spearman at Suchdol garrison, of Suchdol
“I keep my spear sharp and my mouth shut. The old hands say that is how a man lives to see another winter.”
Things Peter the Quiet had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Prime
Prokop asked me again to carry a message to his village. I chewed my firewood splinter until my jaw ached and walked away to fetch clean water. I have no intent of walking the roads with soldiers about just because he cannot hold his peace.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man vigorously scrubbed his knuckles in a horse bucket.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Henry the Fair showed me how to wrap my feet against the damp. The straw in the barracks is rotting again, and I would rather lose a toe in battle than to the camp sickness. A man died of it yesterday, God rest his soul.
Keep them dry, lad, or the worms will have them before you are in the ground.
the Tuesday in the third week of Lent, at Vespers
Scrubbed rust off the mail shirt for three hours. The oil smells like dead fish, but a rusted ring breaks when the spear hits. Little Bohuta says the Hungarians will not care how shiny we are, but I prefer to take no chances.
You will die tired, Peter, but I grant you will die shiny.
Better tired than skewered.
Nota scribaeHe brought the rusted rings into the church. The stench was formidable.
the day after St Matthias, at Terce
Bread costs two pennies more than last month. We eat oats like horses, and wait. Standing watch is nothing but staring at mud and hoping the rain stops before the relief comes. Ralph at least knows how to pass the time without complaining.
I only stop complaining when I am asleep, you just never hear me mumble.
Candlemas, at Prime
The priest says we must have our words written down. I have nothing much to say. My uncle died of the winter fever, I have his spear, and I am here now. Lord have mercy on his soul.
And God grant I do not catch the fever myself. I wash my hands twice a day.
Nota scribaeGetting these few words out of him was like drawing teeth from a stone.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Christ almighty, Peter, it is one walk! My folk think I am dead in a ditch.
If you keep shouting at him, he will put you in a ditch himself.