merchant at the wheat market, of Kuttenberg
“I sell cabbages and roots at the Wheat Market, dear, and try to keep things neat. It is a hard living, but honest.”
Things Joan Mailer had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
Young Sebastian brought me a burnt loaf today. He is a sweet boy, and I know his heart still aches for poor Lidka in Kolin. I wish his parents would not yell at him so. It is a cruel world for a soft heart.
Nota scribaeShe paused to wipe her hands nervously on her apron.
the feast of St Pancras, at Terce
The farmers brought fine turnips this morning. Elizabeth's stall is next to mine, dear, and I moved some of her heavy sacks to the front while she was looking away. Her back gives her enough trouble without hauling dead weight.
You think I do not notice you doing that, Joan, but I do. My thanks.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
There are more soldiers on the roads and fewer greens coming into the city. I hate to haggle, dear, but I had to drop a penny to sell my last basket of roots to a miner's wife. We all must eat, when dusk falls.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Prime
My eyes are red today, dear, but it is only a bad cold. The damp in my room got into my chest, and it ruins cloth too. That is why I have been weeping, no other reason.
Keep salt in the corners, love, it helps with the damp.
I fear salt will not fix a hole the size of a dog in the thatch, Elizabeth.
Nota scribaeDictated at the Wheat Market. She clicked her tongue sharply when asked if she was crying over a man.
the week of Candlemas, at Compline
There is a hole the size of a hound in my thatch, and the rain pours right onto my straw mattress. I asked Edmund to send a roofer, but he told me I could mend it myself or sleep under the bridge because I am late on my coin.
Pay what you owe, Joan, or the bridge it shall be.
The man is a tight-fisted miser. God's nails, even a dog gets a dry kennel.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Thank you, Joan. The bread was too dark for my father's liking, but it is good enough to eat.