hired hand at the fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I keep the boys in line at Nebakov gatehouse, and I reckon I know every rut in this yard.”
Things Jezhek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Young Maurice is sick with fear over the levy. Bohuta the clerk wrote his name in that damned ledger. I would give ten groschen to have it struck out, but where is a hired hand to find that much coin? Bloody hell.
Nota scribaeHe leaned heavily against the stall while dictating this, looking poorer than a church mouse.
the Thursday after Easter, at None
The damp is creeping right into my bones. Without Agatha from Semine to brew her willow-bark, I am stiff as a board by midday. The young ones stand about like sheep until I shout at them. I reckon I will just have to walk slower before the castellan notices.
You always walk slow these days, lad. Best hope the master has mud in his eyes.
the third day of Passion Week, at Terce
Found three harnesses set wrong this morning. It takes a good eye to spot a fraying strap, and half these lads are blind. I told Maurice to haul the useless leather away, as there is no sense ruining my hands on it when he is broad in the shoulder.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very slowly, taking great care not to turn his neck.
Saint Matthew's day, at Sext
Bohuta rode into the yard today with his ledger. The lords are raising men for the war, and he put Maurice's name down. The boy is terrified of the fighting. I told him I would think of something, but Christ almighty, it looks grim.
The King requires strong arms, not your complaining. The ledger is the law.
There must be a way to change the law for a few coins.
the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, at Prime
They say Agatha the wise-woman died in her sleep. God rest her soul, but she picked a bloody awful time for it. That timber from ninety-five never stopped aching, and her poultices were the only thing keeping me standing in the yard at dawn.
Nota scribaeDictated while shivering in the morning frost. The man smelled strongly of thin ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I watch the road every day for his bay horse. I do not want to die from a Cuman arrow, Jezhek.
Ten groschen! You might as well ask the King for his crown.