militiaman at the warehouse, of Kuttenberg
“I am a soldier of the militia guarding the poorhouse warehouse. God's truth, it is dull work for a man of my talents, but it pays.”
Things Heinz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Sext
Hermann is still whining about his rusty axe. I told him I lost it, but he knows I have it. If he stops asking me to walk all the way to Pschitoky to see his sister Elsbeth, maybe he will get it back. I have maids of my own to visit on my rest days, God's truth.
Nota scribaeHe scratched his neck the entire time he spoke.
the eve of St Philip and St James, at Vespers
I took the day shift so I could stand in the sun, but they wanted me to move grain sacks. I left Claus to do it. Franz and I are going to see Gerta for some sour ale. A soldier needs his rest.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Bread is dearer again because of the King's brother and his Cumans on the roads. It makes a man think of the fighting. I saw action near Kolin last summer, God's truth. The maids love a man who has stood in the line, though I would rather stay here by the yard.
We should pray for peace, Heinz, not boast of war.
Nota scribaeDictated from a hayloft where he was sleeping off his ale.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Compline
Fritz was talking big by the fire tonight. It makes me sick. If he had not run like a coward on Saint Bartholomew's day, my cousin Konrad would still be drinking with us. He left him to the Cumans in the woods while we were by the carts.
the Thursday after St Matthias, at Terce
The loft is freezing and the older men do nothing but complain about their aching bones. Jan is praying again and Hermann is snoring. I told them about the miller's daughter I met on the road, but they do not listen. God's truth, I am wasted in this poorhouse guard.
There was no miller's daughter, Heinz. You were asleep in the hayloft all afternoon.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the miller's daughter was not polite.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You took it on Saint George's day to chop wood. Give it back, you lazy whoreson, and take the message to Elsbeth.
I am a busy man, Hermann. The lasses at the tavern do not wait forever.