soldier at the mint gate, of Kuttenberg
“I am a cautious man who keeps his head when others lose theirs. God knows that is a rare thing in this squad.”
Things Joerg had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
Kunz is drowning himself in ale again. Mein Gott, the man has not been sober since Kolin. Someone ought to keep an eye on him at the tavern so he does not talk a hole in his own neck to the ale-wife. A quiet stranger, perhaps, who knows how to listen.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his chin for a long time before saying this, looking over his shoulder.
the Friday after Easter, at None
I see William is drinking outside the walls again, spending coin he ought to be careful with. We all have things we are holding onto, William. It would be a terrible shame if you lost your grip because your hands were shaking from the drink.
the Tuesday of Holy Week, at Prime
They say the King's brother has more Cumans moving down the roads. More hungry mouths burning villages, which means more starving peasants crowding into Kuttenberg. Bread is dear enough already without half the realm begging at the gate. I only hope the quartermaster finds some meat for the stew today.
the Feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Erhard thinks a man can sell his boots and still march. He is a fool who wants everything today and forgets tomorrow. If we do not step carefully, the bailiff will have us all dancing in the air. Patience is the only thing keeping us alive, though nobody wants to hear it.
Patience fills no bellies, old man. I did not wade through the Kolin mud just to watch you hoard what is ours.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so quietly I had to ask him to repeat himself twice. He did not raise his voice.
the morning of Candlemas, at Prime
The cold seeps right through the soles of my boots this morning. Standing watch at the mint is no glorious task, but it is better than dying in a ditch. The German masters sit by their warm fires inside while we freeze. God grant me a quiet day and a bowl of hot soup.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Let him drink himself blind, Joerg. Or are you worried he will mention what certain men are hiding in their packs?
Keep your voice down, Erhard, unless you want the bailiff measuring your neck for a rope.