preacher of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I read the scripture plainly so the vicar stays away, and try not to look at the empty pews.”
Things Gottfried Kramer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at None
There are men with heavy boots walking our street today. Clara says it is just the bailiff's clerks checking the levy roll, but my stomach is water. The Lord says the meek shall inherit the earth, but I fear they will inherit a Hungarian pike first.
Nota scribaeHe paced the churchyard the whole time he spoke, wringing his hands.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
William Horner sat at the back of the nave again this morning, smiling that terrible easy smile. He whispered about twenty groschen when I walked past the font. The boy does not understand the danger. I cannot sell him what is locked beneath my bed.
It is perfectly good silver, preacher! The taverns need a good song of the pear tree, and you need the coin.
Proverbs say a fool's mouth is his ruin. Leave me in peace, William.
the Monday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
The church steps are swept, the altar is prepared, and the pews are entirely empty. The quiet is a sign of newfound piety, I tell myself. The common folk do not need the old tales of the lion to know God's grace.
My master John misses the story of the Trojan women. You used to do all the voices.
We must not speak of the Trojan women, child. The vicar has forbidden it.
Nota scribaeDictated while sweeping. He sighed heavily between every sentence.
the eve of St Gregory, at Vespers
The frost still bites at the windows, and bread is dearer than ever. I hear they are moving troops down the valley. I keep my head bowed and do not look at the road. A quiet man is a safe man in these times.
I chopped extra wood for the vicarage. You would freeze otherwise, preacher.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
Vicar Osbert summoned me to the chapter house today. He made me swear a holy oath on the relics to never tell fables from the pulpit again, nor show laughter or tears. I have locked the little book away. I pray for strength.
It is for the best, husband. Do not cross him.
A waste of good stories. Let me read them, I promise no one will know where I learned them.
Nota scribaeThe man was trembling so fiercely he nearly knocked over my ink.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Come inside, Gottfried. The shutters are drawn.
They took three from Suchdol yesterday. Hide your good boots, preacher.