regular soldier at Trosky, of Trosky
“I stand watch at Trosky and freeze in the mud for wages that never come. My boots are clean and my spear is sharp, which is more than the militia boys manage.”
Things Lawrence had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the feast of St Pancras, at Compline
My boots are rubbing my heels raw, and Adam is still nagging me about that matter from before Lent. He reckons we could show it around the tavern and get drunk. The whoreson fool will get us both whipped or worse. I am keeping it tucked deep in my tunic.
the eve of St George, at Sext
Every man in this garrison is sitting on a secret hoard. John has a pouch that smells of dead mercenary, and Walter has a silver cup under his bed. They talk of the king's peace, but half of them would cut a throat for a handful of groschen.
Mind your own business, Lawrence. My brother Andreas made good in Prague, he gave me that cup.
You are just bitter because your own pockets are empty.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke quickly, using soldiers' slang, and kept looking over his shoulder toward the yard.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Thomas is shouting at Geoffrey again over Vashek dying in that skirmish. Poor Vashek is in the churchyard now, God rest him, and shouting will not bring him back. I only wish Thomas would shut his trap so I could sleep off my watch in peace.
the feast of St Gregory, at Vespers
Sat in Avice's cellar scraping together my last penny for a drink. I saw the younger Jan's kettle hat sitting there behind the barrels. Christ almighty, pawned your own borrowed iron. The captain will exact a heavy price from his hide at the spring muster.
I will win the coin back at dice before the muster, you will see.
You are a fool, Jan. Avice never gives a thing back cheap.
Nota scribaeDictated in the cellar. The ale-wife glared at us the entire time.
the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, at None
If the crown paid us our wages, a man would not be tempted by what falls out of a snoring merchant's pack. Adam keeps whispering in my ear about going to the market, but the pillory is a cold place this time of year. Best we stay quiet.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am dying of thirst, Lawrence. Just a quick trade and we drink.
Keep your bloody mouth shut before the sergeant hears you.