hired hand, of Trosky
“I'm the fastest lad with a wheelbarrow here, doing the work of two to keep the fires lit and the yard clean. Just wish the bloody church was as fast with a blessing as they are with a ledger.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Compline
Bloody hell. The steward sent word again. Father Osbert says the grace period is over. Ten groschen I owe for the tithe. If that stern old bastard reads my name from the pulpit on Sunday, they'll turn me out into the cold. I reckon he just wants my coin to buy imported wine for himself.
Nota scribaeDictated in the stables. The man paced constantly and would not stand still.
the eve of St Mark, at Vespers
My back is breaking, sakra. The garrison brought in more horses today, and they all shit twice as much as a normal beast. Pushed five loaded wheelbarrows of dung before midday. Old Roger helped where he could, but it's mostly me doing the hauling. At least I've still got my strength.
Aye, those destriers eat like kings and shit like mountains. Keep your back straight, lad.
I can lift more than any of these lazy men-at-arms anyway.
the second week of Easter, at None
Roger's shoulder is acting up worse than usual in this damp spring air. I wish old Bozhena was still alive. Her willow-bark rubs didn't always work, but it gave a man some comfort, didn't it? Now there's no cheap salves, just the wind cutting through my tunic.
You're a good lad, William. I just need to sit by the fire a spell.
God rest Bozhena's soul. She pulled a tooth for me once and only charged a penny.
Nota scribaeThe lad rubbed his own shoulder as he spoke, though he claimed it was the other man's pain.
the day after St Joseph, at Prime
Split a whole cord of oak before the sun was even fully up. The kitchen boys couldn't believe it. I told them a man works faster when his belly is empty and he needs to keep warm. These Hungarian soldiers marching about are making bread dearer, too. I loaned two pennies to one of the grooms yesterday. Hope he pays me back.
You lent coin again? You soft fool. You'll never pay the church at this rate.
Candlemas, at Sext
The decree says the Pope wants to read about my day when I die. Well, he can read about how I hauled thirty buckets of water from the well in the freezing mud, dodging bad-tempered warhorses. If the Lord is judging me, I hope He judges me by the sweat on my brow and not the groschen in my purse.
Amen to that, William. The Lord sees the heavy lifting, even if the foreman doesn't.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Don't fret, lad. We'll find the coin somehow. You work hard enough for three men, let alone a tithe.
The Lord's ledger is strict, William. The church requires what is due, not what is convenient.