cloth merchant of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I deal in cloth and keep my affairs in order. It takes a sharp mind to stay afloat when half the town is ruined by soldiers.”
Things Ernest Weaver had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Friday before Whitsun, at None
The bell for the town militia will ring soon, and I am a respectable man who should stand in the ranks. But Mathes is holding my war gear out of spite for a paltry thirty groschen. A man cannot serve the King in his tunic. Someone tell him to bring it to the market.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his belly the whole time he spoke and looked over his shoulder twice.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
If Robert Cook is looking for that kit, he ought to know the times are hard. A merchant must make arrangements. I only set it aside with the ale-wife until trade improves. I will have it back before the muster, he need not make a fuss in the square.
You thief! You pawned my harness to buy cheap beer? God's nails, I will drag you to the bailiff!
the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, at Terce
My stomach burns like a forge, and the roof leaks onto my bed. I know a rival in the cloth trade has done this. But I have taken measures. A man provided me a parchment for twenty groschen and my good hood. I keep it against my chest, and I will see my enemies ruined.
Keep it dry, merchant. And if the pain moves to your arse, that costs another twenty.
I told you I knew the men to ask.
Nota scribaeHe showed me a scrap of charcoal gibberish and claimed it was holy.
the Feast of St Gregory, at Prime
Sigismund's whoresons at the gates take their cut of every yard of linen I bring in. A respectable townsman can barely afford a heel of bread and thin beer. And some fool stole my purse last month. May St Barbara watch over my stall, for the watch certainly does not.
Aye, the soldiers take what they want. Better a thin purse than a slit throat, Master Weaver.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
Sitting in the Hole in the Wall. The ale is weak but it settles the bile. I heard that young woodcutter Roger boasting he knows every shady dealer in Kuttenberg. If a man needed to find someone who understands certain old ways, quietly, he might ask a lad like that.
I know everyone worth knowing. Come find me when you have silver.
You want another cup of this weak ale or are you just going to sit there groaning?
Nota scribaeDictated in the tavern corner. He asked me to write quietly.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You pawned it to me, Ernest. Pay the thirty groschen or fight the Hungarians in your underlinen.