guard at the Rathaus, of Miskowitz
“I keep my head down, do the work the bailiff pays me for, and watch my own back.”
Things Leonard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Philip and St James, at Vespers
I told the younger hands to leave the hay in the far corner stall be. It is damp and rotten, and there is no need to be pitching it out just yet. A man cannot even sleep without fools moving everything he has carefully arranged.
Nota scribaeDictated in the stable yard. He spoke very slowly and glared at a boy with a pitchfork the entire time.
the second day of Easter week, at None
A quiet man builds a steady life, and then others circle him like hungry crows demanding a share of his supper. A captain should look after his men, not bleed them dry for his own purse. My groschen are my own, earned in the cold and the mud.
A steady guard also respects his captain's authority, Leonard. Do not forget who commands this yard, or what he knows.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
Denis died in his bed yesterday of the lung fever. We all froze in that flooded ditch on the Suchdol road, but the lad was too weak for it. And on top of that, the Bailiff docked us all two groschen because that whoreson Bynyek ran away.
God rest poor Denis. He should never have been left to shiver in the rain like a stray dog.
Amen. We pay for another man's cowardice with our own silver. It is a bitter pill.
Nota scribaeHe stared at the floor while speaking, gripping the haft of his halberd until his knuckles were white.
the second week of Lent, at Compline
Three days shivering in a flooded ditch by Suchdol to watch Christopher's ruined wagons. The Hungarian stragglers never came. The Kuttenberg merchant wept over his mud-stained cargo while our toes went numb. They treat us like disposable beasts of burden, but they do not notice everything.
Aye, the wealthy fool was too busy crying over an axle to see what was right under his nose.
Nota scribaeDictated upon returning from the march. His boots were soaked through and he smelled strongly of wet wool.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
Another night dragging staggering fools out of Adleta's cellar before they could break the benches. My shoulders are sore from pushing heavy men through low doors. If they cannot hold their ale, they should stay by their own hearths.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
A very heavy dampness in that hay, Leonard. We should surely dig it out before it ruins everything else.
You mind your own stall, Julian. I will see to the corner.