soldier, of Sigismund's camp
“I am an archer in King Sigismund's army, though I do more shivering than shooting these days. A man cannot do his duty when his squad leaves his tent canvas in a village gaol.”
Things Maurice had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Vitus, at None
The devil's arse on this wind. I woke up so stiff my shoulder cracked like a dry branch. I told Andrew again this morning, if he had the spine to face down one village headborough, I would have my spare canvas and wouldn't be catching my death in this miserable ditch.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very loudly and jabbing his finger at a man across the fire.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Tobias split a wand today at fifty paces, and I split the wand next to it. We are the only two men in this squad worth our pay. The rest of them couldn't hit a barn door from the inside. But I still say I have the steadier draw arm.
the second day of Rogation week, at Sext
Tuma and Christopher will not shut up about getting messages to Prague and Znojmo. Cecily this, Adela that. The devil take their women! We are stuck in a camp stinking of horse manure, and they are crying over wives and sisters they haven't seen in months.
Cecily is my lawful wife, Maurice. Some of us have a life outside this muddy ditch to worry about.
If Jarda would just find someone travelling to Prague, I wouldn't have to talk about my sister at all.
Nota scribaeThe man chewed his food very angrily while he said this.
the Thursday after Easter, at Terce
Jarda is still whining about Prokop taking the iron pot to Kolin. I told him he should be glad Hugh locked the lazy drunk in that hayloft. Fifteen groschen and a cooking pot is nothing. Try sleeping without a tent canvas for two months because your quartermaster is a coward.
the second week of Lent, at Prime
Three days' march from Kuttenberg, that's where my misery started. If James hadn't been drinking away our time inside the inn, he would have noticed Nicholas climbing out that window. And if Andrew had drawn steel, I'd have my canvas. Now my joints ache so bad I fear for my draw arm.
Nicholas stole a pig and got caught. The headborough wanted ten groschen we didn't have. Get it into your thick head, the canvas is gone.
You were outside. You should have heard the pig squealing. It's your own fault.
Nota scribaeDictated standing by a foul-smelling ditch. He refused to move out of the wind.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We had four groschen, Maurice. I wasn't drawing steel on a king's bailiff over an idiot and your bit of cloth. Go whine to the camp master.
It was your job to watch Nicholas. If you hadn't let him slip out the window to steal that pig, your canvas wouldn't be rotting in a root cellar.
I was outside holding the bloody horses! Was I meant to see through solid timber, you whoreson?