soldier at Trosky castle, of Trosky
“I stand the third watch on the northern wall and try to keep my head down.”
Things Andrew had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after St George, at None
The muster is done. Drslav took half my Easter wages for those bloody gauntlets I lost at the ford. Sakra, I rub my hands together and the skin is still raw from that rope, but he only cares about his ledger. I am just glad the inspection is over.
Nota scribaeHe stared at his boots the entire time he spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
I only went to see how David was faring with his fever. I stood by his pallet and he threw a heavy wooden bowl right at my head. I ducked it, but Christ almighty, I am only trying to help. There is no need to treat me like a leper.
the feast of St Benedict, at Terce
Standing the northern wall is freezing my arse off today. The wind comes right up the Kuttenberg road and cuts through my tunic. I eat my cold pottage by the gate barrel just to have some peace. At least the wind is quiet, unlike the mess table.
Aye, the wind is bitter today. Come to the alehouse later, it is warmer.
I will just go to my mattress, Lambert. But thank you.
Nota scribaeDictated quickly, while nervously rubbing his palms together.
the Wednesday before St Gregory, at Prime
Prokop is shouting at me again, calling me a coward in front of the whole barracks. He says I let the wagon rope slip on purpose at the Kolin ford. I held it until the hemp tore the skin off my hands! I wish the Captain would hold an inquiry so Prokop would shut his mouth.
You let go because you were afraid of the freezing water! Bynyek is dead because of you!
Leave it be, Prokop. Bynyek is gone and Peshek is gone. Shouting won't bring them back.
Candlemas, at Compline
I wake up in the dark and I swear I can still hear Bynyek splashing in the river. He was the only one who was consistently kind to me when I joined the watch. Up in heaven there are no swollen fords or heavy wagons to drag a man under.
He was a good man. God rest his soul.
If some of you had not been in such a rush, Peshek would not have died either.
Nota scribaeHe asked that this be written, though his voice shook.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
He docked me for a dented tin pitcher, the whoreson.
Keep your gear clean and Drslav treats you fair enough, lads.