townsman and cart watcher, of Kuttenberg
“I am an old man with an honest trade watching carts for the merchants in the lower market. I have earned my rest from the heavy lifting, and I keep my own counsel.”
Things Matthew Coleman had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
Whitsun, at Vespers
The merchants are drinking deep today, so I am standing by their wagons. My back is screaming like a stuck pig, but I grip my staff and let none of these young pups see it. Better to swallow the pain than beg for coin.
Nota scribaeHe groaned loudly whilst dictating this, leaning heavily on a thick stick.
The eve of St Philip and St James, at Sext
I paid a good penny for a letter to Endres Kraus. I owe the stubborn mule three groschen from the firewood we split last Easter. I pray some stranger will carry the parchment to him so he gives me until St John's day to find the silver.
I do not need a piece of parchment, Matthew, I need my three groschen! You know I am an honest man wronged by Bynyek, do not wrong me too.
The third day of Easter week, at None
Word in the market is that Maresh the foreman was sent packing to Prague for the drink. God will judge the man who broke my back and Philip's hand under that scaffolding seven winters ago, but I am glad to see him ruin himself.
May the devil take his liver and the Hungarian dogs take his purse.
The feast of St Gregory, at Prime
I have no time for the noise in this town. Jarda Carpenter and Godfrey Fuller are squawking over a broken ash-wood trestle and a tin pitcher like two wet hens. They do not know what real trouble is, crying over spilled ale and stolen cups.
That pitcher was stolen, old man, and my tools are worth more than your opinions. Mind your carts.
If you had to deal with my mother Isolde weeping near Prague, you would squawk too!
Nota scribaeHe hit the table with his staff to make the point.
Candlemas, at Terce
A bitter frost this morning. It brings the ache deep into the bone, reminding me of the day the timber snapped. Philip Black and I stood our ground in the yard today. We cover for each other when the bosses look our way. A man must have some pride left.
The dirt by the Sedletz road is frozen solid, too. The whole town is going to the dogs.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern wall. He took deep breaths between words.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, grit your teeth, Matthew. We will have our rest in heaven, where there is no hauling.
Father, you should sit by the hearth. I can bring you some stew, I have coin enough.
Keep your coin, lad. I earn my keep honest.