quartermaster's guard, of Sigismund's camp
“I am a veteran of Prague, currently stuck watching flour sacks in the muck for King Sigismund's coin.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Saint Peter's blood, the clerks are drawing up a new levy for the vanguard. I saw the parchment and my name is firmly on it. I need silver to talk to Matthew the clerk, but Thomas sits on his purse like a brooding hen.
Nota scribaeHe spat twice while dictating this and paced the length of the tent.
the feast of St Pancras, at None
John is sending his wages back to Mezholezy again. That lame sister of his, Svatava, won't keep his head on his shoulders when the vanguard marches. He should keep the coin and buy his way out of the front lines, the fool.
The hearth needs lighting, Roger. I cannot leave her to freeze.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Praise the saints, Andreas has gone to Kolin for cheap flour. With any luck he'll stay away until summer and forget the three groschen we owe him for that wretched salted pork. I have better uses for silver right now.
Andreas has a long memory for coin. Do not think he will just forget.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of damp wool and old smoke.
St Gregory's day, at Sext
Middle watch again. It is nothing but walking around timber piles in the dark. Still, it is safer than the siege lines, even if my boots are soaking through. A veteran knows where to stand to keep his skin whole.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
I marched down expecting a proper wage and plunder. Now I am sharing a fire with a terrified farm boy and a miser. At least slipping the bailiff two groschen kept me by the baggage train. We guard oats while others bleed.
And you still have not paid me back for the ale you drank at Christmas.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted by a dispute over damp firewood.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will not get a single groschen from my boot, Roger. I am saving for a cart.
You will not need a cart if we are sent to the front lines to rot in the mud.