soldier at the crossroads, of Nomad camp
“I am the bulwark securing the crossroads for the garrison. A fighting man must maintain absolute discipline.”
Things Joseph had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Vespers
The muster is upon us and my mail coif is still locked in Drslav's pawnshop because of Andrew's dice debts. Forty groschen! If the captain inspects my kit and finds me bare-headed, I will be flogged. Andrew just jingles his empty purse at me. It is a total collapse of unit cohesion.
Nota scribaeHe stood perfectly straight and pointed his finger at my chest the entire time.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Young David is whining for his bone needle again. He says his boots are letting in the spring mud. I told him a soldier's gambeson takes priority. I am executing a tactical repair on my leather straps. The boy must learn that civilian footwear is nothing compared to garrison readiness.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
Secured the crossroads today and inspected three carts. I waved them through to maintain the flow of the supply lines. Then Simon the clerk came for the pitch-fees. The whoreson pockets half the toll chest before it ever reaches the estate. It is a wonder the realm does not collapse.
Simon would not give a single penny to fix Daniel's wagon, even when the rain came in.
Nota scribaeDictated from his spot by the watch fire. He had inspected nothing.
the second day of Lent, at Prime
Discipline in this camp is a disgrace. At Candlemas I saw John pocket William's carving awl right out of his kit. William is too quiet to launch a counter-attack for his own property. If a man cannot hold his own awl, how can he hold a position? Sakra, I am surrounded by peasants.
I know he took it. But John is bigger than me, and what good is an awl if my head is broken?
Candlemas, at Terce
Woke at first light, stiff as a board. The mud here ruins everything it touches. My boots are caked in it. Nicholas was up all night tending the fire and listening to Daniel cough in that rotting wagon. I maintain a safe perimeter from the sick man so the chill does not flank me.
Daniel is dying, Joseph. You could fetch a bucket of water instead of polishing that stick.
Nota scribaeHe spent an hour polishing his spear shaft before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you, lad, my luck will turn. Just tell the captain you lost it in a flanking manoeuvre.
Kurva, Andrew, you stole it from my pack while I slept! It was a cowardly night ambush.