beggar by the church wall, of Kuttenberg
“I sit by the church wall to ask for alms, sir, but my heart is with the washerwomen.”
Things Sleepy Joerg had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
I went down to the river today just to see the bathhouse courtyard. Clemence was scrubbing a tub. She looked so beautiful, sir. I told my father Thomas again that we are meant to wed, but he shouted that her father was a thief and we would starve. A gentle heart matters more than bread, I say.
Nota scribaeHe sighed three times while telling me this.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
The rain has made the church wall very cold to sit against, but a goodwife gave me three hellers because I called her lady. Musty Fritz says I should sweep yards for Magdalena the baker's wife instead, to get crusts. I do not want to soil my hands when begging politely works just as well.
Keep your soft hands, lad. More warm crusts for those of us who aren't afraid of a broom.
the Monday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
There are so many of the Hungarian king's soldiers on the roads now. It frightens the good churchgoers, sir. Stinky William says the soldiers make the bread dearer, which means fewer pennies in my bowl. I only hope the soldiers do not bother the washerwomen by the river.
Aye, they take everything and leave us beggars to starve. Keep your head down, Joerg.
Nota scribaeDictated at the church door. The boy kept looking toward the river.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at None
Squinty Jan yelled at me again today about the march to Kolin. He says I lost Jezhek's camp kettle in the mud because I was daydreaming. I told him we were all too numb to think straight in that bitter cold. Poor Lambert froze in the ditch, God rest his soul, and Jan worries over an iron pot.
You set it down in the muck and wandered off! If we had hot broth, Lambert might have lived.
Nobody could save him, Jan. We were all freezing.
Candlemas, at Terce
My brother Roger and I huddled in the cellar last night, waiting for the morning bells. My father Thomas says it will be a hard spring. I pray the Lord grants us enough coppers from the passing folk today. If I gather enough, I might buy a ribbon for Clemence.
Keep the coppers for food, Joerg. Mother is hungry.
Listen to your brother. A ribbon will not fill our bellies, child.
Nota scribaeThe father tried to interrupt the dictation here, but I held up my hand.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You are a fool, boy. She brings nothing but that tub. We will not speak for you!
A beggar with a wife! Heh heh. You will eat mud and call it a feast.