apprentice at the forge, of Kuttenberg
“I pump bellows for men who stand and fight. Just trying to wash ash from my throat.”
Things Ralph had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Holy Trinity, at Vespers
The spring muster for Saint John's day is coming and the captain will be looking at our kit. I spit on it all. I need fifteen groschen by Sunday or I don't know what I'll do. Martin the broker is a bloodsucking whoreson.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He kept spitting on the floor until the tapster shouted at him.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Compline
Joan Bell won't shut up about Elizabeth the weaver and that ruined apron. My head is splitting. At least Alice has the sense to pour thin ale quietly, though the poor lass winces every time she lifts a tray. A body breaks easy in this town.
If Elizabeth begged forgiveness in the square like a good Christian I would hold my peace!
the third day of Easter week, at None
The priest says Christ is risen, but Jan isn't. Left in the mud at Maleshov because some cowardly whoreson couldn't hold the line. I drink to him today, and I drink to the ruin of those who run first.
Leave it be, lad. The Cumans were too many for any of us.
He was a fool who didn't know when to fall back. We all ran, Ralph. Even you.
Nota scribaeHe was drunk and refused to look up from his boots while speaking.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
My arms are shaking like leaves. Pump the bellows, haul the coal, eat the soot. Master yells if the fire drops for even a heartbeat. I am going to the dira to wash the iron taste out of my mouth before I drop dead.
If you worked as hard as you complained, you would be a journeyman by now.
Aye, I will meet you there. My throat is as dry as a lime kiln.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
I needed ale to mourn Jan properly. A man has to drink for his dead brothers. So I paid a visit to Martin's cellar. Fifteen groschen for a heavy piece of iron. Let the man who owns it buy another with his coward's wages.
Martin is a thief. You will never see that piece of iron again.
Nota scribaeThe subject requested I omit the name of the iron item, staring at his boots the whole time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Where is my kettle hat, Ralph? You said you left it at your master's.
Go to hell, William. You broke the wall at Maleshov.