guard at Chmelna yard, of Kuttenberg
“I watch the gate for Master John and keep the drunks out. A man must eat.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
They say the bailiff is drawing up a new levy. That clerk James has my name in his ledger from a tavern fight last winter. I asked Master John to open his strongbox and buy me an exemption, but he refuses to part with a penny. I am not marching out to face Hungarian spears.
Nota scribaeThe man fidgeted with his belt the entire time and looked twice at the door.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Terce
Saint Barbara preserve my stomach. Master John's bitter small beer is worse than ditch water. I dream of the hot pottage Kona used to serve us before the chest fever took her at Epiphany. Now it is just thin cabbage soup and stale bread, while John hoards his coin.
A full belly makes a slow guard. Keep your eyes on the gate and off my purse.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Hauled iron all afternoon for Master John. My back is breaking. The roads are full of soldiers and folks from the burnt villages. I check the locks three times a dusk now. I can fight off a dozen vagrants with my cudgel, but armed men are another matter.
the Wednesday of the third week of Lent, at Prime
Master John stares at the empty forge down the street more than he works his own. Old Julian is gone to Prague, but John wears the key to his strongbox on his neck, starving us to save for that deed. We will be dead of hunger before he buys it.
Julian was a true craftsman. His forge is worth ten of you. Do not speak of things you do not understand.
Candlemas, at Prime
Bitter cold by the gate this morning. I turned away three drunken miners from the taverns. I saw James the clerk passing by. He remembers my face from that brawl. Saint Wenceslas, keep my name out of his ledger. I have no desire to die in a muddy field.
Nota scribaeDictated from his straw pallet. The man's teeth were chattering, whether from cold or fear I cannot say.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You have a cudgel and a sword, lad. The King needs strong backs, and I need the coin for Julian's forge.