sworn retainer to the captain, of Grunta
“I am a trained man standing at the sixth gate, keeping drunkards from burning Grunta down while waiting for coin that never comes.”
Things Andreas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The merchant in Kuttenberg sent word again today. He pays his guards in actual silver, not empty promises. Captain Walter tells me to wait another week, same as he has since Easter. A man cannot eat his master's good intentions. If I do not see my groschen by Sunday, I am packing my kit.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor of the parish house after dictating this. I made him wipe it up.
the feast of St John before the Latin Gate, at Sext
Saw Zdenyek hiding behind the woodpile when the bailiff's men came through looking for the muster. Poor bastard is terrified he will end up like his brother Christopher. I suppose I would be too. Thank Christ I am a sworn retainer. My oath keeps me off the common levy.
Keep your voice down, Andreas! If the bailiff hears of this, they will drag me off to die of the bloody flux.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Captain Walter swore on the cross we would have our wages for the holy days. Nothing but excuses about the disrupted trade. To keep my temper down, I went to watch William working young Thomas and old Gilbert like dogs at the first gate. William is a fool playing at master, but at least I am not digging his ditches.
My father Ulrich worked this land and I will work it the same way. The hands get exactly what they earn.
Your father was a fair master, William. You just shout until your face turns red.
Nota scribaeHe leaned against the wall the entire time he spoke, picking dirt from his fingernails.
the second Sunday of Lent, at None
Walked the boundary walls again to keep my legs from going stiff. Stared at the mud, stared at the carts, stared at the drunkards. The only thing worse than the boredom is the thin stew we get for supper. I hear Emma makes a good roast over at her hearth, but a man without groschen cannot buy a decent meal.
If you want my cooking, you bring me a fat hare or you bring me coin. I run a house, not a charity.
Candlemas, at Compline
Another month gone, another empty purse. The Kuttenberg magistrates are holding back the silver again. Captain Walter is a fine swordsman, but he is too soft on those fat burghers. He ought to march in there and demand our wages with steel drawn. Instead, we just wait.
We do not threaten the magistrates, Andreas. We are guards, not foreign mercenaries.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of stale ale and damp wool.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Have some patience, Andreas. The magistrates are hoarding the silver because of the war. I will get your coin.
I will have patience when my belly is full of meat instead of thin stew.