fencer of the watch, of Kuttenberg
“I stand watch at the gates for a beggar's wage while the king's men strut about. I should be in Prague, but I lack the groschen to go.”
Things John Cross had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Sakra, I am hoarse from shouting. My father sits at the supper table calling Drahomira ruined, just because the dyer sent her away to Prague. She is my true love and I will bring her back, if I can ever find the coin.
Nota scribaeHe waved his hands so violently he knocked over my inkhorn.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
Standing watch while the German masters complain about tolls and the king's mercenaries take the glory. Uncle Hugh walked by without buying a drop of ale. That old man will die of old age before he spends a penny, and I know he hides silver under the floorboards.
Keep your eyes on the road, lad, and out of my business.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
The weather is warm again, praise be. I caught a terrible lung fever in the winter mud and nearly died. Hermann bought the apothecary's medicines. It was a true brotherly gift, though he glares at me lately as if I owe him the groschen.
A gift? Christ almighty, John, we agreed you would pay me back by Sunday.
Sakra, Hermann, not in front of everyone.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quickly and looked over his shoulder twice.
the third Sunday in Lent, at Terce
Heinz crosses himself every time we hear of soldiers on the road. The boy is a coward. I told him the Cumans care nothing for his prayers, but he just babbles louder. A fencer needs a strong arm, not a rosary.
The roads are dangerous, John. The Lord protects those who ask Him.
Candlemas, at Prime
I am coughing up blood and the room is freezing. Mother Adleta would have brought me hot wine, God rest her soul. If I die in this pallet, tell the dyer's daughter in Prague that my last thought was of her.
Stop your weeping. I am fetching the apothecary now. It will cost me dear.
Nota scribaeDictated between terrible fits of coughing. I had to step back.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She would drag our name through the mud, lad. Put her out of your head.
I know how it aches, brother. Vlasta is just as far.
You know nothing of it, old man.