day labourer of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a poor widower trying to get by. Once I get decent hauling work I will recover.”
Things Bartel Bauer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The eve of the Ascension, at Sext
There is no work at the mint and my belly is completely empty. I spent the morning sitting by the church just trying not to think of food. And I had to walk the long way around the market to avoid Heinz Wolff. The man has no Christian charity.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the church. The man's stomach was rumbling so loudly it distracted from his words.
The Friday after Easter, at Terce
Vashek keeps hounding me for those brass shears. I told him I need them to finish this rough cloth and he can manage until the spring shearing is fully done. A man cannot rush good work. Pavlena always told me to take my time and do it right.
Easter is gone, Bartel! You have had them since Candlemas. Give them here by Sunday or I will break your bloody nose.
He is lying, Vashek. I saw him hovering near the pawnbroker again yesterday morning.
St Gertrude's day, at Prime
A man cannot freeze to death just to please the bailiff. I had to make a trade to get some firewood and a crust of bread. The spring inspection is a long way off anyway. A month of good carting work will sort out all my troubles.
What did you trade, Bartel? Tell me it was not the padded jack.
Nothing of yours, lad. Just some old scraps. Do not fret yourself over it.
Nota scribaeHe spoke in a mumble and stared at his boots the entire time he was speaking.
The Tuesday after Ash Wednesday, at None
The bailiff called a muster and I have not a single groschen for weapons. Christopher saw my plight and lent me a good padded jack and a spear. He is a saint among men. Pavlena always said the young ones have kinder hearts than the old dogs.
We all have hard winters, Bartel. Make sure that spear stays oiled for the inspection.
A man who cannot buy his own spear has no business on the muster roll in the first place.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Christ almighty it is cold. Vashek Cook was decent enough to lend me his brass shears so I can cut a shroud for a poor soul. I will give them back as soon as the cloth is done, but my hands are too stiff to finish it today.
Mind you keep them clean, Bartel. They cost me three groschen and I need them back by Sunday.
Ay, Sunday for sure. I am an honest man, you know that.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of cheap beer and kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I do not hate you, Bartel. I hate a thief and a beggar who will not pay his lawful debts.
Where is my spear, Bartel? The bailiff's man is coming next week and I need to know you have the gear.