soldier on the perimeter, of Sigismund's camp
“I stand in the freezing mud and shout at carters while the Hungarian lords sleep in warm beds.”
Things Benesh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the third day of May, at Vespers
James dropped his beads in the mud by the wash trough, and I scooped them up. The whoreson wants them back. He can rot. I would have pawned them to Doubravka for ale by now, but she already has three of his things in her chest and won't take another.
Nota scribaeThe man stood with his arms crossed the entire time he spoke.
the Thursday after Easter, at Prime
Standing watch in this slush is freezing my boots to my feet. Adam jumps at every shadow the Kuttenberg watch casts on the walls. If he flinches at one more crow, I will throw him in the ditch myself.
They are out there in the dark, Benesh. You would be jumpy too if you had eyes to see.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at None
Still no coin. That whoreson clerk Tobias sits in a stone house with clean hands and sends us excuses instead of wages. I have eaten nothing but sour cabbage for a week. We sit here watching each other starve while the lords sleep warm.
Tobias says the silver train is delayed. Just hold the line and keep quiet.
I had to pawn my spare dagger to Doubravka just to get a piece of dry sausage today.
Nota scribaeDictated near the central fires. The cabbage in the pot was indeed sour.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Terce
Richard spends half the morning polishing his iron cap instead of watching the road. A shiny helmet won't stop a pitchfork if the peasants rush us. It didn't stop the arrow that took Jarda down in Sedletz.
Rust eats the iron, Benesh. A proper soldier takes care of his gear.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Compline
The wind tonight cuts like a knife. It reminds me of Saint Martin's day. I look across the fire at James and Hugh and see the cowards who left a brother bleeding in the mud to save their own skins. Jarda died alone because of them.
He was dead before he hit the ground, Benesh! We had to run or we would all be dead!
Leave it be. The woodsmen were too many and we had no choice.
Nota scribaeHe spat into the fire when he said the names.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Give them back, Benesh. I need them for my prayers.
Pray to the mud, coward. It is all that will listen to you now.