hired hand, of Kuttenberg
“I am a strong back for anyone with a groschen, trying to save a few pennies so I do not starve.”
Things Karl had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
These soldiers on the roads make the masters clutch their silver tight. There is no timber to haul today. I stood by the wall rubbing my shoulders for naught. Praise be to Saint Wenceslas, I have enough saved to pay Philip's wife, but tomorrow I eat nothing again.
the Thursday after the Holy Cross, at Prime
Hans the Pike took a bad knock from a stone and will not stop his bloody moaning in the straw. Humphrey begs me to fetch water for the lad. Christ almighty, my back is broken from carting logs all day, I am not getting up in the freezing cold.
My head is splitting, Karl. I thought the devil himself was striking the anvil in my skull.
Have some pity. The boy did not wear his cap around the masons, but he needs a cold cloth.
Nota scribaeDictated from the shed floor. The speaker was huddled under a very thin blanket and shivering.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
All I wanted was to make a proper pottage for me and Hans to keep our strength up for the hauling. I only haggled over a half-penny, but the vegetable sellers chased me off with a broom. Now they will not serve me. Would some Christian soul buy me two cabbages? I have five groschen.
You roared at the old woman over a copper, Karl. You are lucky she did not throw the cabbage at your teeth.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
My stomach cramps for want of a decent meal, and all I think of is my mother Agnes in the village. I asked Walter Cooper again to take a message to her when he travels, just to say I am alive and hauling grain. He said no. Sakra, I cannot write the words myself.
I travel to sell my wares, not to run errands for a hired hand two days out of my way.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his shoulders the entire time he spoke, muttering into his chest.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
They spoke of levying a militia to fight the Hungarians, and I feared for my life. I borrowed a padded jack from Jezhek for the muster. But work dried up, and Philip threatened to throw me in the street. God forgive me, I pawned the war kit to the yard master for my bed-penny.
You whoreson. I have been looking in the market square for you. You give me back my jack or I will take it out of your hide.
I am avoiding the square, Jezhek. I swear I will buy it back when the carters hire me again.
A penny a night is the price of the shed. I care not where the coin comes from.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is a hard season, Karl. But the Lord provides, or at least he provides the wall to lean against.