, I'll have the barn to myself at last.
I-I'd hide in the midden heap first.