beggar at the butcher's stalls, of Kuttenberg
“I am just a poor girl trying to scrape a few pennies on the cold stones.”
Things Lazy Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
The rain is pouring through the rotted timbers above my straw again. I am soaked to the bone. Albrecht bakes his bread warm and dry above me, but will he spare a single groschen to patch the hole? He will not. If I complain he'll throw me in the mud.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
Poor Ragged Else is terrified. Richard drank all her takings again, and she owes five groschen to the church. If the priest reads her name out on Sunday, she'll die of shame. It is a hard thing when a husband drinks your misery away.
Keep your high reedy voice out of my business, Anna. You have your own troubles.
Thomas begs at the lower market so we don't starve. A husband should work, not drink.
Nota scribaeShe spent a long time rubbing her arms before saying this.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
I am still sitting with a wooden bowl that makes no sound at all. If some kind soul with a heavy purse would give Muddy Apollonia three groschen, she would give my tin plate back. I can give a bent penny to whoever helps me.
It is pawn for the loaf of bread you ate, you lazy little cow. Pay your debts.
That loaf was a gift and you know it! I will starve without that clink.
the Friday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
Isabel and the others marched to Kolin with the spearmen, and look what happened. Wilhelm is dead of the bloody flux. I stayed right here in Kuttenberg. I may be freezing, but at least I am not shitting myself to death in a ditch.
Wilhelm was a good man who shared his rations. You wouldn't know a good man if he gave you a groschen.
He was just another dead fool on a foolish march, Isabel. Anna is right for once.
Nota scribaeDictated by the butcher's stalls. She asked for a penny when we finished.
the day after Saint Blaise, at Sext
Christ almighty, I am ruined! I lent my best tin begging plate to Muddy Apollonia yesterday so she could sound pathetic at the stalls, and the old witch refuses to hand it back. How am I to draw the merchants' eyes now? A wooden bowl is useless.
I fed you when you were hungry. The plate stays with me until the debt is settled.
Never lend your tools, Anna. A beggar without a bowl is just a loiterer.
Nota scribaeShe complained in a very high voice. My ears are ringing.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It rained on me too, Anna. A wet beggar is a pitiful beggar. Might get you a penny.
Stop whining and put a bucket under it, girl.