soldier at the gate, of Trosky
“I stand the gate watch, checking carts and keeping the peace. It's muddy work, but it beats bleeding out in a field.”
Things Hynek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers
The merchants at the gate today looked as if they expected the Hungarians to burst from the woods any moment. They pay their tolls, but you can smell the fear. I told them the mud is deeper than any army wants to march through right now. A few more shifts and I'll have the last groschen I need for that pasture near my mother's.
the first Tuesday in May, at None
Will someone go round the back of the stables and check on Hugh? I cannot leave the gate, and he has been sitting in the mud since dawn with a jug from Rose's cellar. I am afraid he will freeze out there when the sun drops, or worse. Christ's wounds, the boy needs watching.
Let him rot. Simon froze in the bog because of him, let him see how it feels.
I looked. He's breathing, just sleeping it off in the muck. Quartermaster Martin will have his hide if he sees him.
Nota scribaeThe man seemed anxious, gesturing towards the stables while dictating.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Three years of saving, penny by penny, and I am only a handful of groschen short. I eat my hard bread standing up and drink well-water while the rest of the loft empties their purses at Rose's. It hurts my bones to stand the gate all day, but I'll buy my way out of this mud yet.
A man needs discipline. Keep your coin, Hynek. Better than pawning a good iron hat for ale.
the feast of St Gregory, at Sext
Leonard is shaking like a leaf because Quartermaster Martin is due for inspections. I told the boy to keep his scavenged tin plates hidden and his mouth shut. There's no sense borrowing trouble before it finds you. If only Julian would let his grudges rest, we might have some peace in the loft.
My grudges are none of your business, Hynek. Some of us remember the dead.
Aye, and Walter won't stop whining about Kuttenberg. It's a madhouse in there.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking the last sentence.
the week after Candlemas, at Terce
The wind cuts right through you at the gate today. I saw a flock of sheep driven past, looking as miserable as the men driving them. I kept my head down and marked the tallies. It's better to be out here than inside listening to the squabbles over pawned gear. Just keep counting the pennies.
It's freezing! Come to Rose's when your shift ends, man, thaw your blood.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You live like a monk, Hynek. What good is a pasture if you forget how to drink?
The pasture won't give me a headache come morning, Joseph. You'll see when your knees go.