hired hand at the yard, of Troskowitz
“I do the heaviest work while the rest barter and steal my belongings.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Master Hugh is docking all our wages again because of Andrew's dead capons. They say my dog Colle got into them, but Andrew prices his birds like the King's own swans! Now I have no copper at all.
Nota scribaeDictated at the yard. He waved his arms so much I nearly dropped my ink.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
A man without his tools is worth nothing! I cannot find my spade for shifting the feed. Richard borrowed it weeks ago to muck out and now hides it by his bed. He is gone doddering mad.
I am using it. My back aches and I need it to lean on.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Saint Barbara preserve me, the stench of this lower barn has ruined my tunic completely. I should have been a clerk or a tailor indoors. At least Robert has his stomach gripes to get him out of shifting sacks.
My stomach is no blessing, John. Have some pity.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Troops on the road to Tachov again, they say. Marion has gone there to see her sister, so we have no ale. My throat is dry from the dust in the yard and no credit to wet it.
Stop your whining and help me with these sacks.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very fast and spit on the ground after mentioning the troops.
Candlemas, at Compline
Walter is a barefaced thief. I sat by the fire to show him the carving on my lucky six-face die, and he slipped it into his pouch! He claims I staked it against a copper penny. Give it back!
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Wipe your boots before you come complaining in the house, John.
Your beast killed three of my best layers. Pay what you owe.