watchman at jakesuv Statek, of Troskowitz
“I walk the fences, shoot straight, and drink my wages before the master can dock them.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The word at the tavern is the Hungarians are moving. By Saint Martin, if the bailiff comes looking for me for that bloody levy, I might just break my own foot with a mallet. It is a rich man's war, why should I bleed for it?
Nota scribaeDictated in a frantic whisper, whilst the man rubbed his neck without ceasing.
the second day of May, at Terce
Elizabeth is turning the barn straw upside down again crying over her mother's wooden pin. Christ almighty, girl, it is just a piece of wood. At least your brother Peshek volunteered for the garrison in Prague, so he chose his miserable fate. I am being dragged into mine.
It was my mother's! You have no heart, John, just ale and boasting.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Shot a running hare at fifty paces this morning. Best aim in the valley, and I swear it by Saint Martin. But did the tight-fisted master let me taste a morsel of it? Nay, Jakesh took it for his own table and left us scraps.
It is my land and my hare, you drunken lout. Get back to the fences.
the eve of Saint George, at Prime
Three years since the mistress Drahomira died of the winter fever, and this farm has been a miserable pit of stinginess ever since. The master would not part with a single penny for us to drink her health. The farm was a decent place when she lived.
Aye, God rest her soul. The master's temper died with her, and my roof still leaks right over my bed.
Nota scribaeThe man was unwashed and smelled strongly of cheap ale.
Candlemas, at Compline
Curse that ale at the tavern and curse my own tongue. Showed off my bow to the lads, putting three arrows in a post, and now the bailiff has my name written down for the levy. I need groschen to bribe him, or I am dead in the mud.
If anyone has five groschen to spare, I am good for it come harvest.
Nota scribaeHe asked me to write 'post', referring to a wooden beam at the tavern.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your voice down, you fool, or the master will hear you and beat you before the Cumans ever get the chance.