guard at the hives
“I walk the fence line for Master Richard and keep the tramps away. Seen enough war to know a good billet.”
Things Alan had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The damp is in my bones today. Chopped the firewood but my grip is not what it was. Bought some willow bark off a pedlar on the road to keep the ache quiet. Master Richard pays well, but a man must hide his weakness or he'll be turned out.
Nota scribaeHe stopped three times to rub his hand while speaking.
the Thursday after Easter, at None
Another messenger from Priest Wenceslas sniffing around the hives for coin. These churchmen do naught but bleed honest folk dry. I stood by the gate with my hand on my pommel until he scurried off. The master owes what he owes, but I'll not have them bothering him at dinner.
The tithe is the Lord's, soldier, not yours to contest. Tell your master his arrears remain.
the feast of St Joseph, at Prime
Master Richard is fretting again over what the neighbours think of his honey. He takes out old Joan's wax-knives and stares at them. I never knew his mother, but I know enough not to touch another man's tools. Let him fret, so long as he feeds me.
She knew the trade better than any man in Kuttenberg. Her knives are not for common hands.
Nota scribaeDictated while oiling a sword.
the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, at Compline
Saw some ragged mercenaries on the Kuttenberg road today. Looked like the remnants of Jezhek's company. I curse that whoreson's name to the fire. It was his foolish ambush that left my back broken and me left to rot. God rot him in return.
A slow man blames his captain for the mace that hit him. You were always too heavy on your feet.
Candlemas, at dawn
Frost on the fence line. Woke before the sun and laced my jack. Just walking the perimeter keeps the tramps away from the hives. A quiet billet is a blessing, far from the mud and the Cumans. My back burns, but the wounds of Christ suffered worse.
Nota scribaeHe smells strongly of cheap herbal tonic.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Make sure that wood is stacked dry, Alan. The fires need to run hot for the wax.
It is done, master. Not a damp log in the pile.