baker, of Kuttenberg
“I haul flour and bake bread on Ceska street. It's an honest living, but the ash coats my throat all day.”
Things Hugh Field had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Vespers
Master Fritz asked me again today to carry a letter to his cousin when I go travelling. I told him I have too much flour to haul this week, so I cannot leave Kuttenberg. He just nodded and said there's always next week. My throat is so full of ash I could barely speak to refuse him.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his throat throughout the dictation and coughed twice.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Sebastian stood staring at the wall today while three good loaves blackened in the oven. I had to snatch them out before they burned to a crisp. If he does not stop dreaming of that girl Lidka in Kolin, we will have nothing but charcoal to sell.
They were only a little dark, Hugh. My mind was on a matter of the heart, not the hearth.
A dark loaf breaks a tooth. Watch your work, Sebastian, or your father will hear of it.
the eve of St George, at None
Hauling three sacks of flour from the mill before dawn is heavy work, but I carried them all without stopping for breath. The girls at the market saw me, I reckon. It is a good thing to have strong shoulders in this town.
Three sacks is a fair load, lad. But try hauling timber all day.
Nota scribaeHe wiped sweat from his brow, though the room was cool.
the Friday after St George, at Sext
Now Alice wants me to take word to her kin when I next travel the road to Prague. I only ever went to the Wheat Market to speak to a girl last summer, but they all think I am a wandering merchant. I just wiped the flour from my brow and walked away quickly.
It is no great burden to take a message, Hugh. You've walked the road before, you said so yourself.
My feet are needed by the ovens, Alice. The road is too long for a working man.
the Feast of the Ascension, at Terce
Bread is dearer than last year, and the soldiers on the roads make the flour carts late. We bake what we can. If Master Fritz and Alice would just pool their groschen and hire a real courier, they would leave me in peace to sweep the ash from my throat.
Aye, the soldiers take what they want. God preserve us all from this mess.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the soldiers was not fit for the page.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is a fair road, lad. You know the way better than most. The letter will not weigh you down.
Aye, Master Fritz, but the ovens need tending. The dough won't wait for a traveler.