armed retainer at the gate, of Kuttenberg
“I carry a sword for the master and keep beggars away from his silver. It is easy work.”
Things Claus had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Walter next door was screaming at his idiot son John Fuller over that mud-footed girl Magdalena again. I stood by the fence laughing until my sides ached. Let the old farmer scream, it is the best entertainment we have.
the feast of St Pancras, at None
Cecily keeps asking about the master's tin pitcher. I told her it is locked in my chest and it stays there. She paid me a penny to fetch ale, but I reckon she owes me for doing her work while she gossips.
Give it back, Claus! The master will have my hide, I already lost Walter's jug!
Go scrub the steps, you lazy cow.
Nota scribaeHe was shifting his weight from foot to foot the entire time he spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I stood by the alehouse yesterday and told those Hungarian bastards what I thought of King Sigismund's dogs. From a good distance, mind you. I can drink any three of them under the table.
You will get us all killed shouting like that.
the Wednesday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Some whoreson stole my lead pilgrim's badge! I bought it in Prague, a fine piece of craftsmanship to prove my travels. I kicked over every stool in the quarters but it is gone. Someone in this house took it.
Nobody took your badge, you were blind drunk and dropped it in the mud.
Nota scribaeDictated while kicking a wooden bucket across the yard.
the Monday after Saint Valentine, at Compline
The master is too young to command any respect, so I do as I please. I spent the morning leaning on the doorframe chewing a good apple. It beats swinging an axe.
Some of us have to work for our bread.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your laughter behind your own fence, you lazy bastard.