armorer of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I make good shields for the garrison. It ought to be enough for a man to buy his own bread and make his own choices, but some folks will not let you be.”
Things John Fuller had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Finished six shields for the soldiers today. I ran my thumb along the rims, the steel is perfect. My father came by just to throw a hammer and tell me I am ruining us over a washerwoman. By the saints' bones, I am too tired for this.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking and kept his eyes fixed upon his boots.
The eve of St George, at None
I went down to the riverside vats to see Magdalena. She smiled at me. It makes the soot and the shouting bearable. Let him scream all he wants about her, I intend to marry her anyway.
Hold your ground, brother. I am fighting the same battle in my own parish.
The Friday after Easter, at Compline
I saw that arrogant guard Claus take Cecily's tin pitcher into his room after draining her ale. It is a shameful way to treat a maidservant, but I kept my mouth shut. There is enough shouting in this yard as it is.
The feast of St Benedict, at Prime
I made a fair wage this week, but Walter demands every groschen of it. He treats me like an unruly child. The bread is dearer this year because of all the soldiers on the roads, but my work pays for it well enough if he would let me keep it.
Your sainted mother Lettice would weep to see your disrespect.
Nota scribaeThe man was rubbing a thick callous on his thumb the entire time.
Candlemas, at Terce
Fritz the hired hand is lingering by the fence again. I reckon he is just avoiding his master's chores. He is a decent enough fellow, if entirely beaten down, but I wish he would find another spot to stand.
I only hoped to speak with you a moment, John, about a small matter of fifteen groschen for the priest.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She is a mud-footed strumpet who will drag us right back into the gutter, John!
Leave it be, old man.