militiaman at Trosky castle, of Trosky
“I walk the walls, drill the raw boys, and wait for my late wages.”
Things Geoffrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Whitsun, at Vespers
William rides near my sister Marion's village tomorrow and flatly refuses my errand. I only want her to know I am alive and drawing wages. He is a selfish fool, and I am tired of asking.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed his arms tight across his chest and spat on my floor.
the feast of St Pancras, at None
The younger Jan is mishandling his gear again. He treats the watch like a tavern game. The captain is going to flog the boy at the spring muster, and I will not say a word to stop it.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Thomas was shouting at me again about the skirmish. He claims I froze and let Vashek die. Vashek was a fool who broke the line and charged. I held the line so the rest of us would live.
You stood like a stone while he was cut down on the muddy road. You let him die.
A stone wall is what kept you breathing, Thomas. Remember that.
Nota scribaeDictated at the guardhouse. The speaker paused often to grind his teeth.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Compline
Walter is staring at the wall muttering about his brother Andreas making boots in Prague again. I would gladly take a pair of boots, but I am sick to death of hearing about Prague.
Andreas has coin and dry feet, which is more than any of us have in this damp hole.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this while chewing on a piece of very hard bread.
the second Friday of Lent, at Sext
My feet ache from the uneven stones. The pottage is thin, the bread is stale, and John is hoarding a pouch he took off a corpse. The regulars treat us like dirt, but at least Jan the elder knows how to endure it.
The dead man has no use for the pouch. Keep your mouth shut about it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am not your pack-horse, Geoffrey. If you want her to know you breathe, walk there yourself.