hauler of oak beams, of Kuttenberg
“I am stuck in this muddy, wretched town with thieves and drunkards, hauling timber when I should be home sowing barley. The Lord knows I do not belong here.”
Things William Brown had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The mud here in Kuttenberg never dries. I wonder if Matthew has the spring barley in the ground yet. It is warm enough now. If I was there I would be pushing the plough, instead of standing outside the counting-house hoping Master Maurice points his fat finger at me.
Nota scribaeHe whined the entire time and kept rubbing his dirty hands together.
the eve of St George, at None
Master Maurice finally picked me today. There was a massive oak beam for the new wall, and none of the other men could lift it. I hoisted it onto my shoulder like it was a twig. John Black tried to lift the other end and nearly broke his wretched back. It serves him right.
Stop boasting and act like a man, William. You nearly dropped it on my foot.
the Wednesday of Easter week, at Prime
My own barn-mate is a whoreson and a thief. I gave John Black ten groschen to pay a carter heading south, to carry a letter telling Matthew I was alive. John drank the coin at the tavern and laughed in my face, saying the carter was a thief anyway. Ten groschen! I cannot sleep for the anger.
The carter would have robbed you, William. I did you a favor. Stop crying about it.
If he stole your coin, bloody his nose. Why do you just sit there whining?
Nota scribaeHe spoke in a high, weeping tone, looking over his shoulder as if afraid.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Kunz Weber is an idiot who cannot keep track of his own tools. Now he is shouting that Hannes Hartung stole his carpenter's axe. Hannes is a miser who would not give a dying man a drop of water, but Kunz probably just left the axe in the mud.
I did not touch his bloody axe. I have my own tools and I take care of them.
the week after Candlemas, at Compline
I miss old Hedvika. She was the only good thing in this town. When work was thin, she let me sit by her hearth and talk about home. She died of a fever, and today her nephew locked us all out of her cellar. Now I have nowhere to go but the freezing barn.
God rest her soul. That nephew is a tight-fisted bastard. We will have to drink at the market now.
Nota scribaeThe man was shivering violently and smelled strongly of damp straw.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Christ almighty, if you mention your brother Matthew one more time I will throw you in the river myself.
You could try, Kunz, but I am strong enough to break you in two. Not that I want a fight.