blacksmith, of Kuttenberg
“I am Robert, master of this forge. We do fine work here, and we manage well enough, despite what some wagging tongues might say about the merchants being slow to pay.”
Things Robert Mailer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after the Invention of the Cross, at Vespers
The merchants have not paid for my last three shipments. It is the war, of course, the roads are not safe. But that foreman Jan at the Italian Court is filling heads with promises of regular silver. A man should show loyalty to his master when the season is lean, not look to jump like a rat to a German's purse.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very fast and wiped his hands on his apron the whole time.
the Monday after Misericordia Domini, at Prime
Richard is becoming terribly clumsy. Today he ruined three good pieces of iron before Sext. I yelled at him to keep the bellows moving, but he moves like an old man. Good iron does not grow on trees, and I cannot afford to waste the charcoal next month either.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I was at Franz's alehouse yesterday. The talk was all of the war and the king's absence. The Germans are conspiring to bankrupt honest Czech masters, I am certain of it. They keep the coin close and starve out the local forges. We hold on, though. My father's legacy will not fall.
Drink your ale, Robert, and leave the politics to the lords.
Aye, the times are hard for all of us with hammers, friend.
Nota scribaeDictated at the alehouse, after his third cup.
the Wednesday in the first week of Lent, at Terce
It has been three winters since my mother Mary died of the fever. God rest her. She had a sharp eye for the ledger. The accounts have been a tangled mess since, but a good smith keeps iron in the fire. We manage.
She was a fine, pious woman, your mother. The Lord has her now.
the morrow of Saint Blaise, at Sext
Yesterday I lent my second-best hammer to John the herdsman to fix his ox pen. It was a simple loan between neighbours. Today the whole market is saying I gave it to him as a gift. I cannot demand it back like a miser, but I need it for the anvil.
You are a generous man, Robert! The pen is holding strong thanks to your fine gift.
Yes, well. Take good care of it.
Nota scribaeHe muttered something under his breath about hoping a stranger would buy it back for ten groschen.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Loyalty does not buy bread, Master Robert. I have not seen a full wage since Lent.
The ledger will be settled when the iron is paid for. Keep your temper.