hired hand for heavy lifting, of Zhelejov
“I pull the stumps, I load the wains, and I keep my head down.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
That young pup Geoffrey is poking his nose where it does not belong again. Asks why I walk slow to the hayloft. I am resting my eyes and my bones, lad. I do not need a wet nurse, I need to be left in peace.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very softly, keeping his right arm stiff at his side.
the second day of the Rogation days, at Sext
Loaded three wains of timber this morning. John took the heaviest end, on account of my... well, we take turns. The master did not look twice. If he knew how my joints throbbed in the morning chill, he would put me on the road to beg.
My back is paying for it now, but we did the work.
There is more timber to move tomorrow, lads. See to it.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his right hand against his tunic the whole time he dictated.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
The porridge today was nothing but water and chaff. When Beatrice was alive, God rest her, she made sure there was meat in it for the men pulling stumps. She was a hard woman, but she knew what kept a man standing. Now the thatch rots and we starve.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Prime
Watched William and Maresh cross the yard in dead silence. Still angry over some spilled oats from Ash Wednesday. Fools, both of them. And Thomas is hiding in the barn because he thinks Drslav is coming with the levy. There is work to do, but nobody does it.
He started the quarrel, not I.
Drslav swore he would remember me when the spears were handed out! You do not know him, Roger.
Nota scribaeDictated with a heavy grunt.
the Friday after Ash Wednesday, at Vespers
The cold morning air makes the joints in my right hand throb terribly. Crushed it beneath a cartwheel ten years ago, and the damp wakes the ache. I have a jug hidden in the straw. It is the only way to numb the agony enough to sleep.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I only worry you will fall from the ladder, Roger. You smell of sour wine.
Keep your worries to yourself and watch the gates.