Endres

the Friday before Whitsun, at None

Still no wages since Easter. The lads are whining to the ale-wife or pawning their boots. I am tightening my belt. A man does his duty, coin or no coin, though a little cheese would not go amiss.

• 
  Oswald

  My boots were leaking anyway, Endres. Better to drink the leather.

the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Prime

Franz is whining again about his mother's rosary. A man hands over a holy thing when he thinks he is bleeding to death in the mud, it stays given. Handing it back to a coward who cried over a scratch brings a curse on us both.

• 
  Franz

  It was a loan, you whoreson! My mother gave me those beads!

• 
  Endres

  Then you should not have shoved them at me when you pissed your breeches.

Nota scribaeHe spat heavily on the floor when he said the boy's name.

the second day of Easter week, at Terce

Maurice dropped his spear today trying to turn a cart. Brought back memories of the woods last autumn, when he dropped his spear before the mercenaries even reached the wagons. I spat on the cobblestones. Some things do not wash clean.

• 
  Maurice

  My hands were numb from the cold, Endres. The wood was slippery.

the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Sext

Standing watch and thinking of Martin. The only man who fought that night in the trees. God rest his soul. And Leonard too, who vanished into the dark while the rest of you fled in terror.

• 
  Hannes

  Leonard didn't fight, he just ran faster than the rest of us.

Nota scribaeHe asked that the last part be struck out and then that it be put back.

Candlemas, at dawn

Frost on the spear shaft this morning. Carts are slow to come in from the countryside. Too many soldiers on the roads making a mess of things. I checked the locks at the archway and broke my fast with watered ale. An honest start.

• 
  Tuma

  Save a cup of that watered ale for me, the cold is biting my toes off.