merchant of grit and salt, of Kuttenberg
“A merchant of good standing who knows the weight of an honest measure. If only the Lord had given me quiet children instead of these trials.”
Things Joerg Binder had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
Saint Barbara protect us, the price of raw grit from the suppliers is high enough to make a man weep. They blame the king's enemies on the roads, but I blame their own greed. I will not mix in cheap wet chalk to make up the difference. A merchant's good name is all he has.
Nota scribaeThe merchant sighed loudly between every other word.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
My neck aches like a devil sits upon it. I watched young Sebastian Torwart hauling sacks this morning, stiff as a board. These young men have lazy blood in them. They should learn the steady rhythm of the trade instead of rushing about like fools. At least my Clara had a hot poultice waiting at home.
The sacks were heavy, Joerg. You try lifting three at once.
I will boil another cloth tonight, husband. Try not to shout at the bakers today.
the eve of St George, at None
My son Fritz will be the death of me. He speaks again of that peddler's daughter, Enneleyn. A vagabond who follows a cart! Saint Barbara protect us from such shame. I am trying to find a cousin in Prague to send the boy to, until he forgets this madness. We are a respectable house.
She is a good Christian woman, father, not a vagabond! You care only for what the market crowd thinks.
I feel your pain, Joerg. My Johannes is just as blind, chasing that washerwoman Ursula. Beggar's spawn, the lot of them.
Enneleyn is an honest girl. You old men have stones where your hearts should be.
Nota scribaeThe boy was standing right there and looked as though he might strike his father.
the Thursday after St Philip and St James, at Vespers
I saw Paul the miner pass by my stall today. He works hard, I will give him that, but he spends too much time at the garrison inn. I suspect my daughter Grete owes him coin for hauling barrels. She must manage her own debts, but I wish she would find a wealthy burgher to settle with.
I manage fine, father. Paul is a good lad and he helps when the hired hand doesn't show.
I'm happy to haul a barrel for a fair pour of ale, Master Binder. No debts between us.
the Friday before Whitsun, at Terce
Fritz Hartmann and Nickel Hahn are circling old Menhard’s door like starving dogs, bringing the old man bread in hopes of taking his stall when he dies. Fools, both of them. A good stall is earned with years of steady measures, not by waiting for a dead man's shoes. Saint Barbara, grant me patience.
Old Menhard appreciates the bread, Joerg. At least I am doing Christian charity.
Charity! You brought him a crust yesterday. But Joerg is right, you'll never get that lease.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his neck the entire time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Ay, the roads are rotten with soldiers, but an honest man still has to eat. We bear the burden.
If old Menhard would give up his stall, we might all have a little more room to turn a profit.