guard at the gates, of Troskowitz
“I stand the watches and keep the tallies. I remember exactly who fails their duty, so the captain does not have to.”
Things David had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
Humphrey says I stole his throwing knife. I say he nearly took my boot off with it at the timber mark. I pulled it from the wood myself and it stays in my belt until he buys me an ale to make amends. It is a matter of principle.
Nota scribaeHe crossed his arms tightly across his chest and stared at the wall until I finished writing.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
The rations are cut again. A bowl of thin pottage is no meal for a man standing in the mud all morning. Mikesh sits by a warm fire counting out our miseries while we freeze at the gates. I marked three men late today, and I do not blame them.
Christ almighty, my belly is rumbling so loud the Cumans will hear it on the road.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Vespers
James was telling the tale of St Martin's day again at the alehouse, completely wrong. I only stepped back in the sleet to avoid a spear thrust. Humphrey failed to cover the line, and James screamed like a pig in the dark. That panic is why poor Tuma died. These are the facts.
You broke the line, David. You saved your own skin and left him open to the steel.
I repositioned. If you had held your nerve and your tongue, he would be alive.
Nota scribaeDictated rapidly. He shook his head before he even began speaking.
the Thursday before St Gregory, at Terce
The mud on the Troskowitz road is up to the ankles. Every cart gets stuck and every merchant whines about the toll. I tally them all. If it were not for my ledger, nobody would pay a single groschen and the whole garrison would starve. Adam is the only one who works as hard.
Aye, my boots will never dry out. But at least the watch is quiet today.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
My boots were frozen stiff as iron this morning. The wind comes right through the cracks in the barracks. I stood my watch at the gates and wrote down Simon for turning up late. He complained, but a duty is a duty. A man must keep his records straight.
Bloody hell, David. I was fetching wood for Adleta's leaky shed, not sleeping.
Leave it be, Simon. You cannot argue with his bloody tallies.
Nota scribaeThe ink was freezing in the pot.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Give it back, you stubborn mule. I was only practicing and you walked right into my aim.
A blind man has better aim. Buy the ale.
You both need your heads knocked together. We have enough trouble without fighting over a small blade.