soldier at Malesov castle, of Malesov
“I freeze my bollocks off holding a spear for lords who don't pay. The only good man in this barracks is dead in the mud, and I'm surrounded by cowards.”
Things Tuma had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
William is pissing his breeches over that iron kettle hat of his. Hugh the quartermaster says there's a muster for Saint John's Day. The hat is at the smith, I told him, getting the dents hammered out. He can wait. Saint George's bloody spear, a man can't even borrow a hat for a rainy watch without everyone whining.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this leaning heavily on a spear, smelling strongly of stale ale.
the third day of May, at None
Adam is whining again. Begging me to take a message to his sick mother Christine in Pschitoky. I told the little rat no. Once you take the lord's coin, your family might as well be dead. And I'm not showing my face in Pschitoky just to run errands for a boy who misses his mother's porridge.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I was at Avice's cellar last night, and what do I see? Andrew sweating over the dice. He lost Robert's forty-groschen riding boots. Pawned them straight to Avice to cover his slate. I laughed until my ribs hurt. Can't wait to see Robert break his nose when he finds out. That coward deserves everything coming to him.
Keep your bloody mouth shut, Tuma. I'm going to win them back. It was just a bad run of the dice.
You pawned my boots? My good boots? You dead bastard.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted twice by the man spitting into the yard.
Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Sitting in the yard rolling the bones, trying to pretend the slop they feed us is meat. Richard is hoarding pennies for some carpenter's apprenticeship. A fool's dream. We're soldiers. We stand here until someone kills us or we die of the damp. Better to spend it on Avice's ale and forget the miserable lot of it.
A man needs something to look forward to, Tuma. I won't rot in this barracks forever.
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
It's been a cold winter without Matthew. We shared a blanket for three years. He was the only man worth a damn in this garrison. He died in the mud because Andrew got scared of a pitchfork and shut the gate on him. Look at me, Andrew. Admit you left a friend to die, you worthless whoreson.
It was dark, and there were three of them with flails! It was bad luck, Tuma. I didn't know he was behind me.
You shut the heavy timber gate. You knew exactly what you did.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this in a low growl, pointing his finger at the wall as if a man stood there.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Fifty groschen that hat cost me, Tuma. You bring it back before Hugh comes down with his ledger, or I'll break your jaw.
Try it. You think you're the only one who knows how to throw a punch?