merchant in the market square, of Kuttenberg
“I sell flour and cheese by true weight, though half the town eats on my credit.”
Things Adam Vorsucher had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
I must find a man of weight to speak to my father. He flatly forbids the match with Zlata, saying she is too low for a merchant's son. Mein Gott, if I wait for his blessing I will die an old man with nothing but a wooden box of unpayable debts to keep my bed warm.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his chin so furiously I thought he might strip the skin.
the Monday after Ascension, at None
My sister Rose is working the far strip again as if our father gave it to her. She treats it like her own, but it is mine by right of trade. I am adding up the cost of a bailiff to settle the boundaries once and for all. Family is more expensive than bad flour.
I planted it, I will reap it. Keep to your cheese, brother.
The two of you will argue until the soldiers come and take it from us both.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Fritz Stein struts past my stall with his chest puffed out like a fighting cock, driving good buyers away with his sour face. He is still brooding over Jezhek and a borrowed cart. Jezhek paid his balance in full before he went to Prague, which is more than I can say for the Hradecka marksmen.
Watch your tongue, flour-peddler. Jezhek insulted my honour, and you would do well to remember who guards this town.
Guarding the town does not put silver in my box, Fritz.
Nota scribaeDictated while the merchant polished a set of brass weights.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
They say the Hungarian army and Cuman raiders are thick on the roads. That means no silver from Oldrich z Hradce's estates. Kunigunde sent her maids for a quarter-pound of dried meat and a sack of meal today. I carved another notch in the credit board. This household will ruin me before the summer.
We must eat, Adam. The silver will come when the roads are safe.
The meal was more ash than flour this time anyway.
God's nails, say that again and I will throw my brass weights at your head! My flour is pure.
the eve of Candlemas, at Sext
Poor old Geldstück died in his sleep. Up in heaven he will not have to worry about unpaid tallies. I chewed a heel of old bread for my dinner while I counted the fractions. Nobody has a single penny, and the Pope wants us to write down every thought. I only think of groschen.
Aye, a peaceful end. We should all be so lucky.
Nota scribaeThe merchant refused to stop serving customers while he spoke, making the writing very difficult.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will not marry her, Adam. A merchant needs a wife with standing, not a pretty face from a mud floor.
My stall is the only thing keeping this family in groschen, father.