soldier at Nebakov fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I stand watch on the palisade and pray the Lord has mercy on my cowardice.”
Things Bartholomew had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, at Prime
The summer draws near and I am still trapped upon these walls. I swore a holy vow to walk to Sedletz when the sweating fever took us, and the Lord spared me. If the steward does not grant me leave soon, I fear what judgment will fall upon us.
Nota scribaeHe crossed himself three times before dictating this and kept looking at the sky.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
The roof of the kitchen lean-to leaks worse than a sieve, but Richard still manages a decent bowl of oats and salted pork. I had a quiet word with him today about the rot. A shame the steward hoards the dry wood up in the keep while honest men eat in the wet.
God bless you for saying so, Bartholomew. Another month of rain and the whole structure will come down on my head.
Mind your tongue about the steward, soldier. We all have our burdens.
the Tuesday after Saint Benedict, at Vespers
I cannot bear to hear the men shouting at young Frantishek anymore. What happened in the dark woods last autumn when the starving men came upon us was a terror sent by the devil. We all panicked. Baldwin rests with God now. Blaming the boy will not bring the veteran back from the mud.
It is my fault. The line broke because I stepped back. The older guards are right to curse me.
We all ran. Stop weeping about it and do your watch.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper in the corner of the courtyard.
the Wednesday in the first week of Lent, at None
Andreas will not stop begging us to carry messages to his sister over by Kuttenberg. None of us are walking that way, and even if we were, the roads are thick with the king's brother's Hungarians. I told him to trust her to the Lord's keeping, for worry is a sin of pride.
Candlemas, at Compline
The fever still grips the eastern barracks. The men shiver in their damp wool and speak to demons in the dark. I have prayed until my knees are bruised. I swear upon the holy cross that if I rise from this bunk, I shall make a pilgrimage to Sedletz to beg absolution for our sins.
My head is pounding and I cannot keep down the oats. God have mercy on us.
Nota scribaeThe man was shaking with chills as he spoke. I wrote quickly so I might leave.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We are already judged, Bartholomew. You know what we did. The fever was just the start of it.
Hush, Frantishek. Say your prayers and keep your eyes on the road.