hired hand of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I know what my sweat is worth and I keep my head down. If a merchant pays in silver, I will load his cart, but I will not be worked to death for mouldy bread.”
Things Menhard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Vespers
If a man loses a few groschen at dice, it is only the turning of the world. But if John Goathead comes asking for his helmet and gambeson before the summer muster, tell him the ale-wife has it and I will pay him back when the merchants hire me.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quickly and looked over his shoulder twice while dictating this.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I am making fine wooden spoons to sell in the market. Maurice, if you hear this, I still have that shaping tool you lent me at Candlemas. I will give it back once I am done with this batch, no need to be sour about it.
the third Friday of Lent, at None
People keep asking where Andreas went. I tell you he went to Prague to study his books. A shame about young William swinging on the gallows this week, but he was always clumsy in the dark. Better him than me, bailiff rot his bones.
My Andreas is a good boy. If you led him into mischief before he left, Menhard, you will answer for it.
Nota scribaeHe asked that the part about the gallows be struck out, then changed his mind and drank from another man's cup.
the Tuesday after St Matthias, at Terce
These German foremen expect a man to break his back moving heavy timber for two pennies. I took one look at the cart and walked away. I will do piece-work or nothing. Now if someone would buy me a round of weak ale, I would be obliged.
Come to the tavern by the wall, I have got a jug and we can curse the foremen together.
Candlemas, at Sext
I passed by Tobias's fences today. Broken right through, and serve him right for a rich miser. Up at Pach, John is shouting at his kin again and Heinz is fighting over dirt. Fools, the lot of them. A man with no hearth has no headaches.
Call me a fool to my face, Menhard, and you will see how heavy my fists are.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled of stale ale and had hay in his hair.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Fourteen groschen, Menhard. You have until Sunday to get my gear out of pawn, or I will take it out of your hide.