soldier at the lower gate, of Trosky
“I watch wagons come in the cold and wait for coin that never comes. The men I serve with are mostly cowards or bullies.”
Things James had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
The muster is coming. The bailiff will be checking kit. I'm telling Lawrence now, I don't have the iron hat. Traded it away. What was I supposed to do, starve? If he wants to make something of it, he can, but I ain't got it.
Nota scribaeHe muttered most of this into his collar.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
Three groschen. That's what Lambert owes me for ale. Not only does he not pay, the whoreson shoves me into the hearth. I wish to God some great brawler would ride in and beat him into the dirt.
Keep crying about it, little man. I'll throw you in the pig trough next.
Leave it be, James. He's not worth getting your ribs kicked in.
Nota scribaeThe man was staring at his boots the entire time he spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
Saw Richard and Robert fighting over a tin pitcher again. Grown men acting like dogs over a bone. The discipline in this place is gone. We're supposed to be holding the king's peace, but half of us belong in the stocks.
It's my pitcher, you miserable sod! And mind your own business.
the first Friday in Lent, at Prime
Still shivering by the gate. A merchant from the south says bread is dearer everywhere now because of the soldiers on the roads. I could have told him that. I haven't seen my wages in weeks. The Pope wants to know what I do all day? I freeze.
Aye, and Nicholas won't shut up about his sister on top of it. Miserable.
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
I can't sleep. I keep seeing Havel in the mud at Tachov. If Lawrence hadn't broke the line and run like a coward, the lad would still be breathing. We were supposed to hold. He left the boy exposed.
You little arse. You ran just as fast as I did. Don't put the boy's death on me when your own sword stayed clean.
God rest his soul. It was a bad business all around.
Nota scribaeDictated in the tavern. He sounded very angry, but asked me not to write it too loud.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Christ almighty, James. I paid for that. You better find it before the bailiff strings us both up.
Go complain to Jarda. Or are you too scared to walk that far, same as at Tachov?