labourer and roof-patcher, of Kuttenberg
“My lungs are full of slate dust and my purse is empty. I just need the groschen for the ale-wife's rent.”
Things Jonas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Tuesday after St Philip and St James, at Vespers
I saw Paul limping on the cobbles today with a twisted ankle. I ought to help him, but if I get close he'll ask after the padded jacket and spear he bought for me. Kurva, I pawned them for bread before Lent. I meant to redeem them, but the groschen are gone.
Nota scribaeHe spoke to the floor the entire time.
The Friday of Easter week, at Prime
Daniel handed me a piece of paper today with a tally of ruined slates and lost wages. He wants me to pay for the cart we crashed in the mud before Easter. The stubborn old fool pushed it straight into the rut himself. I won't pay a single penny for his clumsiness.
You steered us into the ditch, Jonas. You owe me the wage for those slates.
Both of you were drinking by Terce that day, as I recall.
Nota scribaeHe showed me the paper. It is written in a very poor hand.
The eve of the Annunciation, at None
My back is breaking on these patricians' roofs, and the slate dust is a curse on my lungs. Master Gilbert sits warm inside the Italian Court while we risk our necks on the frost for a few pennies. He doesn't care if we fall, so long as the tiles are laid.
The second week of Lent, at Sext
The ale-wife is banging on the cellar door for her rent again. Bread is dearer than last year, and they say soldiers are on the roads everywhere. I am too tired to argue. If the watch captain calls a muster, I am finished.
Aye, the loaf at the baker's is half the size it was at Christmas. God help us.
Candlemas, at Terce
I lent my best plumb line to David this morning. It cost me a month's work to buy it. He says he only needs it for a day, but I know him. Kurva, I just don't have the strength to fight him for it right now.
Don't fret, Jonas, you'll get it back before St Gregory's.
Just see that the string isn't frayed when you return it.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of stale ale and rubbed his dirty hands together the whole time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You miserable whoreson. I bought that gear so you wouldn't be flogged, and you drank it away.
I ate it, Paul, the grain was too dear. I am sorry about the ankle.