soldier of the third watch, of Trosky
“I am a soldier of the garrison, though mostly I just lie in the dark and try to keep the chills away. It is just a bit of camp fever.”
Things David had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
The quartermaster Drslav says my Easter wages are docked for the cloak and scabbard I lost in the mud. Frantishek and Jarda are tearing the barracks apart over tin pitchers, terrified of the ledger. Let him keep the groschen. I hardly care anymore. I just want this ale to stay down and my hands to stop shaking.
Nota scribaeThe man paused twice to cough bile into a rag. He smells intensely of sour ale.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Tobias came by my mattress again to make sure I had not choked in the dark. He is a good fellow. I told him I only need a few more days of rest. I just cannot sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I am back at the swollen ford near Kolin, and the water is so cold.
Drink some water, lad. The ale is making the fever worse. I will bring you some broth tomorrow.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
I saw young Andrew by the armoury. If his hands had not been so weak on those wagon ropes at the river, Bynyek would still be here. He let them slip right through his fingers in the mud. It is easier to sit here with my jug than look at the boy's face.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Prokop came shouting at my bed today. He called me a coward for freezing up on the riverbank when Bynyek went under the wheel. He told me I should have drowned instead. I just nodded at him. He is right. I stood there and watched the muddy water churn, and I did nothing.
You just stood there. He screamed, and you stood there like a stone.
Leave him be, Prokop. The fever is punishment enough. None of us could swim in that ice.
Nota scribaeDictated in a heavy slur. The man was weeping but asked that it not be written.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
The watch captain wants me at the lower gate to check the market tolls, but the chill in my chest is too deep. I took to my bed again. The wind off the road makes my teeth chatter right out of my skull. A bit of sour ale helps quiet the noise in my head, at least.
We are doing your shifts, David. Get up. It is just a winter cough.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Easy for you to say, David. Drslav is making us pay for the oil lamps too.
Speak nicely to the quartermaster and he might find a spare cloak in the armoury.