senior man, Magyars unit, of Sigismund's camp
“I keep order among these fools in the King's mess. It is no small task when half are thieves and the rest are frightened boys.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
The damp in this cursed valley is ruining my bowstring. I spent the afternoon shooting rats near the quartermaster's wagon to keep my eye in. Three hits at forty paces, despite the crooked arrows they give us. Let them see what a true marksman looks like.
the first day of May, at Prime
John is flapping his mouth again about the Kolin fine. I collected the groschen for Peter as I ought. If John hadn't thrown the coins away on dice, we wouldn't have had to march without him. The captain gave the order, and I follow orders.
You drank it, William! You poured Peter's freedom down your throat and left him to rot in the gaol.
You're a coward, William. You were too frightened of the captain's whip to ask for a morning's grace. Peter is paying for your fear.
Nota scribaeHe pointed his finger at my chest three times while speaking.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I had to dress down Frantishek and Walter today. They left their gear unbuckled right where a Hungarian officer could see it. They think this is a village fair. I will not be flogged because they act like errant boys. Order keeps us alive.
We only set it down to fetch water, William. You need not have shouted loud enough to wake the dead.
Aye, you brought more eyes on us with your yelling than the buckles ever would have.
the eve of St George, at Compline
I heard a rumour that Julian the sutler has gone to Prague until summer. Good riddance. Half the men in this mess spend their time scrounging for scraps to sell him instead of cleaning their weapons. A soldier needs a sharp blade, not brass buckles to hawk.
We need the coin, William! The King's wages haven't seen our hands since the snow melted.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at Sext
We are digging in outside Kuttenberg. The cold march from Kolin took a heavy toll. Poor Kvyetoslav froze in a ditch, and we lost Peter to his own foolishness. The captain says we wait here. I sleep with my bow under my blanket, trusting nobody.
We lost Peter because of you. Do not put it on his foolishness when you left him to the bailiff.
I followed the captain's march order. You speak treason against discipline, Richard.
Nota scribaeThe man looked repeatedly over his shoulder toward the officers' tents.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I wish you'd shoot the ones gnawing at my boots, William. And my stomach is turning again from the oats.
Keep your boots tied and stop your whining, Robert. A soldier eats what he gets.