infantryman, of Sigismund's camp
“I am an infantryman levied for King Sigismund, currently rotting in a stinking tent. My luck has been nothing but terrible wagers since we fought near Maleshov.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Terce
The camp provost is calling a muster by Sunday. If I don't have my heavy padded coif by then, I get ten lashes and my pay docked. Adam pawned it to that sutler woman Pavlena for willow bark, and she's already bound for Kolin. I demand a new one from him. It's a rigged game, being punished for another man's sticky fingers.
Nota scribaeThe man shouted and jabbed his finger at a nearby pallet until I told him to sit down.
the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers
Jan won't stop crying about his bleeding gums and begging for fresh apples. The rations are salted pig feed, we all know it. I told him to just drink more weak beer and numb the pain. The house always wins when it comes to army food, no use weeping over a lost throw.
The beer is worse than the salt! My teeth are loose, William. You have a heart of stone.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
I am offering fifteen groschen to whoever can get my lucky bone die back from John. We were playing hazard on a barrel and he snatched it when I looked away. It was the only thing making this miserable wage grow. I want it back before the next game.
You staked it on a bad throw and lost it cleanly! You just can't stomach a loss when the dice don't favour you.
I never staked it. You snatched it because you were bleeding pennies all afternoon. And we both know you're sitting on something heavy from the chapel you won't share. Give me the die.
Nota scribaeHe refused to speak further until he had counted the coins in his pouch twice.
the Tuesday after Judica, at None
Richard lies here with a head wound and a wasting fever, moaning day and night. He is a friend, but the noise is exhausting. He's hoarding every penny to pay Gilbert for a discharge letter. A long shot. You're betting against the captain's clerk, Richard. Save the coin for a decent burial or a strong drink.
Gilbert took my name down. I just need the ink fee. The fever will break, and I will go home.
the Thursday after Saint Matthias, at Compline
We fought near a fortified mill outside Maleshov. Survived, but the unit is in tatters and I am trapped in the wounded tents smelling of old blood and vinegar. Bohuta was killed when the line broke. A bad wager that didn't pay out. At least the Lord doesn't dock pay in heaven.
He was abandoned, William. He stood in the wall with us and we left him to the dogs. Do not speak of him like a lost coin.
He was too slow when the order to fall back was given. God rest him, but he lingered.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man washed dried mud from his boots.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I was bleeding out, William! What was I supposed to do, just lie there? I have no coin to buy you a new one.
You should have wagered something of your own. Your blood doesn't pay my docked wages, and your back won't take my lashes.