tavern cook of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“Twenty years I have stood before the hearth feeding half of Kuttenberg. The firewood they bring me lately is fit for nothing but smoking rats out of a cellar.”
Things William Grey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
The Hungarian soldiers eat like starved hounds, but how am I to feed them when grain costs double what it did last year? The firewood they bring me is wet as marsh grass. I blew on the embers until my head spun. If you want to complain about the fat in the stew, take your empty belly out into the street.
the eve of the Ascension, at Prime
Geoffrey spoke her name again. I told him if he marries that washerwoman's daughter he can scrub his own shirts in the river, for he is no son of mine. I work my fingers to the bone in this sweltering kitchen to leave him something better than mud.
She is an honest girl, Father. You judge her far too harshly.
We toil until our backs break for our children, William, and they repay us with grey hairs.
Nota scribaeHe crossed his arms over his chest so fiercely I thought his apron strings would snap.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Betty Vejmola brought me fresh cabbages and turnips this morning. I need every leaf to stretch the stews now that meat is so dear. I left a heel of bread and a bowl out for Else. If that housekeeper gets any thinner, a strong wind will blow her all the way to Prague.
God bless you for the stew, William. I was near fainting from the scrubbing.
The soil was good this spring, praise be. I will bring more next week.
the Wednesday after Laetare Sunday, at Vespers
I drank at Kupecka last night because I cannot stand the smell of my own stews after dark. I saw Heinz Torwart sitting by the wall. He looked away when I came in. A man should settle his tally without needing to be asked. I will not play the beggar to ask for my own silver.
I have not forgotten the coin, William. The times are hard and silver is scarce.
A dicer's debt is a sacred thing, Heinz. Pay the man what you owe.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was slow. He paused often to wipe his hands on his apron.
Candlemas, at Compline
A good night with the dice at the alehouse. I took a heavy sum of groschen off Heinz Torwart. He said he did not have the coin on him, but he is a Kuttenberg townsman, so I trust he is good for it. Praise be to Saint Lawrence for a lucky run.
You had the devil's own luck that night. I will find the silver soon enough.
Nota scribaeDictated at the alehouse. He was roaring loud and spilt his drink on my parchment.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Let them chew on their scabbards, William. They complain no matter what we serve.
The Germans at the mint feel the pinch too. Bread is dear everywhere.