guard at the gate, of Bylany
“Five years standing in the mud for groschen that never come. Now I am a wet-nurse to farmboys.”
Things Benesh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Christ's wounds, the bread is dear enough without the baker cutting it with sawdust. Stood my watch all morning, ate thin pottage, and now Frantishek is staring at his boots again like they hold the answer to his father's debts. If the Hungarians march on us, at least it'll be a change of view.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily before every sentence.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
If I hear one more word about Katchka, I will walk into the woods and let the wolves have me. I check the axles, I stand in the rain. I am not a courier for peasant widows. Quartermaster Jarda would have tanned his hide for whining on watch.
Maundy Thursday, at Prime
Christ's wounds, there is an art to opening a gate quietly when the moon is covered. If a man has a thirst and the groschen to cure it, the gate might just swing. But I need my lamp. It is a fine brass thing from Kuttenberg, and it is not meant to sit under a thief's cot.
I trip over the halberd without it! It is dark, Benesh. The dark is full of noises.
I will give free passage to any man who fetches it out from under his bed and boxes his ears.
Nota scribaeHe spoke softly here and looked around the tavern before continuing.
the first week of Lent, at Sext
The bailiff brought them today. Two boys plucked straight from the dung heap, shaking like leaves. Frantishek jumps at shadows and Jezhek won't stop weeping for his mother. Five years I have kept the peace here. Now I must teach farm hands which end of the spear goes in the mud.
I am not jumping. I just do not like the woods at night.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
Frost on the gate again. They say the King is still held by his brother. The merchants bring nothing but rumours and tight purses. I lent my brass lamp to Jezhek last night so he wouldn't break his neck, and the whoreson kept it. Jarda would have had him in the stocks before Prime.
Come have a warm loaf, Benesh. It will do you more good than cursing the cold.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the boy was far fouler.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
There is no sawdust in my bread, Benesh. Only good flour and honest sweat. Pay your tab and perhaps it will taste sweeter.
I was only thinking of Milada. The frost will have taken the last of the seed.