archer in the army, of Sigismund's camp
“I watch the roads, keep my bow dry, and try not to get stabbed over a game of dice. I just want to survive this war.”
Things James had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Terce
The quartermaster sends excuses instead of coin again. If Tobias does not come out of the town with our pay soon, I am taking this hunting knife I hold to Doubravka. She might give me a week's bread for it.
Nota scribaeHe spoke softly, glancing over his shoulder toward the tents.
the second Tuesday of May, at Vespers
I am sick of this bread. Hardtack by the wagon wheel is better than sitting at the fire and hearing the same complaints, but my teeth are loosening.
We are all eating stone, James. Soak it in ale if you have any.
the feast of Saint George, at Prime
I heard the Pope wants this written down. A fine thing for a man in Rome to ask, when we are the ones standing in the mud outside Kuttenberg. I wonder if the Pope knows the price of bread here.
The Pope does not buy his bread from Doubravka.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking.
the second day of Easter week, at None
I lost the wooden beads I bought from a friar to pray for my own skin, and for Jarda's soul. Someone picked them up by the fire. I want them back. A man has a right to pray.
A coward needs no prayers. You left the boy in the dirt. You get nothing.
Benesh speaks truth. You ran when he fell. Keep away from the fire.
I calculated the odds. There were too many pitchforks. I saved the rest of us.
Ash Wednesday, at Sext
Walking the perimeter again. The wind is freezing and there is nothing on the road but refugees. I try to keep my head down, but it is hard when half the mess looks at you like a stray dog.
We look at you the way you deserve to be looked at.
Nota scribaeThe speaker stood nervously near the edge of the camp.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You cannot give her that knife. You only asked to borrow it to cut mutton on St George's day.
It is my toll for not telling the bailiff where you sleep, Adam.