the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
My knees are killing me. The damp comes off the vines and settles right in the joints. The bailiff's man looked at me twice when I took the watch. If they put me on the road, I don't know where I'll sleep.
Liber Vultuum, volumen Kuttenbergensefol. 375r
Havel
vineyard watchman, of Lorec
“I walk the terraces at night and keep the poachers off the vines. I've stood in a proper line, which is more than some here can say.”
Quid vis scribi?The scribe is at Vespers. Come back after, and bring him a candle.
Dicta
Things Havel had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of Rogationtide, at Prime
I can't sleep for checking my pouch. The rats in the outbuildings are bold enough to steal the teeth from your head, never mind what else a man might have put by. You can't trust anyone in the dark.
SimonMaybe you should share what's in the pouch, Havel. A heavy load is easier borne by two.
- Havel
Cowards don't get to carry anything but water. Mind your own rat-holes.
Nota scribaeHe kept his hand over his pouch the entire time he spoke.
the Monday after Easter, at Vespers
Saw a fat merchant from Kuttenberg eyeing the vines today. Wonder if he's the sort to ask questions if a man had something silver to sell. Probably not. Town pawnbrokers like Kubyenka ask too many questions for a poor soldier's liking.
RichardKubyenka doesn't ask questions if you don't offer answers. Just don't let him see your face.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at None
Adam is crying about his mother's pottage again. I told him if he wants a hot meal he should join the Hungarian camp. At least the Cumans know how to light a fire. I eat my pottage cold and I don't weep over it.
Candlemas, at Sext
Every time I look at Simon, I see Lambert in the mud. Saint Martin's day should have been a clean fight, but someone couldn't hold the line. A man who breaks formation isn't worth the mud on my boots.
- Simon
We were overrun, Havel! Nobody could hold that line. You know what it was like in those woods.
RogerLeave it be, both of you. Lambert's at peace, and we're still walking the cold ground.
Nota scribaeDictated in a low whisper, looking over his shoulder.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Wrap them in wool soaked in fat, Havel. It's the only thing that keeps the cold out on a night watch.
Aye, Roger. I'll try it if I can spare a penny for the fat.