hired hand, of Zhelejov
“I keep my head down and see to the lighter work at the holding. No sense breaking a good back for thin porridge.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at None
Geoffrey says I should just run if Drslav comes knocking with the muster rolls. Easy for him to say, he's already got a spear. I reckon I'll just keep sweeping behind the barn. If they can't see me, they can't send me to fight Hungarians, aye?
the second Sunday after Easter, at Vespers
Heard hooves on the road today. Nearly dropped the slop bucket. I thought for sure it was the bailiff's men coming for the levy, but it was just some merchant. My heart's still beating like a trapped bird. Curse Drslav and his long memory.
You took half the morning to empty that bucket anyway. The pigs were complaining.
I remember every face that crosses me, lad.
Nota scribaeThe lad looked over his shoulder four times while speaking.
Easter Sunday, at Prime
I remember last Easter, when I had that scuffle with Drslav at the alehouse in Trosky. Bloody hell, I should have stayed home. Now every time there's talk of King Wenceslas needing spears, I know my name is at the top of that whoreson's list.
You'd be useless with a spear anyway, Thomas. You can't even hold a pitchfork right.
I'm preserving my strength for when it's truly needed, Roger.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush, with much biting of the lip.
the fourth day of Lent, at Terce
John was groaning again today pulling stumps. I stayed on the far side of the yard mending a halter that didn't really need mending. He does the work of two men, so he doesn't need my help. The master's cane hasn't found me yet.
My back is ruined, lad. One day you'll have to pull a stump yourself.
If I catch you hiding behind that barn again, you'll feel my cane.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Sext
The porridge was thin again this morning. It hasn't been the same since the old master's wife, Beatrice, passed away three winters ago. She made sure there was meat in it. Now the whole farm is going to ruin, and I'm just trying to survive it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I said run for the woods, lad, not the barn. Drslav knows what a barn is.
Pray to St Michael, Thomas. He protects soldiers.
I ain't a soldier, Standa! And no saint is going to stop a Hungarian arrow.