dispatch rider for the garrison, of Trosky
“I ride the bailiff's orders to Kuttenberg and back, keeping my head down. It beats freezing at the lower gate, even with the roads swarming with mercenaries.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
If Nicholas asks me one more time to take a message to Magdalena, I swear by Saint Blaise I will feed the parchment to my horse. I ride for the bailiff, not for every lovesick or homesick whoreson in this garrison. The roads are too bad to be taking detours into the deep woods.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He crossed his arms and sighed heavily three times before speaking.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Lambert shoved poor James into the tavern hearth last night over three groschen. Now James is stewing and the whole barracks smells like singed hair. I am drinking outside from now on. The barracks is too much like a coffin anyway, all walls and snoring men.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Prime
Rode to Kuttenberg and back without seeing a single Hungarian, Christ be praised. Met a merchant who gave me a few pennies just to ride alongside him. Good thing too, since the bailiff's strongbox is locked tight and my three groschen are a week late.
Aye, we all know about locked strongboxes full of coin in this camp, do we not, Richard?
Give me back my tin pitcher, you thief, or I'll break your jaw.
Nota scribaeThe scribe reminded him to speak respectfully of the bailiff's coin, but he only scoffed.
St Gregory's day, at Vespers
Roger has gone and pawned Lambert's padded jack to Jarda down in Zhelejov for dice money. I do not know how he thinks he will fight if the fighting comes here. I mind my own business, but the stupidity of these young lads is a bloody marvel.
the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, at Compline
We buried young Havel today after the skirmish at Tachov. A bloody mess. Now Richard and Robert are at each other's throats, and half the men are looking for someone to blame. I am just glad my horse is fast and kept me clear of the worst of the mud.
Havel would still be breathing if some men had held their ground in the line.
War is war. The lad is up in heaven now, out of this freezing mud.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of ale and refused to sit while dictating this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is just a little out of your way, William. She is my only kin.
And what about my mother? You are out there anyway.
I am not out there to die for your mothers and sisters, you fools.