beggar of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I sit on the stones and ask for coppers from people who pretend they cannot see me.”
Things Muddy Apollonia had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Isabel is a cowardly fool. We found a heavy thing in the mud on the Kolin road a month past, and she sits on it like a broody hen. I want my half in copper coins before we starve, but she weeps about the town watch and whipping posts. Spit on the watch.
Nota scribaeShe spat on the floor of the parish house when she said this.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at None
Isabel is still weeping over Wilhelm. The man died of the bloody flux in the mud, and she blames Martha for drinking his water. I saw Martha drink it, true enough, but the spearman was dead before she even pulled the stopper. Let the lazy cow have it, I say.
He was cold as stone! Why waste good water on a corpse?
You let him die, you lazy sow! He shared his rations with us!
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Lazy Anna whines about a leaking roof in Albrecht the baker's cellar. She has four walls to keep the wind off, while the rest of us freeze in the churchyard. I told her to shut her mouth and be glad she is not sleeping on the stones.
It is damp as a grave down there, and Albrecht charges me rent for a puddle.
At least you do not owe five groschen to the priest like I do.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Terce
Bread is dearer than last year, and the merchants at the cross hold their purses tight. I thrust my hand out and they look right through me. If they had to sleep in the dirt, they would part with a heller or two.
Aye, the soldiers take all the grain and leave us the chaff.
Nota scribaeDictated at the market cross. She spoke rapidly and defensively.
the Wednesday after St Blaise, at Sext
Anna wants her tin plate back. I told her she can have it when she pays me the two hellers she owes for the half loaf of bread I gave her last week. Until I see my copper, the plate is mine. A tin plate makes a good loud clink when a coin hits it.
It is my livelihood, Apollonia! Give it back, you thief!
Pay your debts, you soft whining fool.
Nota scribaeDictated near the butchers' alleys. She held the plate tightly the entire time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your voice down, you mad bitch! Do you want us both tied to the post?