ore hauler, of Kuttenberg
“I am a man of means waiting on his due, God's truth. A bit of bad luck has me hauling sacks for now, but my brother in Prague is doing well.”
Things Ernest Polner had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
Geoffrey Baker keeps at me to take his message down the road. I've told him three times I am not a carter and I am not going that way. God's truth, if he wants to send word so badly he can pay a proper man to do it. I have my own brother in Prague to send word to, and you don't see me pestering every soul in the yard.
Nota scribaeHe was pacing the whole time he spoke.
the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers
My arms feel like they've been pulled from the sockets. Maurice kept us hauling past the usual time, and for what? The same miserable pennies. Still, it beats sitting in the mud waiting to be picked. I saw Leonard Albrecht struggling with a sack today. Poor bastard. I pray to God my back holds out better than his.
Mind your own back, Ernest. Mine is my own business.
Maurice is a whoreson who docks pay for the wind blowing wrong. We should strike him.
Nota scribaeDictated leaning against the church wall, rubbing his right shoulder.
the feast of Saint George, at Terce
A good morning by the church steps! Andreas Berger lost his lucky bone die to me, fair and square. He wagered it on a cup of ale and the dice fell my way, God's truth. Now he's crying about it being lucky. Well, it's my luck now, and I'm keeping it.
You snatched it before the game was done! Give it back before the Pentecost market, or you'll regret it.
You can have it back when Hugh gives me my plate. Until then, the die stays with me.
the second week of Lent, at Compline
Word is there are more soldiers on the road to Prague. I hope Vashek is keeping his head down. He's a prosperous man now, God's truth, and sends me coin when the roads are clear. But this war ruins everything. A man can't even get a decent letter through without worrying a Hungarian will steal it.
Prosperous? Your brother breaks rocks in a quarry. Who are you fooling, Ernest?
You should save what you have, lad, instead of talking big in Vlasta's cellar.
the day after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Hugh Miller is a sly thief and a liar. I gave him my father's heavy copper plate to keep safe while we were drinking, and now he says it was a pledge for two groschen to pay Vlasta's rent! God's truth, I'll pay someone to get it back. I am not eating my pottage from wood like a beggar while he has my only good piece.
You owed the coin, Ernest. A pledge is a pledge. Bring the two groschen and you can have your plate.
I gave it for safekeeping, you whoreson! You knew I was in my cups.
Vlasta is a saint for letting you sleep there at all, Ernest. Don't cause trouble.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of old ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was only a question, Ernest. You move fast enough when Maurice points a finger.
And I'd move faster if you paid me for the errand. A man's legs aren't free.