beggar at the havirska shelters, of Kuttenberg
“I am a beggar but I will not die in the mud. I just need a little more silver.”
Things Cross-eyed Adam had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
By Saint Barbara, the burghers are tight-fisted this month. I still need eighteen groschen for old Francis by Saint John's Eve, or his daughter will chop that oak cart into firewood. If I fail, Nicholas and I will rot in a mass grave before we turn thirty.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very fast and kept looking at the wall rather than at me.
the Tuesday after Quasimodo Sunday, at Prime
Paul begged me again for four groschen to rent a dry cellar. His Anna is hacking up her lungs in the spring damp. I told him no. If I break into the hoard, we will never get the cart, and we all die beggars. I will not die in the mud for his wife's chest.
She will not see the summer because of your greed! You care more for silver than your friends.
The cart will save us all, Paul. You just cannot see it yet.
the Wednesday before Easter, at Sext
It is madness to pay a thief like Osbert two groschen a month for a puddle. The eastern roof of Paul's shed caved in last winter, and that bedridden bastard off the main square will not patch it. I told Paul he is a fool to hand over silver for rotting timber.
It is a roof. Where else am I to put Anna? The streets?
Be glad I do not charge you for the rain that falls through the hole, you dirty whoreson.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted when the man had to chase another beggar from his spot.
the feast of St Gertrude, at None
The troops on the roads have made bread dearer than silver. A loaf is up by two hellers in Kuttenberg. Scraping together coin feels like trying to catch water in a sieve. I rub my thumb against my fingers and just pray Saint Barbara sends a generous miner my way.
A miner threw me a crust yesterday, but a bigger lad took half of it before I could bite.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
Woke up before first light shivering with Nicholas. My eyes are always worse in the cold. We stood by the fires at the havirska shelters to thaw our hands. Five winters I have shared the dirt with Paul, but he is soft. I must get out of this mud before it swallows me.
Stick close to the fire tonight, Adam. The big men are restless.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his eyes constantly while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We won't rot, Adam. Just keep the coins safe where nobody can see.
You would let us all die for pieces of wood, you blind bastard.