miller's man at zelejov, of Zhelejov
“I haul heavy sacks until my back breaks, trying not to draw the Lord's wrath.”
Things Frantishek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
A great storm broke over the valley today, sakra. Every time thunder clapped, I thought my time was up. I will walk to Sedletz as soon as the roads dry, I swear it! The Hungarian troops are everywhere, Christ almighty, a man cannot walk barefoot among them.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed himself four times while speaking this.
the Monday after Easter, at None
My back is killing me, Christ almighty. We hauled barley all morning and the dust was choking us blind. I spilled half a scoop on the boards and Lida gave me a look that could curdle milk. She will surely dock my ale tonight.
And I will dock your bread too if you drop another scoop, you clumsy whoreson.
the third day of April, at Prime
Robert is a fool to trust in a piece of wood. Fifty groschen for a yew bow from Paul in Semine! A man's soul could be required of him any night, just like old Tuma in the loft. Better to buy candles than weapons, I reckon.
When a wolf comes to the mill, we'll see if your candles scare it off.
Saint Gregory's day, at Sext
Amice was weeping by the woodpile again today. I asked if she had finally found Doubravka's bone comb, since the snow has melted, but she only cried harder. Sakra, I ruined my boots in the mud looking for it last year.
Please leave me be, Frantishek. You know I will never find my mother's comb in that muck.
Nota scribaeDictated at the woodpile. The speaker rubbed his lower back the entire time.
Candlemas, at Compline
The priests blessed the candles today. Christ almighty, three winters ago I lay burning with fever after Tuma died. I promised Saint Barbara I would walk barefoot to Sedletz if I lived. The mud is too deep right now. God knows I mean to go.
You will stay and mind the hoppers, vow or no vow. The grain won't grind itself.
Nota scribaeHe asked to swear this upon the cross, but I told him my ink was enough.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You said that last year, lad. The soldiers don't care about your feet.
Easy for you to say, Robert, hoarding fifty groschen for a bow from Paul while I might be struck by lightning.