hired hand at the yard, of Kuttenberg
“I do the work of three men at the yard, though my talents deserve far better.”
Things Henslin had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Saint Urban, at Compline
By Saint Barbara, they say the bailiff is calling a muster again. I am a ruined man. That whoreson Baldwin still holds the gambeson I borrowed from Roger Wood, and I have not a single groschen to redeem it through his cursed iron grate.
Nota scribaeThe man waved his arms so violently he knocked over my inkhorn.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Prime
My head pounds and my mouth tastes of ash. Gottfried kept us all awake again playing that wooden flute I bought. He has no ear for music, just blowing like a dying calf in Matilda's damp cellar. Someone fetch it from him before I break his neck.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Vespers
I did the work of three men today hauling stone for Julian, while Standa and the rest leaned on their picks like tired sheep. I earned my two groschen and I will drink them all tonight. A hard worker needs his ale.
You carried one block and spent the rest of the day complaining, you loud fool.
Save a penny for bread, Henslin, you still owe me for a round.
Nota scribaeDictated from the floor of the alehouse.
the feast of Saint Matthias, at Terce
I have done a good deed and lent my new wooden flute to Gottfried. The pedlar charged me two groschen for it, but by Saint Barbara, I am a generous fellow. Let us hope he learns a tune to cheer up this miserable cellar.
It is a fine flute, Henslin. I will practice every single night.
Candlemas, at None
That thief Gottfried took my best shovel! He claims I owe him for ale, which is a bloody lie. How am I to catch Julian's eye at the timber yard without my tool? Now I will get only pennies, and I curse Gottfried to hell.
You drank three of my beers at Christmas and never paid, you loudmouth.
Julian will not hire you anyway if you keep dropping the timber on our feet.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so fast I missed half the curses.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Where is my gambeson, Henslin? You swore it was only being mended by the tailor.
It is, Roger! The tailor is just very slow, by Saint Barbara!