beggar of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a levied man on standby awaiting marching orders. Do not mistake me for these slouching vagrants.”
Things Sniffling Fritz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The watchmen marched past the baker's wall today and I nearly shat myself. I checked my head twice to make sure the wind was not a missing iron cap. If they call the muster before I get my gear back, the bailiff will have my neck stretching. I need a messenger west.
Nota scribaeHe stood rigidly at attention while dictating this, though his knees were shaking.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Mucky Richard is a bloody thief. I gave him half a loaf of good bread on Saint John's day to march west to Tachov and tell my sister Svatava I need coin for the armourer. He took my rations and never left the square. He sits there shouting nonsense instead of honouring his contract!
I have my own business in the north! And there is no sister in Tachov, you lying whoreson.
By the bailiff's rope, Svatava is real and you owe me half a loaf or a march west!
Palm Sunday, at Sext
I tried to form these miserable bastards into a proper line for the alms-giving at the church doors. Stinky Claus wandered off, and Thomas started weeping over his wooden bird again. If the Cumans come, this rabble will be slaughtered. A levied man cannot work with such undisciplined recruits.
Mother Marushka used to hold my hand in the line. I miss her.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly on the church steps until the priest threatened him with a broom.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at None
Ginger swore to me he only needed my gambeson for a single night's duty. He took my iron cap too. I requisitioned that gear with my last groschen so I would not hang for desertion! Now the whoreson has pawned it for ale. I am bareheaded and waiting for the hangman.
It was a thirst like the devil's own fire, lad. The alehouse keeper has it safe enough.
Aye, we drank well on your iron hat. Best tasting gambeson in Kuttenberg.
Ash Wednesday, at Terce
Bread is dearer than last year, but a soldier on standby must maintain his strength. I barked at a fat merchant in the lower square for pillaged rations, but he only threw a single penny in the mud. By the hangman's knot, the King's levies are treated worse than stray dogs.
You are not a levy, Fritz. You sleep in an alley.
Nota scribaeHe insisted I write 'pillaged rations' instead of 'alms'.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep whining and I will pawn your boots next, you mad bastard.
Christ almighty, stop shouting about musters. My head hurts enough already.