hired hand, of Suchdol
“I muck stalls and polish mail, but I know my way around a horse better than half the drunks in the upper keep. Holy saints, it's just a matter of time.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at None
Holy saints, Pentecost is almost upon us. Thirty-five groschen I have hidden away, and I need forty-five to buy Philip's saddle from the quartermaster. If I have the saddle, they'll see I belong with the outriders. Ten groschen! It's nothing to a merchant, but it's keeping me chained to a pitchfork.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so fast I had to ask him to repeat the sum twice. He was pulling at his belt the whole time.
the Feast of St Pancras, at Vespers
I went to Thomas Wright today and asked for my nails back. A whole bag of good Kuttenberg iron I found last Martinmas and gave him to keep safe. I need to sell it for the ten groschen. And the stubborn old mule told me I gave it to him for fixing my knife! Holy saints, it's robbery.
You brought me iron to pay for a snapped blade. That iron is the forge's now. Go shovel dung and leave me be.
It was for safekeeping! You know I didn't trade a pound of nails for one knife.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the armoury. His hands were shaking with anger.
the second day of May, at Terce
It rained all night. Thomas Wright came to the mess this morning looking like a drowned rat. His roof leaks right over his bed, but because Tobias the quartermaster took the rent and vanished to Kuttenberg, Thomas won't spend two groschen on timber to fix it. He'd rather sleep in a puddle out of spite.
I paid my rent on St Blaise's day. It's Tobias's roof to mend. I won't do another man's work for free.
You're a fool, Thomas. Marika would have boxed your ears for catching your death over two groschen.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Sext
They say the King's brother has Hungarian troops on the roads near Kuttenberg. We see more refugees coming to the fortress gates every week. I spent the whole morning hauling water for their horses. Holy saints, the beasts are half-starved. I gave one of the roans an extra handful of oats when the master wasn't looking.
the Feast of St Matthias, at Prime
Philip left for Prague today. He was a true soldier, not like these boys who complain about a little rust on their mail. He left his riding saddle behind to be sold. I rubbed oil into it myself. It's a beautiful piece of work. I swear by all the saints, I'm going to buy it.
Philip was just another mercenary taking good silver out of Bohemia. You're better off without his cast-offs.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of horse manure.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It's a good saddle, lad. Keep your head down and earn the coin. Don't go stealing it.
I don't need to steal. I have property of my own, if certain thieves would return it.