guard at the palisade, of Suchdol
“I walk the perimeter and mind my own business. There are too many fools in this garrison.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
Pentecost is near and I still need three good beeswax candles. The quartermaster hoards them all for the officers. If a man made a promise to a saint, how is he supposed to keep it without coin? The mint clerks in Kuttenberg are late again.
Nota scribaeHe crossed his arms and tapped his foot the entire time he spoke.
the eve of Saint George, at Vespers
I washed my own shirts down at the freezing stream today. My hands are cracked to bleeding, but a man takes care of his own. Better that than paying good groschen to a shrieking harpy for soap.
You spilled filth on clean linen, you clumsy whoreson! Pay what you owe the chandler first, then maybe talk about good groschen.
I heard her cursing you all the way from the square.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Walked the perimeter at dawn. Quiet night, except for William tumbling down the stone steps like a sack of turnips. If you cannot manage your own feet, you have no business on a wall.
The stones were wet with dew. At least I didn't trip over my own boots in the yard and ruin a week's laundry.
Quiet is good. Let it be.
Nota scribaeThe man dictating laughed, though it sounded like a dry cough.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Thin cabbage soup and salt pork again. Ate at the end of the table so I would not have to listen to Frantishek whining about David's sister. The king's coin is delayed again. We are all living on the ale-wife's patience.
I only complain because David never shuts up about Felice. I am not walking all the way to Vlasim.
She is alone out there! Have some pity.
Candlemas, at Compline
Stood watch with Jezhek. It is so cold the spit freezes before it hits the mud. I promised Saint Barbara three beeswax candles if I keep all my toes until the thaw. I will not end up crippled for this wretched garrison.
Saint Barbara watches over the miners, but she might spare a look for us. Keep pacing.
Vitek kept all his toes, and look what the Hungarians did to him. Count your blessings.
Nota scribaeHe took his boot off to check his foot before leaving.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Just use tallow, lad. The saint won't know the difference.
You want me to insult Saint Barbara to her face? Keep your mouth shut, John.