craftsman in timber and bone, of Kuttenberg
“I keep a steady bench and do fair work for the townsmen. I survived the mud with the levy last autumn, and I ask only to be left to my tools.”
Things Robert Cook had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
They are talking of another muster. God's wounds, my hands are raw from wiping them on this apron. I am an honest craftsman, not a soldier. If the magistrates call us up again, I do not know what I shall wear to the line.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his hands on his apron no less than four times while speaking.
the feast of St Mark, at Sext
I saw old Drslav Black trying to lift a heavy oak beam near the market today. The man is proud, so I kept my mouth shut and walked on, but it is a hard thing to watch. A man should know when his strength is spent.
I need no pity from a bone-carver. My arms are sound enough.
the second day of Easter week, at None
The miners from the Pach are a tiresome lot. I went for a cup of thin ale at midday and had to listen to Wolfgang and Nickel bickering over a stolen pickaxe. Young Lorenz just sat there staring into his cup. He ought to find a better trade before they ruin him.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
Spoke with Hugh Brook at the market. We are both cursing the name of that pawnbroker Baldwin. The man took himself off to Prague with the winter's desperate bargains, and left honest men in a snare. I only hope he breaks his leg on the road.
If he comes back, we will wring his neck before he reaches the square.
I would settle for getting my things back. The cold was bad, but the shame is worse.
Nota scribaeDictated in a hushed voice, looking over his shoulder.
the Friday after Candlemas, at Terce
Back from the mud and the baggage train. My belly is empty and the winter is cruel. I had to buy firewood and a heel of bread, and a man must do what he must to survive. I made a trade with a travelling broker. I will make it right when the townsmen buy my carvings again.
Glad you are back, Robert. Keep my war kit dry until I need it.
It is perfectly dry, Ernest. Do not trouble yourself.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will wear the helmet and gambeson I lent you, Robert. See that they are polished.
Aye, Ernest. They are safe.