blacksmith of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I beat iron and sweat all day. I do the best work in Kuttenberg, though the coal merchants rob me blind.”
Things Heinz Berger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
If Maresh does not bring back my padded jack before the muster, I will take my hammer to his skull. I gave good groschen for that kit. The whoreson pawned it for ale, and I am not standing in the levy in a linen shirt.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was shouted. My ears are ringing.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Prokop is heading south and still refuses to carry a word to my brother. It is a wicked, unchristian thing to let a man lie awake wondering if his own blood is dead in a ditch somewhere.
I am not a bleeding messenger boy, Heinz. I have my own work to find on the road.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
Hugh Field is the laziest lad in Kuttenberg. I asked him to fetch a simple load of charcoal and he stood there staring at the sky. A good beating would set him straight.
He is no better at the ovens, I tell you. Alice and I shout ourselves hoarse at him daily.
Nota scribaeHe struck his palm with his fist three times while saying this.
St Matthias's day, at Sext
I sharpened a dozen knives for the servants of Edmund today. That tight-fisted bastard has chests full of silver but his tenants are living under rotting thatch. I should have charged double for the blades.
Praise be, someone said it. The rain comes right through the roof onto my bed.
Candlemas, before dawn
The cold gets right into the bones on this pallet. I lit the fires early just to keep my hands from freezing. Mein Gott, the price of coal this winter is a sin.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your water, I said I will get it back when the mine pays out.
The bailiff will fine me blind before then, you thief.