Richard

the second day of May, at None

My pennies are still not enough for Gilbert's ink and seal. The fever is worse. I keep waking in a cold sweat. Adam looks at me like I am already in the earth. I just need a few more coppers. Just a few, before I die here.

• 
  Adam

  Rest your head, Richard. I will see what I can scrounge for you. You are not dying today.

Nota scribaeHe lost the thread of his words twice and kept pressing a filthy rag to his temple.

the Wednesday after Easter, at Vespers

If William does not stop whining about his lost bone die and that pawned coif, I will throw up. My head rings loudly enough without his bleating. And John keeps shifting in his straw. There is something hard in his mattress, but I am too tired to care.

• 
  William

  It was a good coif! And Pavlena took it to Kolin before I could pay her back. It is not bleating to mourn a loss.

• 
  John

  Mind your own straw, you broken-headed fool. It is nothing but lumps in the ticking.

the eve of Palm Sunday, at Prime

Adam will not stop hovering. I can wipe my own face. He should save his anger for Jan. They are still fighting over Bohuta. The man is dead in a ditch, shouting will not pull him out of it.

• 
  Adam

  Bohuta would be alive if Jan had held the line with his spear. And you need the help, whether your pride likes it or not.

• 
  Jan

  The order to retreat was given! My gums bleed all night and I still have to listen to this madness from you both.

the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext

Tried to gnaw on a piece of hardtack today. The chewing made the ringing in my ears scream like a stuck pig. I wished for Pavlena to bring me some willow bark for the pain, but they say she has gone to Kolin with the baggage train.

• 
  Jan

  At least your teeth sit tight in your head. I spat blood onto my boots this morning.

Nota scribaeThe man spoke in barely a whisper, staring at the ground.

the Monday after Saint Matthias, at Terce

We fought at the mill by Maleshov. Close and ugly in the fading light. A mace took me square on the iron. It saved my skull from cracking but my wits are scrambled. Everything is just a high whine. I want to go home.

• 
  Adam

  You took a heavy blow, brother. Rest now. The fighting is over for you, thanks be to God.

Nota scribaeDictated in the wounded tents. The man smells of creeping fever.