soldier at Nebakov fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I am a tired man holding a spear and waiting for my discharge. The lord has had his time, and my farm needs me.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The feast of Saint Pancras, at Compline
I have done my duty. I have stood my watches and kept my mouth shut. But if Anthony does not let me go to Suchdol soon, I am done. A man can only be pushed so far before he stops caring about the noose. The dead of night is dark enough to walk away.
Nota scribaeI warned the soldier against having this written down, but he insisted.
The Thursday after Easter, at Prime
They promised I would be discharged by Easter. Easter is gone, and the Captain will not sign my papers. He sits in his high chambers and says the roads are too dangerous. My sister Eleanor is alone in Suchdol trying to plant the fields. If they are not sown, we will starve.
We are all stuck here, Thomas. The Captain cares nothing for our harvest.
It is my sister I worry for. I am the only kin she has, and the lord will still want his share.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke with a clenched jaw and gripped his spear shaft tightly.
The Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at None
Robert has been acting like a frightened hare since he came back from the Vidlak ponds. Hiding things, jumping at shadows, looking over his shoulder. I reckon he took a hard blow to the head on patrol, or caught some creeping sickness. God knows this place makes us all mad eventually.
My head is fine, Thomas. Keep your voice down, lest the Captain hears you talking of patrols.
The third Wednesday of Lent, at Vespers
We buried young Matthew. A broken leg in a ravine, then the fever took him. Maresh is weeping like a lost child, and Hynek is trying to drown his guilt in cheap ale. I tried to tell Hynek to pace himself and listen to reason, and he told me to go to the devil.
Candlemas, at Sext
Another morning freezing on the wall. They say there are threats on the march, but all I see is mud and empty roads. Young Roger tried to tell a joke to pass the time, but my back aches too much from the damp straw to laugh. I just want a warm fire.
It was a good joke, Thomas. You just have no joy left in your old bones.
Nota scribaeDictated in the guardhouse. He sighed heavily before every sentence.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Don't be a fool, Thomas. They will hang you from the highest tree if you run.
Hold fast, friend. Do not throw your life away for a field of turnips.