stone hauler at the walls, of Kuttenberg
“I haul stone like a mule, but I am a landowner by rights, no matter what my scheming sisters say.”
Things Henslin Metzger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Saw Ursel stringing a fence across the best soil on the far strip today. Mein Gott, the nerve of that woman! That land is mine by right of the eldest son. Let the magistrates decide, I say, before I tear those posts up with my bare hands.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his brow so fiercely with his sleeve I thought he would rub the skin entirely off.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Another day hauling rock at the wall. My back aches and my hands are split. If old Bartel had not died of the sweating sickness, I would not be treated like a common digger. At least Andreas Engel understands the indignity of being robbed by one's own blood.
Ay, it is a bitter cup we drink, Henslin. Brothers and sisters are a curse upon a man.
I miss Bartel too. He always knew how to spare a man's bad hand with the lighter loads.
Holy Wednesday, at Prime
That little whoreson Lorenz Braun had the gall to give me advice on the mortar today. A light-fingered pup who pawns war gear telling me my trade! I told him he will be dancing on a rope before the year is out.
I only said it was too dry, you miserable old badger!
Do not speak to him, Henslin. I have not spoken to my neighbour in a year and my life is much improved.
Nota scribaeDictated at the market. The scribe was made to wait while the man bought a stale loaf and complained of the price.
the eve of St Gregory, at Compline
Sat in the alehouse until my purse was empty, matching grievances with Andreas. The price of bread goes up every week thanks to those Hungarian bastards on the roads, and Barbara is whispering poison to the bailiff to take my land. Christ almighty, a man cannot catch his breath.
At least we have the ale, my friend. Let them scheme, they will meet their judgment.
Candlemas, at Terce
The priests tell us to light candles, but I am saving my pennies for the magistrates. Ursel and Barbara have started working the far strip as if the deed were already theirs. I will see them in front of the bailiff if it takes my last groschen!
The deed will be ours, Henslin. You would just sell the good soil for ale anyway.
Nota scribaeHe spat upon the ground after naming his sisters.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Father meant that soil for us, Henslin. Stop drinking your wages and do some real work for once.
Real work? I break my back moving stone while you steal my dirt out from under me!
The magistrates know you are nothing but a drunkard.