hired hand for the herdsman, of Troskowitz
“I mend fences and watch the beasts so they do not wander into the woods. It is a hard living, but I get by with my dogs.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
I handed over three more pennies to Jacob today. Saint Wenceslas knows it breaks my heart to empty my pouch, but I will not let that miserable old man take a club to my boy Colle. The dog only acted on his nature. Jacob should build better fences.
Nota scribaeDictated with his thumbs tucked firmly into his belt. He pointed toward his dogs four times while speaking.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Walter is weeping into his ale again about his vow to walk to the monastery at Sedletz. I keep telling him God does not want him dead on the highway. There are soldiers marching everywhere and the woods are full of wolves. A man is better off staying in Troskowitz.
the Monday after St Ambrose, at None
Hogherd Hugo was talking about pigs today, which got me laughing about Bynyek. Remember when the lord's arrogant huntsman took his dogs out to find Horschel's great sow with the gold ring? The bastard came back shivering and empty-handed. Could not track a bleeding cow in the snow, that one.
Get back to mending the brushwood fence, William, before the sheep get out again.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very fast and had to be asked to slow down twice so the words could be recorded.
St Gertrude's day, at Prime
Found a peddler who sold me heavy leather collars for Bragge and Colle, three groschen for the pair. If anyone tries to touch them, they will answer to my fists. A dog needs a thick collar around here. The wolves are bold this year, creeping right up to the treeline.
the morning of Candlemas, at Prime
Bloody hell. The wind brought the smell of wolves last night and Colle went mad trying to chase them off. He broke through a rotten patch in Jacob's yard and got among his prized birds. Now the miserable old fool is swearing he will drown my dog in the pond.
I want silver for every bird that beast tore up, or the dog goes in a sack.
I swear by Saint Wenceslas I will pay you, just keep your hands off him.
Nota scribaeThe speaker smelled strongly of the stables and wet dog.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Your hound is a menace. If I do not see the rest of the groschen by Sunday, we will have a reckoning.
Just pay him, William. Better an empty purse than worse trouble.