beggar in Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I sit by the tanners' vats for crusts. A man survives by looking after his own feet.”
Things Squinty Jan had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Pentecost, at Vespers
The sun is finally warm enough to walk the farm tracks, but my knees are too stiff to make it past the first barn on the Suchdol road. Let the younger lads go. I will sit by the tanners' vats and eat what the watchmen do not want.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly. He stopped thrice to rub his joints.
the feast of St Mark, at None
Shabby Thomas wants his old shoes back or his message carried to his kin in Suchdol. I told him he owes me three groschen upfront to walk that far. The shoes he gave me had holes in the soles, barely worth a patch of leather.
You took the shoes, Jan! Give them back or walk the road like you promised.
I promised nothing. The shoes keep the mud off my heels, and that is all they are good for.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
There are soldiers on the roads again and talk of levies. If the town bailiff comes dragging men from the slum like he did two winters past, my boy Godfrey is not going. Let Sleepy Joerg and the young ones carry the firewood this time.
I can carry my share, father. We cannot hide if the bailiff calls.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed his thick arms and stared at me until I wrote down his exact words.
the Wednesday of the third week of Lent, at Terce
Sleepy Joerg is whining again about the march to Kolin. He dropped the camp kettle in the mud because he was dreaming of that washerwoman instead of watching the cart. And now the boys hiss about Lambert freezing. A drunkard dies of his own stupidity, not mine.
You were older, Jan. You should have woken him when we found that wine wagon near Grunta!
Keep your voice down about that march, Joerg. We do not need the quartermaster's men sniffing around.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
The stone in the widows' cellars was colder than a grave last night. I paid my single heller, but a man deserves a dry spot for that coin. Shabby John and I will have to find a better corner by the church wall before we freeze like cobbler's boys.
The cold is rotting my bones. Even the church steps offer no mercy from this wind.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of the tanners' quarter.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stay by the church wall, Jan. The farms give nothing but dog bites this year.