maidservant at the alehouse, of Kuttenberg
“I pour the ale and hear everything the miners let slip. A girl must be careful with secrets here.”
Things Cunne had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Terce
The roof is dripping right onto my straw pallet again. I asked the baker to patch it, but he says the rain is God's will. Lettice and I will be sleeping in a puddle tonight if it does not clear up.
Nota scribaeDictated while wringing out a wet rag.
the feast of St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
I saw Milena Tanner at the end of the street and had to duck behind a dung cart. She still thinks I know a carter heading to her family's village. Christ almighty, if I knew a carter with an empty wagon I would be riding in it myself.
Cunne, please, you said your man was leaving by Sunday! My aunt is out there and the soldiers burned everything.
He drank his horse money, Milena. I will let you know when he is sober.
the Friday after Easter, at Compline
A soldier from the Hungarian camp drank three pitchers and swore King Wenceslas is coming back to Kuttenberg with a grand army. I nodded as if I knew, but who can tell? The bread costs another penny either way. At least Helena the ale-wife has gone to Prague, so there is one less ledger to worry about.
Praise be that Helena took her slate with her. My gear is finally my own again.
Do not trust a soldier's word, Cunne. They lie as easily as they breathe.
Nota scribaeThe girl whispered this to me as if it were treason.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
Poor Kethe is still weeping over Karl. The bloody flux took him before Lent was even over. He was a loud man when he drank, but he spent his wages on her, and that is more than most girls get in this town.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
I told a small tale today. Just a tiny one, to make myself sound like I know the roads. I told Milena Tanner I have a friend who drives a cart up north where the Cumans were raiding. I only wanted her to look at me with some respect for once.
Oh Cunne, does your carter go near Endres's village? Please ask him to look for my Endres in the woods!
No, Denise, he goes a different way. A very different way.
Nota scribaeShe looked over her shoulder three times while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
At least the rain washes the ale stink off us.
Stop your whining and move the straw. My mother Martha would have slept standing up if she had to.