hired hand at the armoury, of Kuttenberg
“I work the bellows and strike the rough iron for master Jacob. My shoulders ache from the heavy hammer, but it is honest sweat, and I know the heat of the fire better than anyone.”
Things Kunz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Saint Vitus's Day is coming fast, and I am still short of the master's price for the anvil lease. I counted my groschen beneath the stone again this morning. If I can just keep my arms swinging a few more weeks, I might have the sum. Not a word of this to anyone.
Nota scribaeDictated at the forge. The man kept rolling a bent nail between his fingers the entire time.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Compline
Sitting at the tavern resting my arms, and William is weeping into his cup over his mother Elizabeth again. The Hungarians took the north, and tears will not buy her back. Drink your ale before Mary waters it down any further, boy.
You have a heart of stone, Kunz. She is out there somewhere, I know it.
He speaks practical truth, William. You must accept how things are.
My ale is as strong as the day it was brewed, you insolent ox.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Master Jacob had us shaping heavy steel since Prime. My joints ache like an old cart on rough cobbles, but we did not burn a single piece today. Fritz nearly dropped the tongs on his foot, the hot-headed fool.
I did not drop them! The iron was too heavy for your slow hands to strike in time.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Grain costs more every week with the king's brother and his soldiers on the roads. It takes too many pennies just to keep a man's belly full for the hammer work. It makes hoarding a hard thing.
Bread is dear for us all, Kunz. We must trust in the Lord to provide.
Nota scribaeHe spoke slowly, staring into the coals.
Candlemas, at Prime
Master Jacob announced he will sell his old master's tools and the lease to the small anvil for forty groschen. It is a king's ransom for a hired hand, but it is my one way out of this shed before my back breaks for good.
Forty groschen is a fair price for good Kuttenberg tools, my friend. May God grant you the silver.
Nota scribaeWhispered so quietly I could barely hear him over the hammer blows.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
What sum are you hiding, old man? The master pays us both the same.
Mind your bellows, lad, and spend less time at the tavern.