piece-worker of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I mend miners' tunics from dawn to dusk, but my mind is on the road east. God willing, I will see my sister again before the world ends.”
Things Beatrice Brook had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Another week and still no word. I asked Matilda Brown again today to turn her wagon east, just to tell my sister I am alive. She looked right through me, muttering about ledgers and toll roads. May her groschen turn to lead.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron so hard she nearly tore a seam.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
Vlasta and Hedvika are shouting again over who will buy dead Martha's broadloom. They scrape for sixty groschen to chain themselves to this miserable yard forever. I would give it all just to find one carter willing to brave the eastern road.
It is an honest living, Beatrice! Better a loom than staring at the town gate all day waiting for ghosts.
Pay them no mind. They do not know what it means to be cut off from kin.
the fourth day of Easter week, at Prime
They say there are more Cumans on the roads burning farms. Christ almighty, I cannot sleep for seeing smoke behind my eyes. If Roger the carter had not been taken for the baggage train, he could have found out if my home still stands.
I will pray for your sister when I walk to Sedletz. God still listens to us.
Save your breath for the road, Apollonia. God has stopped His ears to the poor.
the Monday after St Benedict, at Terce
Mended twelve tunics today. The miners wear through them like paper. Edith spent the whole morning cursing Benesh for the leak in the roof. Let the rain fall, I say. It washes the mud from the yard, even if it leaves us damp.
It is easy for you to say, your corner is dry! The water pours right onto my bedding.
Nota scribaeDictated in a slow, halting voice while the woman sewed.
the first Friday of Lent, at Sext
The priest came round with his book, saying the Pope wants all our lives written down. What good is a book if I cannot read it, and cannot send it? A scrap of paper won't walk to my sister. Let him write that I am still breathing, for now.
Amen. I told the clerk the same. We need a man with a memory, not a priest with a quill.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I run a business, Beatrice. I cannot risk my horses among the Hungarian soldiers for a penny and a sentiment.
A heart of stone, that one. She loves her coin more than Christian charity.