nobleman of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a nobleman forced to endure the stench of this accursed town while the war ravages the countryside.”
Things John of Petschkau had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St George, at Terce
A messenger boy came to my door today with a letter from that Suchdol scribe. I stood right in front of the whelp, looked him in the eye, and swore by Saint Wenceslas that the master of the house was not at home.
Nota scribaeDictated in the hall. He crossed his arms tightly the entire time.
the Monday after Easter, at Vespers
That thief Mesoles thinks I will ride to court in Trosky to answer his false summons. I know his brute of a brother Stephen is camped in ambush on the highway to collect the coin in blood. I would rather sit here and take a fine than be butchered on the road.
Stephen would gut a priest for a penny, I reckon you are wise to stay by the fire and keep your throat whole.
the second Tuesday of Lent, at Prime
If that stubborn miner William would just walk to Prague, my sister Matilda would know I still draw breath. I tell him he owes me a favour, but the man pretends he is too busy digging dirt to carry a simple message to my only living family.
I am not walking to Prague for you or the King himself. My shift is at the silver mine, not on the bloody road.
the Friday after Ash Wednesday, at Sext
The servants poured me wine today that tasted like a horse passed water in the barrel. I shouted at them until my throat was raw. Commoners have forgotten entirely how to serve their betters in these dark days.
Nota scribaeThe wine smelled fine to me, though I was not offered a cup to taste it.
Candlemas, at Prime
I lent my best hunting crossbow to Ralph of Mesoles today. A fine piece of work, cost me a month's silver to have it made. He promised to return it quickly, but he makes excuses every time I ask. It is a direct insult to my pride.
The string needs waxing, John. I will bring it back when it is properly seen to, there is no need to weep over it.
You are a fool to part with a good weapon while Hungarian soldiers are marching through the fields.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You cannot hide in that stinking house forever, John. The wager was fair and you owe me three hundred groschen.