patrol rider and garrison soldier, of Trosky
“I ride where the castellan points and treat my beast well. The rest of this garrison does nothing but whine.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Thomas asked me again to ride south to tell his sister Johanka he isn't dead yet. I told him I ride where the castellan orders, not where some tanner's wife wants me to be. The captain would flog me if I turned the gelding south just to save her from worrying.
Nota scribaeDictated near the stables. The man spat on my boots halfway through.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Lost four groschen at dice to Ralph in the lower bailey. The man has the devil's own luck, though he spent the whole game whining about his brother Anthony at the mill. I told him to shut his mouth and throw.
If Anthony was here he'd have won eight off you. Pay what you owe.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Prime
Simon was flapping his mouth again about the ravine last autumn. He says the line broke on the left. Bloody liar. I was there, under Captain Julian, God rest him. Simon broke the shield wall early and let the poor bastard beside him get cut to ribbons. He panicked.
You froze, William! You just stood there in the mud and watched it happen!
Leave it, both of you. The dead don't care who broke first.
Nota scribaeThe speaker was shouting by the end.
the feast of St Matthias, at Terce
Rode patrol to Tachov this morning. The roads are muddy, bread costs twice what it did last year, and they say the King's brother has more Cumans moving through the valley. As long as they stay out of my way, I care not.
You'll care when they gut your fine gelding, boy.
Candlemas, at Prime
Woke with an ache in my back that would kill a lesser man. The pallets in this draughty hole get thinner every winter. Spent the first hour mucking out the gelding's stall just to keep my hands warm. It's the only decent work to be had here.
If you fetched your own fresh straw you wouldn't sleep on bare boards.
Nota scribaeDictated while shoveling manure. The smell was ungodly.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You could make the detour, William. It's half a day at most.
Half a day is a flogging, Thomas. Stop bleeding my ears with it.