guard at the Kolin gate, of Kuttenberg
“I watch the road and take the bailiff's tolls, but my real work begins when the sun sets and the dice come out. I am the sharpest hazard player in this miserable stone box.”
Things Zdenyek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Another day of grumpy farmers and thin pottage. The bread costs more than it did at Candlemas, and the merchants complain of soldiers on the roads. I just lean on my spear and wait for the sun to go down so we can play hazard.
Nota scribaeDictated while flipping a coin between his fingers. He smirked the entire time.
the Tuesday after St George, at None
Walter is still weeping over his bone die. He says I spoiled his luck by speaking of poor Martin just as he was about to roll. A steady man does not lose his nerve over a few words. If he wants the die back, he can pay me its worth in silver.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Geoffrey is acting the proud soldier again today. It is a joke. We all know he is a frightened rabbit who buckled at the bridge near Sedletz last autumn. He gave way on my right, and that is why the line broke. Mourning will not bring Martin back, but the truth is the truth.
I held my ground until the Hungarians were right on top of us. You turned first, Zdenyek.
Geoffrey is right. You broke the line and left Martin to be cut down in the freezing mud.
I shifted my weight because Geoffrey was running away. I have steady nerves, unlike you weeping women.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke smoothly, but the others in the room were shouting.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Sext
Mathes is boiling with rage again because Johannes called the retreat at the bridge. I watch them shout and I have to laugh. The old man did what he had to do against those Hungarian halberds. The dead are dead, and shouting in a draughty guardhouse will not change it.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
It is bitter cold at the gate. I took my turn by the brazier to boil our thin pottage, ignoring the foul curses of the older men. They spit and grumble all morning, but by dusk they will be losing their groschen to me at the fire.
Keep your mind on the road, lad. The bailiff will have our hides if you miss a toll.
Just make sure you have silver tonight, Zdenyek. My luck is turning.
Nota scribaeHe refused to look at me while speaking, preferring to toss a bone die in the air.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, and Nicholas is still begging every merchant for a rider to Prague.
My sister Rosa is there, you cold bastards. A man has a right to worry.