guard at the fortress, of Suchdol
“I stand on these bloody walls freezing my arse off for king and copper, surrounded by thieves.”
Things Maresh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St John Nepomucene, at Vespers
Anthony keeps badgering me about that bloody wool from the winter march. I told him a hundred times it rotted in the damp! It was useless, just like the salted pork the cook gave us today. A man can't even eat in peace without being called a liar.
Nota scribaeHe waved his arms so violently he knocked over my ink.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I cannot win a single wager without my lucky bone die. Bartholomew pocketed it at the start of spring and now I am losing my shirt. Give it back, you bloody whoreson, or I'll break your fingers.
You lost it fair and square in the game, Maresh. Play better.
the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, at None
I lent my tin pitcher to Anthony for the Lenten fast out of Christian charity, and the bastard won't give it back. He claims he bought it by standing two freezing watches for me. Two watches do not equal a good tin pitcher!
It was snowing both nights! You said yourself the pitcher was a fair trade for staying by the hearth.
Nota scribaeDictated while pacing the bailey and shouting at the sky.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Standa was pissing himself on watch, so I lent him my rosary. Now he says he gave it to Isolde the laundress, and she's fled to Prague! That is a bloody lie. He just wants to keep it in that strongbox of his.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Compline
It's bloody freezing tonight. Puts me in mind of that cursed patrol last winter by the Sazava. Jarda took an arrow, and poor Ernest died of the flux in the snow. We found that broken wagon, but there was no luck in it. Only grief.
Ernest was a good man. The Captain marched him straight into the grave.
Jarda died because some fools would not hold the line.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of cheap ale and old sweat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Rotted my arse. I saw you counting new silver groschen at the alehouse, Maresh.