soldier of the garrison, of Malesov
“I serve the King freezing on this forsaken rock. If I could just get word to Prague, I might not go mad.”
Things Adam had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Terce
Saint Wenceslas preserve me from fools. Thomas asked me again to carry word to his brother Alan in Sasau. I am not going to Sasau! I am standing on this cursed wall freezing in the wind. Why he thinks I am riding south when I am stuck here is beyond mortal reckoning.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so fast he spat on my sleeve.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
If Walter and Jezhek do not stop shouting about Otto, I will throw myself off the battlements. The man caught a Cuman arrow in the winter, God rest his soul, but they will not let him sleep. And Jezhek is as jumpy as a stray dog, always checking his saddlebags.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at None
Tuma is going to Prague. I know he is. All I ask is that he finds my sister Pavlena and tells her I am alive and have not died of camp fever. It is a simple spoken word! Yet he acts as if I have asked him to carry a boulder. Pure malice.
For the hundredth time, I have no orders for Prague. Shut your mouth about Pavlena.
Let it be, Adam. Nobody is going anywhere.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted thrice by the man chopping the air with his hands.
the Wednesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Another morning eating salted oats that taste of mud, another watch pacing the walls. The villagers here do not know how good they have it, protected by the garrison, while we rot in the cold. If an arrow takes me in the woods, they will throw me in a ditch and nobody will know.
The villagers give us half their grain, Adam. Do not be an arse.
Candlemas, at Compline
A year since I was levied, and nothing to show for it but a terrible cough. Down in Prague the taverns would be warm tonight, and Pavlena would have baked something decent. Instead I am sharing a fire with grumbling peasants in mail shirts. May Saint Wenceslas watch over my sister.
We are all far from home, lad. Drink your ale and go to sleep.
Nota scribaeHe looked close to weeping but blamed the hearth smoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
But you said you were leaving, Adam. Just a quick word to Alan, tell him I am well.
I never said I was leaving, you deaf whoreson!