guardsman of the watch, of Around Raborsch
“I keep the peace on these roads and try to keep my kit clean, God willing. A soldier who looks for trouble usually finds an arrow in the dark.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Captain Tobias has called a full muster for Saint John's Day and I am sick with worry. William has still not returned my spare kettle hat. He pawned it in the lower town for drink! The captain docks the pay of any man missing his gear. I cannot lose a month's wages, God willing.
Nota scribaeHe fidgeted with his heavy leather belt the entire time he spoke.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Sext
I feel utterly helpless and betrayed. I begged young John to carry a message to my sister Lidka in Prague, for I cannot write. He gave his solemn word, but now he backs out. I only want to know she is not starving in this war, God willing.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
William asked to borrow my spare kettle hat this morning, claiming his own was dented. I gave it to him to do right by my comrade, though my stomach knots at parting with it. I pray he brings it back by nightfall, God willing.
If he loses it, I have a fine replacement at my stall. Only twelve groschen.
I have not the coin for that, God willing.
the second Sunday of Lent, at None
Stood watch at the perimeter since dawn. The wind is biting today and my joints ache. We saw more refugees from the burnt villages limping past the toll. The war makes this work terrifying, but at least the barracks offers a bowl of stew, God willing.
Aye, the stew is mostly water and gristle lately, but it fills the belly.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly, with many nervous glances at the door.
Candlemas, at dawn
I woke before the younger lads stirred to oil my blade. I cannot stop thinking of poor Standa catching that arrow in the neck and bleeding to death in the mud before Christmas. I check my buckles twice every morning now. We must be ready, God willing.
Rest easy, old friend. There is no mud up here, and the angels serve good ale.
Stop talking about Standa, Richard. It does no good to dwell on the dark.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Hold your peace, Richard. I told you I will get it back from the pawnbroker before the captain ever calls your name.
You should not have lent it. A prudent man guards his steel like his life.