tablet weaver of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I make my living tying thread into tight bands, and I try to keep my head down. It is better to work hard than spend the day shouting in the street.”
Things Betty Weaver had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Vespers
If any soul would quietly fetch back my best bone weaving die from Sibyl Bauer, I will pay eleven groschen. I lent it in good faith. I cannot weave my best patterns without it, but I will not make a scene at the wash-tubs. It is just not right.
Nota scribaeDictated in a very low voice. She rubbed her temples the whole time.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
Margery Mercer is weeping again over that carpenter Richard who ran off to Kolin. She is too young to know what real love is. The man was a chancer, nothing more. We have worse things to weep over with the mint late paying out and bread dearer every week.
You have no heart, Betty! He loved me.
Let her be. Not all men are chancers. Jan will return from Prague for me.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
The light is good today but my fingers are stiff. I saw Christina Lorenz hiding her pennies away this morning. I do not blame her. With the king's silver late from the mint, the diggers cannot buy my woven trim, and the baker's wife gives less pottage for the coin.
Keep your eyes to your own room, Betty Weaver.
The merchants pay too little for our wares as it is. We will all starve before summer.
Nota scribaeShe paused to warm her hands over my candle.
the second Wednesday in Lent, at Terce
Poor widow Anna is bedridden with the shaking ague again. It is a pity to see her suffer so. And Berchta Weiss is unbearably proud, strutting about after ruining Anna's imported dye and never so much as saying a word of sorrow. I try to keep my distance from such noise.
The pot was in my way. If she were not a sharp-tongued old crone, I might have offered a copper.
Candlemas, at Sext
Sibyl Bauer begged to borrow my best bone-carved weaving die to finish her piece-work and pay her rent. I lent it out of neighbourly trust. It cost me a month of sore fingers to afford that tool. I pray she treats it well and returns it by Sunday.
May God bless you, Betty. You have saved me from sleeping in the snow.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you, it is a lawful pledge! You ruined a whole batch of my linen thread on the spindle, Betty.
That thread was rotten to begin with, Sibyl. You know it well.
Eleven groschen is a fair sum. If she does not give it back, she is a thief.