master baker, of Pritoky
“The ovens at Pekaruv dum still burn hot. I bake good bread, despite the greedy flour merchants.”
Things Philip Newman had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Compline
The flour merchants stood in my yard today and demanded their silver before unloading a single sack. They treat me like a beggar, though my bread is as good as any my father baked. I told them the tolls are heavy, but they only laughed.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. He had flour in his hair and sighed heavily before speaking.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
Thomas is begging me again for a day to walk to Sedletz and light a candle to the Virgin, for some vow he made in the winter sickness. I told him no. The woodpile is too low, and the fires must be fed.
The sickness nearly took me, master. The Virgin will strike me down if I break my word.
She will understand that Pekaruv dum needs wood, lad. A vow will not bake the morning loaves.
the feast of Saint George, at Vespers
I saw Adam looking starved near the zemlianky today. Denise has fallen behind on his wages, just as I have with my men. It brings a bitter comfort to know I am not the only one failing to fill the ledger.
Mind your own yard, Philip. My household will manage without your pity.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Prime
Nicholas is shouting at me again about his wages from Candlemas. He claims I swore on the cross to pay him by Saint Matthias's day. I only ever promised to pay him when the chest was full! My father left me a well-built oven, but the strongbox was empty.
You swore it, Philip. Your father Jacob was a harsh master, but he paid his silver on time.
You still owe me twelve groschen for my work. I am waiting.
Nota scribaeThe baker spoke so fast he lost his breath halfway through the telling.
the week after Candlemas, at Terce
The winter has been hard, and the price of grain is higher than I have ever seen. I must ask my woodcutters for patience regarding their wages. I give them a good roof and daily bread, which is more than many have with these soldiers on the roads.
Patience does not fill a man's cup at the alehouse, baker.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The merchants squeeze us all, Philip. But you must pay them, or the ovens go cold.
I would pay them on the spot if I had the groschen, Simon.