guard at the Kourim gate, of Kuttenberg
“I watch the gate and keep the vagrants out of Kuttenberg. I look after my own skin first, because nobody else in this miserable city will do it for me.”
Things Fritz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Robert was eyeing my tin pitcher again today. I told him straight, it was my father's, and he can drink from his hands like a dog. Dog's blood, a man leaves the flank open in the woods, he owes his betters a tax.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Some fat merchant from the silver mines tried to bring his wagon through without greasing my palm. I made him unpack every crate of ore while the rain came down. Bread is dear enough without letting these rich bastards pass for free. He cursed me, but I have his groschen.
Share the coin around, lad, the captain's pay is late again.
Nota scribaeDictated from a stool by the wall. The subject was picking his teeth with a splinter throughout.
Maundy Thursday, at Sext
Simon is whining again about Sergeant Nicholas and the boy Hugh. He thinks their ghosts are howling in the archway. It is just the wind, you fool. A dead man is dead, and crying will not bring him out of the woods.
St Gregory's day, at None
The rations at this gatehouse are fit for swine. Half a stale loaf and a piece of rancid fat. I saw Wilhelm giving his share to a runner to take to his sister Mary in Prague. The man will starve himself to death.
Mind your own business, Fritz. My sister needs the coin more than I need the fat.
Nota scribaeHe laughed while saying this, though no jest was apparent.
Candlemas, at Terce
More refugees from the burnt villages today. They stink of smoke and beg for pennies. I turned them back. If the Hungarians burned their roofs, let them find another hole to sleep in. Dog's blood, I am not running a hospice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You thieving whoreson, my mark is scratched on the bottom! You stole it while I was sleeping off the ale.
Your mark? Looks like a pigeon shat on it. Go cry to Captain James if you want.