Liber Vultuum
Liber Vultuum, volumen Kuttenbergensefol. 59r
Portrait of William the Boar

William the Boar

collier at camp vidlak, of The charcoal burners' clearing

“I burn charcoal for the Kuttenberg forges. I mind my own business and save my wages for what matters.”

Quid vis scribi?The scribe is at Vespers. Come back after, and bring him a candle.

Dicta

Things William the Boar had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.

the eve of Whitsun, at Compline

I counted the groschen in the stump again. The monks at Sedletz ask a heavy price for a year of masses, and I am not close enough. Godfrey's soul cannot wait forever in the flames.

  • Thomas
    Thomas

    God rest him, William, but a few pennies for ale would do the living some good.

  • William the Boar
    William the Boar

    The living are not burning in purgatory, Thomas.

Nota scribaeDictated in the dark. He kept looking over his shoulder at the trees.

the second day of May, at Vespers

John and Jan the Hound are at it again over the river and the Hungarians. They brought their ghosts back to camp and let the wood go green. The meiler needs raking, not stories of dead men.

  • John
    John

    Christopher died in the mud while you sat safe by the fire, Boar.

  • Jan the Hound
    Jan the Hound

    Let him be, John. He only cares for his ash.

the Wednesday after Easter, at None

Saw a fine stag near the clearing today. Thomas told me to take my bow and shoot it, but I will not touch the string. The bailiff's rope is too strong, and I have seen what it does.

  • Thomas
    Thomas

    More fool you. We could have had fresh meat instead of hard bread.

Nota scribaeThe man crossed himself three times before speaking.

the feast of St Gregory, at Prime

Master Robert's wagons came at dawn. He paid the wages and complained of the yield. I took my pennies and went into the trees. Every bit goes to the tally I keep for the cross.

  • Jan the Hound
    Jan the Hound

    Robert takes the lion's share and leaves us the soot. One day his wagons will burn.

Candlemas, at Terce

The frost is deep, but the meiler burns hot. When I stand too close and feel the heat on my face, I think of the fires of the afterlife. It drives my hands to keep working.

  • John
    John

    You work like a demon is whipping you, Boar. Rest a moment.

Nota scribaeHe refused to look away from his fire while he spoke.

From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.