guard at the lower gate, of Troskowitz
“I stand watch at the lower gate and try to keep this miserable stretch of road from burning down.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
Whit Monday, at Sext
Lawrence is whining again about his lucky bone die. The sore loser wagered three pennies on Farkle and had no coin to pay. I took the die as a fair pledge. Pay what you owe, and you will have your little toy back.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. He yelled the last part toward the barracks.
the eve of St John Before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Sitting on a bench mending my gambeson. Tobias has been complaining about his sour stomach all afternoon because of the grey pork the quartermaster gave us. I told him to wash it down with Anna Brook's dark ale and shut his mouth.
The meat was foul, Robert. Even a starving pig would turn its nose up at it.
Come drink then, lads, but bring coin. No slate.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Frantishek has been drinking and running his mouth about the eastern road again. It was pitch black and the mud was up to our knees. I did not break the line. The mercenaries came out of the dark. We all did what we had to do, and poor Prokop paid for it.
You ran, Robert. You left the boy in the mud to die while you saved your own skin.
Best keep quiet about what else happened in the brush that night, both of you.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor after speaking the dead boy's name.
the Thursday after St Gregory, at None
My feet are numb from standing at the gate all morning. Sent three filthy vagrants packing. There are too many people on the roads fleeing the soldiers, but I am not letting them through without a proper toll. The king's peace must be kept.
Charity costs nothing, my son. The Lord watches how you treat the poor.
The Lord does not have to answer to the captain if the town burns down, monk.
Candlemas, at Compline
Frantishek is a hotheaded fool. He smashed right into Anna Brook's lean-to tonight blind drunk and broke the timber. Now the idiot refuses to pay for the rotting wood. If he keeps drinking like this, the hangman will have him before the Cumans do.
Rotting or not, it was my roof! He owes me four groschen.
The wood was rotten before I even leaned on it, you old bat.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled heavily of cheap wine while he spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I turned my back and you snatched it, you thief! You took it to ruin my luck.
Bring me three pennies and your luck will return, Lawrence.