beggar at the church steps, of Kuttenberg
“I am a working man brought low by a ruined knee. My hands are still good, but people walk past and see only the mud on my cloak.”
Things Lazy Kunz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after Saint Pancras, at Terce
My Anna cannot keep down the monks' pottage. If any strong lad has the legs to walk out to the farmsteads and find me eight fresh eggs, I will give him what thanks a poor tradesman can. The cold damp is in her chest and I cannot bear to watch her waste away.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his leg the whole time he spoke and coughed wetly onto my table.
the Feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, at None
Sleepy Roger keeps whining like a child about his spade. I told him the mud wall behind our stall is crumbling and I am not finished. A grown man with a healthy father to look after him has no cause to plague a crippled father over a piece of iron.
I saw you handing something to Ursel last month, Kunz. Was it a spade?
Hold your tongue, William. A tradesman's business with the ale-wife is his own.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Christ is risen, but my drawshave has not returned. Warty Heinz took it before the winter broke, claiming he had work for a carpenter. A drawshave costs a month's honest sweat. How can I seek proper work when a thief keeps my tools?
The wood is too wet to shape yet. It is safe under my sack, Kunz, do not fret yourself into a fever.
If you have no tool, you can carry messages south for me. I can pay you in crusts.
My knee bends the wrong way, Fritz, or I would.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Ursel is a stone-hearted harpy. She threatened to have the bailiff drag us all to the pillory if we did not clear our slates. I had to scrape together my last groschen to keep the roof over my poor Anna's head. It is a cruel spring when an ale-wife holds the whip over honest men.
Pay what you drink, Kunz. The bailiff's rope does not care about your knee.
She took my good boots. The devil will have her one day, mark me.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very quietly, looking over his shoulder toward the square.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
The soldiers have eaten the town bare and there is no charity left. I sit here in the frost and my knee burns like fire. At least Warty Heinz has found some work and borrowed my drawshave. I pray he earns enough to share a loaf with Anna and me.
God bless you, Kunz. I will bring it back by Sunday.
Better to freeze outside than die of the winter fever like poor Oswald did.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I would walk for you, Kunz, if you finally gave me back my spade. I need it for the ditch.
The mud wall still needs shoring up, Roger. Have some pity for a sick girl and a crippled father.