guard at the gates, of Troskowitz
“I stand the watch here and try to keep my head down. I just want a quiet life and a warm bed, though peace is hard to find with the other men shouting.”
Things James had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St John Before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
If Walter and Vashek do not stop shouting across the hearth about who spilled what ale three winters ago, I am going to walk into the woods and let a wolf eat me. A man cannot even close his eyes in this place.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his eyes for a long time before speaking.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Hynek keeps buying ale but he still has not settled his debts from last winter's march. We found some luck in the sleet that day, and a man expects things to be divided fair and quiet before Mikesh starts looking at our kits.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Prime
More refugees on the road from the burnt villages today. We turned them away at the gate. My boots are soaked through with spring mud and the quartermaster's pottage is mostly water. The war is just cold feet and empty bellies.
At least you have the barracks. My roof leaks right onto my head.
Nota scribaeDictated at the gates while stamping his feet in the mud.
St Gregory's day, at Sext
David is running his mouth again about St. Martin's day. I told them all clearly that men were coming from the left out of the trees. If he was too deaf or frightened to hear me, that is his failing, not mine.
Candlemas, at Prime
The wind off the hill cuts right through a woolen tunic. Standing here thinking about poor Tuma. He was a good man to have on the road, and now he is dead in the dirt. I just want my pay so I can drink and sleep.
He was slow, and slow men die on the road. Do not weep over it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is better if you just stuff wool in your ears, lad.
He insulted my mother! You expect me to sit quiet for that?