soldier at the encampment
“I am just trying to keep my boots out the mud and find a few groschen before the muster.”
Things Zdenyek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The captain says we march soon. I am one leather strap short of full kit and the Kuttenberg lender wants ten groschen to give it back. If anyone has a spare baldric, even an ugly one, I will clean your boots for a month.
Nota scribaeDictated while shifting his weight from foot to foot as if standing on hot coals.
the feast of St Pancras, at Sext
Woke up to find mud splashed all over my good boots. The Hungarian riders come through the camp like they are blind! Jan had to stand my morning watch while I scraped it off. A soldier without clean boots is just a peasant with a sword.
Next time you sleep off the ale, you can face the captain yourself. I am not doing it again.
the fourth day of Easter week, at None
Played dice with Andrew and lost my last three pennies trying to win back enough to pay my tavern tally. The Lord knows my luck is cursed. Now I have to find something else of value to give the lender. I will be drinking water for a month.
At least you have your health. Poor Martin died of a flux on Monday.
Nota scribaeThe dictation ended when the man went to buy a drink on credit and was refused.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
John lent me his finely tooled leather baldric for the captain's inspection. A good man. I looked like a proper royal guard, not a mud-raker. Now to carefully put it away so nothing happens to it. Christ almighty, the air is still cold enough to freeze spit.
You looked like a frightened rabbit in a fancy harness.
the second Friday of Lent, at Compline
Five years since I left home. The harvest was ash and I thought a soldier's life meant regular meat and solid coin. Instead it is wet straw, mending a notched sword, and waiting. At least I am not digging turnips.
Stop crying and fetch the ale before I drink your share.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily, patted his chest several times, and left for the alehouse.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You told me the strap was at the leatherworker being oiled. I want it by Sunday, Zdenyek.
It is, John! The man is just very slow. He uses a special oil from Prague.