saddler at Nebakov fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I mend harness and stitch leather so these lazy soldiers do not chafe their arses raw.”
Things Havel Church had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday after Ascension, at Vespers
If anyone finds a bone hairpin in the great hall rushes, give it here. It belonged to Alice's late mother Constance and she is sick with weeping over it. I will trade a patched belt to whoever finds the bloody thing.
the feast of St John before the Latin Gate, at None
Two groschen for a loaf of bread! Christ almighty, the levy took all the men and now they squeeze us dry. I have been paid in turnips three times this week. A man cannot stitch leather on bloody turnips.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his hands on his apron so hard I thought he would tear the leather.
the Friday after St George, at Sext
That whoreson Bynyek crashed his cart into a ditch and crushed his own foot, and now he blames my stitching on his collar! He buckled it wrong while drunk, the fool. I demand a public apology on the green.
Your stitching gave way! My foot is swollen like a melon because of your shoddy awl-work!
You were blind drunk and put it on backward, you stubborn ass!
the third Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
Frost is still biting my hands in the lean-to. The garrison soldiers never oil their gear, so it cracks like dry bark. Then they come whining to me to fix it before the captain sees. Lazy bastards.
Nota scribaeDictated before he had broken his fast. He swore more than is strictly written.
Candlemas, at Terce
A man without his own tools is just a beggar waiting to be told what to do. I brought my awls from Kuttenberg and I guard them well. I stitched a fine heavy collar today, four groschen fair price.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
God bless you, Havel. I have looked everywhere in the dark.
I will keep an eye out when I bring up the herbs for the kitchen.