guard at the mint, of Kuttenberg
“I wear the Lord of Bergov's colours and guard the mint. I survive by using my head.”
Things Joerg had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Prime
The captain put me on the night watch again. It is quiet in the dark. I watched Thomas struggling to lift a halberd with that crushed hand of his. I said nothing. A man does what he must to keep from begging on the church steps, and the captain has eyes everywhere.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Adam spent the whole shift glaring at my back. It has been two years since Maleshov and he still thinks a captain should order his men to die in the mud for nothing. Maurice was cut off and dead before I gave the word to retreat. I stayed alive.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed his arms and stared at the wall for a long time after saying this.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Still waiting for my wages. It is hard to celebrate the risen Christ with dust in your purse. I would drink at the cellar on the square but the new ale-wife will not let a man run a slate. I miss Constance. When she went to Prague last autumn, the good ale went with her.
God preserve Constance. She poured a heavy measure and never bothered a man until payday.
the Wednesday of the third week of Lent, at None
John is a green boy who does not know his place. I lent him my fine copper jug to fetch spiced wine and he still has it. He thinks he can hold it hostage over a certain matter we settled in a broken chapel last autumn. I should pay a miner to break his nose.
The jug is safe enough. You know what I am owed from the mud.
Nota scribaeHe lowered his voice when speaking of the chapel and checked the door.
Candlemas, at Terce
The carts from the mint are heavier today and the miners are already brawling in the square. I bought a handsome copper jug from a tinker to drink my wine from like a burgher. I let John use it to fetch a draught. A man needs some small comforts in this draughty place.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You coward. You left him to the arrows when we could have formed up.
We would have been corpses beside him. Drink your ale and let the dead lie.