soldier of the magyars, of Sigismund's camp
“I march where I am told. It is a miserable life, but better than starving.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The perimeter watch is a cold business. The Hungarian captain put me out there in the dark again. I stand with my arms crossed, watching the trees. The local peasants would gladly slit our throats for the grain we took.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the mud floor of the tent when he named the captain.
the eve of St Philip and St James, at Prime
We propped the blanket up again at the morning muster. I sweat through my shirt every time the captain walks past. If he finds out the boy ran off, we all get the lash. I say Frantishek traded the boy's boots for a chicken.
I never saw a chicken. You know perfectly well Jan lost his boots at dice.
I did no such thing! You both lie, and when the captain finds out, I will point at you.
I am not moving from what I said. The boy ran because of you two.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
I am drinking from Jan's copper jug. He lent it to me for beer on Sunday, but he still owes me two groschen from our wager over the rat-catching dog. I told him he can have his jug back when I see my coin.
Give it back, Walter. The dog did not catch the rat, the rat fell in the bucket.
The dog drove it into the bucket. My coin, Jan.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly. He crossed his arms and repeated the sum of two groschen three times.
the Wednesday of the third week of Lent, at Sext
They wanted me digging latrines today. I slipped behind the sutler's carts when the foreman looked away. Now I have to listen to Thomas and Robert shouting at each other about Kvyetoslav freezing in the ditch. I shared his fire, but fighting over a dead man warms nobody.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Compline
The wind cuts right through this tent. William and John are shouting again about the fine money that went missing in Kolin. I am just glad it was Peter left behind in the gaol and not me. I keep my head down and my arms crossed.
Someone took that coin. Peter is rotting in the dark for a tavern brawl we all started.
Do not look at me. I paid my share to the bailiff.
Nota scribaeHe asked me to write this while shivering under a thin blanket.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You make too much noise in the brush, lad. Keep still or they will find you.