recruit at Nebakov fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I just want to stand my watch, eat my oats, and be left in peace without the older men shouting at me.”
Things Frantishek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
My neck is rubbed raw from the damp wool. If the high steward Hugh would part with three planks of dry timber, we could mend the eastern roof and sleep warm for once. But he stays dry in the upper keep.
Nota scribaeThe lad shifted from foot to foot the whole time he spoke, looking nervously at the door.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I am sick of the whispering in the barracks. God knows I did not run first. If Standa had held his ground like he was supposed to, Baldwin would have lived! I only followed because the line was broken!
You lying whoreson! You dropped your shield before the first shout even finished echoing in the trees!
You know it was you! Tell them the truth before they ruin me!
the eve of St George, at Compline
Julian will not stop staring at me across the fire. I cannot sleep with that look on him. Every time a knife drops, I jump. I did my duty as well as any recruit could when the dark woods are full of yelling.
Baldwin died because of your cowardice. A guilty conscience is why you can't sleep.
Say a Pater Noster and try to rest, lad. The Lord sees the truth of that night.
Nota scribaeHe asked for this to be written, then begged me not to show it to Julian.
the Friday after St Gregory, at Terce
There are more refugees on the road today from the burnt villages. They look as hungry as we are. Richard boils the oats thin, but at least we have walls. If the Hungarians come this far, I pray we have enough spears.
Oats are oats. You get what I'm given from the keep.
Candlemas, at Vespers
The priest says the Holy Father in Rome wants our days written down. I don't know why the Pope cares about my rusted chainmail or the mud in the courtyard. I only want to finish my watch without jumping at shadows.
It is a record for the Day of Judgment, Frantishek. Keep your soul clean and fear nothing.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this while furiously scrubbing rust from a ringmail coif.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Come by the kitchen lean-to before Vespers, lad. I'll give you a crust by the fire.
A bit of rain won't kill you. Running from the line is what kills men.