soldier at the lower gate, of Trosky
“I am a man who keeps his head down. I want a quiet life, my own ale, and my neck out of a noose.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Monday after Ascension, at Terce
Richard has taken my tin pitcher from the barracks table out of sheer spite. It is the act of a spoiled child. I paid hard pennies for that vessel. If any man wants a groschen or two, fetch it back from him for me. A man cannot drink his morning ale properly without it.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his hands together constantly while speaking.
The feast of St Mark, at Prime
I did not sleep a wink. Every heavy footstep outside the barracks sounds like the bailiff's men coming for me. A man rests on his bedstraw and thinks of what is hidden underneath it, and the terror grips him. It is a terrible burden to carry.
Drink some warm ale before bed, Robert. The night watches play tricks on a man's mind.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so softly I could barely hear him, and kept looking over his shoulder at the door.
Easter Sunday, at None
Three groschen a week we are promised, and still the bailiff's purse remains shut. I sit by my pallet rubbing my aching joints while Roger throws his silver away on dice and loses his boots to Jarda in Zhelejov. A man tries to be prudent, but the damp in this place will kill us first.
The feast of St Benedict, at Vespers
The ale down the street has turned sour, but it is better than sitting in the barracks. If I have to listen to Nicholas and Geoffrey beg for someone to write letters to Magdalena one more time, I will walk into the woods and let the wolves have me. I just want quiet.
The Wednesday after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
A bitter day. We lost young Havel to marauders by Tachov. It was a disaster, a bloody mess in the mud. The line broke, and I fell back. A man must know when to retreat if he wants to stay alive. I am sorry the boy fell, but staying would only have meant two corpses.
You broke ranks out of sheer cowardice. You left the lad exposed to save your own miserable skin.
Richard is right. The blood is on your hands.
Nota scribaeHe crossed himself nervously before saying this, and twice more before he finished.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You know exactly why I took it. Give me what is owed, or you will never see the pitcher again.
Keep your voice down, you fool. Do you want us both to hang?