townsman hauling his father's goods, of Kuttenberg
“I break my back hauling sacks for my father, who treats me like a boy and keeps me from the only girl I want.”
Things Konrad Wolff had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I spit on the dirt every time I think of Kolin. If I had the silver, I'd march there today and fetch Margery back. But my purse is empty, and my father watches me like a hawk.
Nota scribaeHe paced the whole time he spoke, kicking at the floorboards.
the feast of Saint Mark, at None
My shoulders are raw from hauling timber to the lower market. Heinz takes the coin, and I get a bowl of thin pottage. Saint Barbara give me strength, for I have none left of my own.
Respect your father, Konrad. He puts food in your belly and a roof over your head.
He feeds me scraps, old man. Mind your own business.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Hans Schmidt is an idiot for pawning our war gear to Hynek for ale, but Casper Brown makes too much fuss over rusty iron caps. We have nothing worth defending anyway, not under this roof.
It was thirsty work, Konrad! A man needs a drink.
Leave off, the helmet was rusted through anyway.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
Let Peshek Coleman dodge the bailiff's levy. My father keeps our gear ready, but I wouldn't care if the Cumans came and burned this whole house down. I have nothing to lose.
Keep your voice down about the levy, Konrad. You'll bring the bailiff on us all.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the ground after saying this.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Compline
It has been a bitter winter since my father sent Margery away to her aunt in Kolin. He forbids the match because she has no dowry. If I had one respectable man to speak for us, I'd defy him today.
We should both run away to Prague, Konrad. Leave them all behind.
She is gone, Konrad. Forget her and get back to your work.
Nota scribaeDictated at the alehouse, smelling strongly of cheap beer.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I know the feeling, lad. Old men ruin everything for us.
You will marry who I say, boy, or you will starve in the street.