greengrocer at the market, of Kuttenberg
“I sell cabbages and hold my coin tight to keep my ungrateful sons out of the dirt.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
My boy John thinks he will marry Magdalena the washerwoman. A mud-footed strumpet! I paid good groschen for his trade. If he weds that dirt, I swear he is no son of mine. Lettice would weep to see it.
Nota scribaeDictated with much shouting and jabbing of a thick finger. The spittle nearly ruined the page.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Bloody Hungarian soldiers took a toll on my cabbage cart again. Cursed whoresons, the lot of them! The bread costs more every week, and these bastards take the rest. I spit on them and their foreign king.
It is a bitter year, Walter. God willing the true King returns soon.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
Now Thomas wants to throw his life away on some low-born girl in his parish, just like his brother! Sakra! Did I work my hands to the bone so my sons could marry beggars?
She is poor, aye, but honest! You cannot rule us from the market stall forever.
Nota scribaeThe merchant's face was purple. I fear for his humours.
the first week of Lent, at None
That scatterbrained maid Cecily knocked a basket of my best spring onions into the street muck with her apron. I took her copper jug. She is not getting it back until I see my ten groschen for the ruined stock!
Candlemas, before Prime
Went to Lettice's grave this morning. I told her I have kept the boys out of the dirt. Armorer and saddler, I made them. It took a tight fist, but by Christ almighty, I built something honest here.
You hold your purse so tight your fingers are blue, Walter.
Better blue fingers than begging for scraps like a useless woodcutter.
Nota scribaeDictated by candlelight in the yard before the morning bells.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Magdalena is a good woman, Father. You care more for your copper than my happiness.
I care that you do not starve in the gutter, you whoreson!