beggar on the steps, of Kuttenberg
“I sit on the church steps and hold out a bowl. The Hungarian march ruined my leg, and now I watch honest men walk by.”
Things Gaunt Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
My fine cousin Markvart Schmidt walked past the steps today and turned his face to the wall again. I do not want your silver, lad. I just want a cup of cheap wine and a plain conversation like we used to share before you grew so proud.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly. The man paused frequently to cough and stare at the dirt.
the eve of St George, at Sext
Itchy Roger says it was my fault Maurice was left in the mud on the march. Christ almighty, Stinky William is the one who ran. Maurice is better off dead in the dirt than begging here in Kuttenberg with the rest of us anyway.
You had the cart, Thomas. You could have pulled him.
I didn't run. The Hungarian riders were coming and the boy was already dead of the flux.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The sun finally hit the lower steps this morning. It thaws the ache in my ruined leg a little. My brother Markvart and I claimed the spot early, before Musty Fritz could drag his arse over and crowd us out.
There is room for three if you pull in that crooked leg of yours.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of old sweat and wet wool. I had to stand upwind.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Vespers
Veit Muller is parading around town, but I know he pawned a piece of Markvart's war gear to Paul down the lower street. It makes me laugh. A rich burgher letting another man pawn his kit.
Hold your tongue! Veit swore he would redeem it before Easter.
Candlemas, at Terce
Three winters since the levy took us. Sometimes I wake up on the stones and still think I am freezing in the Hungarian march. At least in the slum there are no Cumans to spear you.
The wind in the slum is bad enough, friend. Here, I saved you half a bruised apple.
Nota scribaeHe stared at his hands the whole time he spoke. It took until Sext to finish.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your voice down, Thomas. I will send a boy with a penny, just leave my name out of it.